Nils doesn’t even blink. “Shoot, that sucks, sorry to hear that.”
“It’s whatever. His name is Luke and we’re still kind of friends.” I mentally kick myself because I didn’t need to add those last details.
A server comes over to take our orders, cutting off our conversation that was about to kick-start a mental spiral about Luke. After ordering the first sandwich on the menu because I neglected to give the thing a proper read, the three of us sit back, chat, and not once do I feel like I’m in ice-breaking hell. We part ways about an hour later and I head back to the rink, and when I climb into my car, I get a notification telling me that Alvik posted my headshots to social media and tagged me. It’s mid-morning in Toronto, so I tell Luke because he might find my awkward, forced expression to be funny or something.
Maybe it’ll make him break into one of those cute smiles.
God, I fucking miss him.
My headshot is up on the team’s accounts lol
Still doesn’t feel real
Nice!
Your first game is tomorrow, right?
Yup! So pumped
Awesome, you’re gonna do great!
My heart jumps at his simple encouragement before settling into emptiness again.
Christ, I can’t hold my own when I’m alone, can I?
The next day, we’re facing off against Skellefteå, and I keep my head down as I head for the bench, clearing my mind. Nils and I are on the third line alongside another new guy, Axel, and I lean against the glass, watching and waiting for the puck to drop.
“Let’s do this,” Nils says, giving me a fist bump. The game begins and Skellefteå takes possession, racing straight for our end of the ice, but our defense holds their own and wrestles it back, passing it to our forwards.
Both teams dial up the intensity right from the get-go, and our first line is barely able to hold themselves up when the first change takes place. The game stays scoreless as our second line keeps up the momentum, matching our opponents almost equally in possession and shots on goal, but right when our coach is about to call for another change, one of Skellefteå’s forwards dekes out our defense and slaps a pesky shot on goal.
The buzzer sounds, which stings, but my line is called up, and I scale the boards. I hit the open ice with a crash and take off to my position on the left, with Nils close behind me. Axel is already battling at the boards on the right, and in the scuffle, he kicks the puck toward center ice. Nils scoops it up before getting intercepted, and he passes it to me at the last second.
I dash across the blue line, racing straight for the goal. A defenseman skates into my way, but I keep my speed up, essentially daring him to stop me. He hesitates, and a quickglance off to the right confirms that Nils is open, so I backhand the puck over to him which makes their defense change tactics.
Spinning around, I catch the last millisecond of Nils’s possession before he cracks the puck over the goalie’s shoulder into the net. The buzzer sounds and Nils is on me in an instant, wrapping me in a bear hug and yelling into my ear with extreme excitement. Dazed, I skate back to the Alvik bench while the first line gets back on the ice, and Nils keeps on shaking me like I was the one who scored.
“Holy shit, you’reepic,” he tells me between drags from his bottle. “I’m so glad we’re linemates.”
“You buried it, that’s the hard part.” I rip my helmet off to cool down and Nils sends a friendly squirt of water to the side of my head, pointing up at the Jumbotron where a slow-motion replay of our goal is unfolding. When I’m shown passing the puck, he lets out a whistle and the players sitting near me clap me on the back. I offer a wide smile back.
The first period ends with us still tied, and I don’t get a ton of ice time in the second. Both teams score again, and we enter the third period sweaty, exhausted, and determined.
After a short, scoreless shift a little after halfway through the period, I’m back on the bench, my legs burning. I’m still recovering when Coach changes the line again, and I keep my focus on the ice.
Then our center slams into a Skellefteå defenseman and gets hit with a two-minute penalty. Shit. The last thing we need is to be on the short end of a power play.
“Enlund, Norberg, get on the ice!”
I jerk my head up to see Nils climbing the boards and I jolt into action, clearing my head and tearing up the ice. No two plays are the same, I know that, but if Nils and I can wrangle another goal like we did in the first period, that’d be clutch.
Straddling the blue line, I receive the puck and slide into the offensive zone, maneuvering around a defenseman and making a beeline for the goal. Nils is right where he needs to be, open and ready, and I snap the puck over to him.
Out of nowhere, Skellefteå’s defense intercepts it, and an easy pass turns into a brutal battle for control. I skate in, ready for anything, when Nils locks eyes with me and leans away, the defenseman following his body to block the shot on goal.
And it’s a shot on goal that doesn’t happen. Nils flicks the puck away from the net, sending it over to me instead. He might be a mean sniper down the center, but I skew offensive, more than most wingers, and I can hold my own. No sooner than the puck hits my stick, I slap it at the corner of the goal, on the opposite side of where the sweat-drenched goalie is.
I hold my breath as the puck sails away, and I barely stop myself from collapsing when the net swishes and the horn sounds.
