Page 33 of King of the Crease

Griffin and Mitch skate up to the goal.

“Mitch and I are going to be extra heavy on D. We’re not going to let anything get past us if we can help it.”

“We got you covered,” Mitch says. He holds out his fist. I pound it, then pound Griffin’s. My heart fills with unexpected glee. I’m part of a team! A team with guys who could conceivably be called my buds!

The ref drops the puck, record-scratching me right into the game. My heart slams against my ribs.

Mitch and Griffin are true to their word at first. They’re hustling to get the puck down the ice. But no fortress is impenetrable. (Penetrate… Stop that!) The first shot comes in soft—almost lazy. A warm-up shot. The kind any goalie with a pulse should stop.

I…do not stop it. I’m two seconds late. It slides right between my pads and kisses the back of the net.

Goal horn. Red light. My soul leaves my body.

“Oh my God,” I whisper inside my helmet. “Oh my God, Nicholas.”

Someone on the Deep Dives whoops. I stare at the ice, convinced it has personally betrayed me.

“Shake it off, Nick,” Bill yells to me. He slaps his helmet, gesturing that I maintain my focus.

Shake it off. Shake it off.

Hank’s voice echoes in my head. Short memory.

I straighten. Roll my shoulders. Lock in.

The next few minutes are a cacophony of pucks flying, sticks clashing, and men yelling words I’m fairly sure aren’t suitable for royal ears. I manage a couple decent saves. One off the blocker. One off my chest. Nothing fancy, but solid.

Then comes the moment I’ve been practicing for.

Breakaway. Guy charging straight at me. Butterfly time.

I drop clean and spread my knees. The pads seal the ice.

And the puck slides right past me. Again.

Goal.

I want to crawl into the net and pretend I live there now. The score is 4-3. One more goal, and I will officially have given up our lead.

Bill skates up to me.

“You good?” he asks.

“If you want to bench me, I get it.”

“Listen, if I didn’t think you could handle this, I wouldn’t have let you suit up, much less tend goal. We win as a team. We lose as a team. No matter what, we’re all in this together.” He gives my pads a supportive punch, then rushes back to the center for the next puck drop.

I close my eyes to recenter myself, do a quick breathing exercise.

“STAY IN! YOU’VE GOT THIS!”

Hank stands from the bench, eyes locked on me.

I blink.

Me? Got this?

He points at me. “SHORT MEMORY, NICK!”