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“You’re up,” Coach says to me and I hop over the barrier while another player comes through the gate.
When I’m next to Chaz, he speaks to me through gritted teeth.
“It’s one thing for him to get personal, but if he brings my mother into this one more time—”
The whistle blows and the other team wins the face-off, taking the puck. They pass fast, the puck moving from one stick to another so quick we can’t get it back in our possession.
They reach our goal and score with a pretty standard play. Our goalie curses under his breath and pushes up, shaking his head.
“No sweat, we’ll bring it back,” I say, skating past.
When the puck hits the ice, I’m the one that grabs it. I look around, calculating with lightning speed which way to go, where to pass the puck. What separates a good athlete from an outstanding one, is anticipation. We don’t react as things happen, we see them before they happen and just move into it.
Everything around me moves in slow motion and I watch as the players part like water, leaving a straight line to the goal. They must be stupid—they’re playing in a triangle formation and this shouldn’t happen. But I’m not going to let this chance go.
I pull back and hit the puck with everything I have.
The goalie looks terrified. He wobbles on his skates. At the last second Fuckface steps in front of the puck. Maybe he wants to be a hero.
The puck hits him square in the face. Although he’s wearing a helmet we hear a crack and he goes down.
When he hits the ice, the goalie’s attention isn’t on the net anymore, but on his player that looks limp on the ice. Chaz seizes the moment, nabs the puck and flicks it into the net.
The ref blows and the game is brought to a halt.
I grin at Chaz when I catch his eye. Fuckface is out cold. His nose bleeds, but it’s not my fault. My fists didn’t do it. He’s going to be swapped out for another player and we’ll keep going.
When I glance up at Raina, her face is riddled with excitement and shock. I’m feeding off her energy, and the rest of the crowd.
This is where I want to be. This is what life should be about. Passion. Love.
When the injured player is taken off the ice and another player take his spot, the game continues. But we’ve got this one in the bag. The injury broke morale. The goalie doesn’t know what he’s doing. And we’re on top of our game, playing like never before. We’re a tight unit, thinking as one.
By the time the final whistle blows, the score is five-two for us.
I grab Chaz into a hug, clap some others on the back, and then we go for a victory skate around the ice.
“That was some damn good hockey,” Chaz says.
“It was fucking perfect,” I laugh.
“And you didn’t foul once. It was weird actually. It was like playing next to a civilised human being and not the rabid monkey that we both know you are.”
“Ha. Looks like I’m the good guy now.”
Chaz bursts out laughing. “Yeah, right.”
I grin and wave at our fans before we climb off the ice. I want to kiss Raina. I want to celebrate our victory.
In that order.
And then, I want to keep going like this. Because life might have dealt me a shit hand, but it’s what you make of it.
Raina
“Get up, get up!” Kat says, shaking my shoulders. “Come on, it’s already eight.”
I moan and turn around in bed, putting a pillow over my head. I’m not ready to get up. I’ve barely slept two hours.
