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“Jessa,” Andrew began, pulling my attention away from the TV that I had been glaring at. “Do you think this is a good idea?”
“Think what is a good idea?”
“To…watch the game.”
“I need to.” I looked back at the TV. “I want to.”
Dad stayed silent as the national anthem was sung by a kid who was nervous. The crowd cheered him on, but all I could do was stare at the close-up shots of the players along the blue line, shifting their skates back and forth.
There he was.Zachy. He wasn’t scared. He was determined, and he looked good in the red and silver Serpents jersey. His gaze flicked up, and I knew he was looking at his face on the jumbotron.
As quickly as the camera was on him, it was off again, showing some other player.
I ate chips as the first period began, not even caring because Zach wasn’t on the ice. It took nine minutes of gameplay, nearly twenty with all the calls, for him to hit the ice.
“Number Seventy-Eight, Renshaw,” Dad called and sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
He was just as invested in this game as I was, but for a different reason. Watching a kid he’d coached and mentored playing in the NHL must have been one hell of a proud moment.
He was doing a damn good job. He was fast, and his puck hogging nature was working out in his favor. He kept the puck away from any Washington Raider player who even tried to come close.
“That’s it… Come on, Renshaw.” Andrew whispered, leaning forward on the couch so far it looked like he might fall off. “Don’t back down. You’ve got this…”
By the time the first period came to an end, Zach had two shifts on the ice and nearly scored once. Andrew had gone through two beers, and I had downed three wine coolers.
I passed Dad another beer during the first intermission, and Diane came downstairs to bring us a tray of nachos she had made, ultimately letting all of the animals loose.
I snuggled with Miffy, the tabby Andrew said didn’t like anyone but me, as the second period started. Zach was on the bench, and the score wasn’t in their favor. The Raiders scored within the first minute, causing Dad to groan loudly and curse at the TV.
When Zach hopped onto the ice, he skated with power and precision to the puck.
“Go, go, go…come on,” I found myself whispering.
Dad peeked over at me, and I knew he was smiling without peeling my eyes away from the TV.
“Yes, Zachy!”
Zach stole the puck and made his way toward the Raiders’ net, passing the puck back and forth with his teammate, Cromwell. They faked another pass, the goalie shifted to the right, and Zach tipped the puck into the net.
Dad and I jumped up, yelling and screaming. I kissed Miffy’s fluffy face, and Andrew pulled us both in for a hug, much to Miffy’s dismay.
Zach had just scored his first goal in the NHL. During his first NHL game.
If there was ever a doubt about how incredible he was, as a man, as a player, and just…overall, it was erased in an instant. By me, by my dad, and maybe by the Serpents coach.
His team cheered with him as it was broadcasted to the audience that Zachary Renshaw, #78, had just scored his first NHL goal during his first game. The commentators said he was someone to keep an eye on and talked about his strategy so far this game.
“That’s it, kiddo,” Andrew said against the side of my face, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “He made it.”
“He made it.”
* * *
The Serpents won four-to-three, and I knew their win was because of Zach.
I had drunk almost seven wine coolers and passed the final few sips of a mixed berry cooler to my dad, laughing when he drank it down and made a face.
“Alright, you two. I’m taking Jessa home now,” Diane announced with a laugh, taking the empty plastic bottle from Andrew.
