Page 70 of Get Me to the Starting Line
“Woo,” he says, pointing to Julien in the net.
I laugh. “Yup, that’s Julien. Say, ‘Hi Julien!’” I know he can’t see us, but Levi waves anyway. Feeling brave, I send him a quick text he’ll see after the game. Pictures of me and Levi in our jerseys. His jerseys.
“GO! SKATE!” Paige yells beside me, blasting my eardrums. I should’ve brought earplugs for myself.
We’re up 2–0 in the last five minutes of the third period. The other team hasn’t been able to get past Julien. According to Paige, my personal commentator, they’ve doubled the shots on net, but not a single one has made it through.
If Julien can blame me for their losses, then I am sure as hell going to take credit for how incredible he’s doing tonight.
He had barely made it onto the ice before turning and looking up behind the bench. Levi and I waved. Julien lifted what I now know is called a blocker up at him and waved back. He didn’t smile, but I felt his gaze assess me. I rolled my eyes and stood up, turning around to show him the back, where his name felt branded on my skin.
Only nodding when I turned back around, he proceeded to skate to his net and start his warmups. There should be a law about him warming up on the ice that way.
I know what his body feels like, even if it’s with his clothes on, and watching him stretch made me positively weak in the knees. Aren’t ice rinks supposed to be cold? I’ve been hot since the game started.
I’ll go right ahead and blame the wiggly toddler in my arms and not the goalie I’ve had sex dreams about every night since we kissed. Plus the ones before that.
“Go! Go! Go!” I cheer along with the rest of the crowd, beginning to understand the appeal. It’s been fast-paced and exciting from start to finish. Well, almost finished—there’s one minute left.
The other team has a breakaway, and it seems our defence won’t be able to catch up. I want to close my eyes, but I don’t.
Time seems to drag, each movement playing out in slow motion.
The player dekes and dodges, gaining speed as he races down the ice. He makes a snap decision, but Julien is too good. He sees it, stretching out to an impossible length, catching the puck right before the buzzer blares, saving the last shot of the game.
Pride swells in my chest as the crowd erupts, making up my mind that if anyone but my goalie had been in net, there’s no way they could’ve made that save. I may be a little biased.
I keep my attention on Julien, hoping he can see us cheering for him. He’s a bit preoccupied because the player who took the shot crashes into him, unable to slow his momentum.
We’re on our feet with the rest of the Whales fans, chants of, “Richard! Richard! Richard!” booming around us. A shutout after a string of losses—I learned the ties are counted as a loss in the teams’ eyes.
“He did it, Levi! He caught the puck!” I jump up and down with him.
“Puh,” he says proudly, my heart unable to expand any more in this moment.
“That’s right, baby, puck!” I snuggle into him, my heart soaring as I hug him so close I’m practically squishing him.
“Leah.” Paige grabs my arm, and the seriousness of her voice snaps me out of celebration mode. I focus on Julien immediately, almost dropping Levi.
He’s down on the ice, unmoving, puck still in his glove from the incredible save. I can’t tell what’s happening, but a hush falls over the crowd as they realize their star goalie hasn’t recovered from the hit.
Medics and the head coach, Whyatt, run onto the ice, Adam leaping over the boards behind them.
“I have to get to him,” I say, my heart rate skyrocketing with panic.
“You won’t be able to,” Paige tells me, reaching for Levi. I didn’t realize I’d begun shaking. The player who slammed into him walks away, and Julien is still down.
Irrational anger bubbles up inside me and even though my 5’4” is no match for these hockey players, I’m going to kick the motherfucker’s ass.
“I have to go. Watch Levi,” I say, but Paige doesn’t let me get far, grabbing me by the jersey.
“They won’t let you near him,” she tries to tell me. “You’re not family.”
“I’m wearing his fucking jersey.” I practically scream the words, but they’re drowned out by the crowd.
“So are half the people here.”
I can feel my eyes blaze with fury. “I’m wearinghisjersey,” I say again.
