21. Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Cody

We’ve got five minutes before it’s time for us to take the ice for the pregame warmups. The guys around me in the locker room are full of excitement, and the photo of Luke and me appears to be long forgotten. At least for now. I just hope that it won’t become the elephant in the room and make things weird between Luke and me. Then again, he doesn’t really strike me as the kind of guy who gives two shits about what other people think.

I put in my earbuds and turn up the volume on my phone to drown out all the noise. A lot of the guys listen to some upbeat song before a game, trying to zone everything else out and reach that place inside where it’s just you and the anticipated game. Soon music filters through my earbuds, the familiar beat of Unfinished Sympathy engulfing me. I don’t need upbeat today. I want Massive Attack’s deep bass to ground me. Make me heavy and solid in front of the goal. Turn me into the wall that I am. As the music floats through me, its message transferring to every cell of my body, I rub my tattoo over my jersey.

‘ I know who I am, and I know where I’m going. ’ I repeat the words while Shara Nelson sings, ‘ The curiousness of your potential kiss has got my mind and body aching. ’ As I look up, my gaze connects with Luke’s and he throws me a smile that nearly makes my legs give way beneath me. A smile that tells me everything I need to know. We’re good. Nothing’s changed.

I sit down in front of my cubby and start wrapping my goalie stick with new tape like I do before every game. Tonight, though, the bright colors from the pride tape the team manager passed out for Pride Night wraps perfectly with no creases several inches down the end as I slowly spin it around. Most of us have our own ways of wrapping our sticks, and we’re all convinced we’ll play like shit if it isn’t done exactly right. Hockey superstitions are a real thing, people.

The last bit of tape is smoothed out once I tear the roll off and toss it into my cubby. I redo my skates one more time, as the song comes to an end, Shara Nelson’s repetitive, ‘ I don’t know where this one came from, I don’t know where this, I don’t know where this, I don’t know where this one came from ’ fades. Tucking my earbuds into my cubby, I turn the music off and place my phone next to them. I’ve got my goalie mask on and pulled down as I stand, bouncing a few times on my skates to be sure they are good and tight, just the way I like them for a game.

I follow the last of the guys out into the hallway just as the horn blows out on the ice to start warmups. The roar from the crowd gets louder, and the anticipation grows as we ascend down the player tunnel. Excitement and adoration are displayed across the fans’ faces, especially those who are leaning over the railing, so we offer them gloved high fives as we take the ice. The rush never gets old and if you aren’t there already, this welcome is enough to fuel any player before game time.

Warmups are over quickly, as usual. I grab a few pucks from the net to throw over to a couple of young fans waiting along the glass as I make my way back off the ice to get ready for game time. Although I’m still new on the team, I notice several fans wearing my jersey by now, the bright teal number 8 mirroring my own, and it feels like I’m on top of the world. Some kid wearing my jersey, perhaps dreaming of becoming an NHL goalie, too, one day. Yeah, this is the stuff that dreams are made of; one tiny puck making a kid’s night or week, maybe. Nothing beats giving a child a memory they’ll treasure for a lifetime.

The game goes smoothly into the 3rd period. I haven’t let a single shot in from the opposing team. Not that the Pembroke Pelicans are making it easy. I have blocked sixteen shots so far. The Floridians are known for their quick transitions, but up until now, we’ve read their game perfectly. I’m super pumped and feeling good about this one. Hopefully, this will be another win to keep us on the right track to turn this season around.

There’s only one point on the board and it’s ours—a slap shot by Caps toward the end of the 2nd period. The reason it hasn’t been the highest-scoring game is thanks to our defensemen who are really on top of their game. Luke and Virtanen are doing a sweet-ass job at keeping the puck away from our net, giving the Pelicans hell as soon as they try to get one past us.

The game comes down to the last couple of minutes. The clock is moving fast, and I can already taste that victory and hear the crowd as soon as the final minute comes down. I can’t wait to celebrate with the team and our loyal fans, but most of all I’m just looking forward to going over everything later in detail when it’s just Luke and me. Replaying the game move by move, minute by minute as we sit next to each other on the couch, mouths full of Reese’s. I just have to close this one out with us on top.

The other team is feeling the pressure though, no doubt wanting that win as badly as us. They’ve taken their goalie out, putting everything forward in a risk-it-all type of mission. One of the Pelicans’ forwards, Coolidge, has the puck, coming across the ice on a breakaway heading toward me, Luke doing everything he can to keep up with him. The fans are on their feet, the ones in the first rows banging on the glass as Coolidge crosses center ice. Navy and teal jerseys are all around him, but he’s got that final minute fire in him as his skates slice quickly across the ice. I crouch down in position, just waiting for him to make his move. My eyes are on the puck as he pushes it back and forth with his stick until he finally gets within just a few feet of my net.

Years of training have taught me to expect anything from these guys. And to never expect the obvious play. They want to bring the win home too. It’s the only thing that counts. So always expect the unexpected when you’re a goalie. Coolidge pumps his stick to the left like he’s going to shoot but doesn’t, quickly maneuvering to send it flying to my right instead. With my right arm outstretched, I glove the puck right at the edge of the net before it can cross the line.

The crowd goes wild, a moving ocean of navy and teal, the banners with roaring mountain lions held high above their heads. As a disgruntled Coolidge skates off, my team converges on me. Like a huge horde of wild animals, they attack me right at my net, bumping their helmets with mine, and slapping me on the back. Luke is right next to me, his eyes shining brightly, and everything else just becomes a blur. There’s only me and him, and the cheers from the crowd. My eyes stay glued to Luke’s when they reach me, my heart beating along with the two syllables that make out my name.

Mitch-ell. Mitch-ell. Mitch-ell.