Page 38 of The One Timer

Chapter Twelve

CHASE

CHRISTMAS DAY GAME

After Montreal turns over the puck, I crossover like mad to build speed on the re-entry and set the puck on my backhand side to bait the defender into reaching in. Once the defenseman presents his stick, I get inside his minimum attack distance (aka the triangle). Then I move the puck quickly from my backhand to my forehand side, aiming a not-quite-full-power shot just above the goalie’s pad on the far side.

The goal light flashes red, and I jump in the air, turning to look up into the stands to where I know my family and Emery are sitting before my teammates inundate me.

“I can’t believe you won this game for us, you fucking glory hound,” Sabien shouts as he swings me around in a bear hug.

The game’s over, and I don’t think I’ve scored in sudden death overtime since high school, but the feeling of elation floods me, coming back bigger and better because this is my rookie season in the NHL, and I’m on a roll.

Maybe Emery is more lucky charm than interference. My grin widens as we skate to the chute, and I wave at the cheering fans, looking for her. Of course, she’s not there hanging over the railing like the kids waving programs and pens.

I stop to sign some autographs and look in her direction when I notice the jumbotron showing me. That’s when I get an idea. I can barely see past the crowd lining the chute, so I ask them to move aside.

“I’m looking for my girl. She’s in row D.” They clear aside, and I see her standing and watching the jumbotron. So I point at the camera.

“This is for you, Em.” I blow her a kiss—or blow a kiss at the camera, and then turn back to her. Her mouth opens, and then she turns toward me, her eyes widening.

I wave her over. She shakes her head violently, and I laugh. The fans are watching this, and one of the fans points up at the Jumbotron. “There she is!”

I look, and sure enough, one of the cameras has zoomed in on her, showing her watching me, showing my family gathering their things and preparing to leave. My sister points at the jumbotron and gets Em’s attention, and she turns and looks up.

Then she covers her face and falls back into her seat. I laugh, and the fans are all egging me on to go and get her.

“Nah. I get the impression she’s camera-shy. But you could do me a favor,” I say to the kid I signed the program for. “Go tell her to wait for me because I’m coming home with them.”

“Sure thing, Chase.”

I give him a high five. “Thanks for your help and your support. You’re the best. Appreciate all of you.” Then I dash back to the dressing room.

Before I escape, I spend some time with the media. It’s part of the game, and I don’t generally mind. The guys and ladies covering the team are an easygoing bunch and generally laugh when I joke around. But the last thing I want to do is make Emery late tonight.

My family is here, and I gesture to the guys to come on over and meet them. Sabien, Jason, and Link follow me to where my small entourage is huddled. My youngest cousin—Uncle Walt’s son from his second marriage—is talking animatedly with his hands, simulating a shot that looks a lot like the one I took to win the game. He has the rapt attention of Uncle Walt, Katherine, Gran, and Em. The rest of the family must be meeting us at the house later.

“Hey there, kid.” His name is Walt Junior, but I do him a favor and resist calling him that.

I introduce the guys to my family and then to Emery.

“Great game, guys,” Emery says.

“I see you’ve come a long way from stolen seats at the Garden,” Sabien says.

She coughs, and I think she might be having a heart attack for real. Gran’s expression is puzzled, and I elbow my so-called friend hard in the ribs.

“Can I have your autograph?” Walt Junior asks Jason as he stares up at my teammate. Jason’s a legit superstar in the league since before he played for the Whalers, so I shouldn’t be surprised at the star-struck reaction, but I know him as a goofball when he’s not on skates, so it takes a sec.

Link rolls his eyes, and Sabien frowns.

“What about my autograph?” Sabien says.

“You can sign my program for Merry,” Emery says, surprising me.

Jason takes Walt Junior’s program. “Sure, kid. How do you want it signed—one hockey player to another?”

Little Walt’s face beams. “That would be awesome—all three of you can sign my program.”