Page 51 of Flashback for the Forward

“There!” I pointed animatedly. “Number seventy-two made contact with Rockwell’s pads while in the crease, knocking him out of position, and he didn’t have time to reset.” The coaching staff stared down at the screens set within the floor of the visitors’ bench. “What are you waiting for? Freaking challenge it!”

The Surf’s head coach called a ref over, and they shared a brief exchange before the ref skated to center ice and activated his microphone.

“San Diego has challenged the play for goaltender interference.”

“Thank you,” I huffed out as the referees put on their headphones to communicate with the review team in Toronto.

While they deliberated, the broadcasters consulted with a rules analyst, breaking down the play from different angles. They agreed with my assessment that the goalie was prohibited from playing his position correctly and that the goal shouldn’t stand as a result.

Even though it was clear as day, I still held my breath when the lead ref returned to center ice to deliver the result of the challenge.

“After the coach’s challenge, it was determined that there was no goaltender interference. We have a good goal. San Diego has a two-minute bench minor penalty for delay of game.”

“What? No!” I shouted in disbelief as a Surf player skated to the penalty box.

There was one more replay of the goal as the commentators tried to make sense of the call.

Flopping dramatically onto the couch, I covered my face and groaned. “How was that not goaltender interference?”

When I removed my hands to watch as the Surf attempted to kill the penalty that was a result of their failed challenge, I found Austin looking at me.

“You really know your shit about hockey.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Language,” Arizona chided on a weary exhale that suggested she’d issued the reprimand one too many times.

To the teenage boy, I said, “My brother used to play. He was actually drafted by the Surf.”

Behind his glasses, Austin’s eyes widened. “No way! What number is he?”

I shook my head with a sad smile. “He passed away before he ever got the chance to suit up for them.”

That gave him pause. “Wait. Was your brother Bennett Russell?”

“Mm-hmm.” I hummed in confirmation.

“When Cole and Crew were helping me train this summer, they told me all about him. Dude sounded like a legend.”

“He was,” I agreed.

Had his life not been cut short, Bennett would have absolutely made a splash in the pros. He had the kind of natural talent that couldn’t be taught, and it translated to the score sheet. Season after season, he was the top scorer on whatever team he played on. It wasn’t a surprise when he went first overall in his draft class, with the Surf selecting his best friends in the second and fifth rounds, making trades to keep the dynamic trio together.

“It’s really cool they hung his number in the rafters.”

I reared back. “What? They did?”

Austin nodded. “They’ve got a memorial stall for him in the locker room too. You should come see it sometime.”

“I’d really like that.”

“There’s a home game next weekend after they get back from the East Coast. I bet Cole could get you a ticket.”

“Uh . . .”

How did I tell this fifteen-year-old kid that I couldn’t risk going out in public for fear that my abusive ex would find me? But his innocent remark was a much-needed reminder that I couldn’t hide out at Cole’s place forever.

Arizona was quick to jump in to save me. “Austin, let’s not offer up tickets that aren’t yours to give.”

He began to protest. “But—”