“I got this. I got this. I got this. I got this.” Pushing off with my left leg, I skate to my right, blocking the opening with my shoulder right as the puck sinks into the net behind me.
Dammit!
Disappointment rings through me, and I smack the top bar lightly with my blocker out of frustration. I know I shouldn’t be upset; even though this is my first time playing goalie, I wanted to be perfect—a trait I’ve always had.
It’s what made me such a good skater all those years. I wouldn’t quit until I perfected a skill and was able to perform it ten times back-to-back. Or until my mom dragged me off the ice.
“Sorry.” I rub the bar and whisper, “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
My teammates skate over one by one, tapping me lightly with their stick, which I’ve seen players do in games to other goalies. I’ve always wondered if it makes the goalie feel better about letting one in. As of right now, maybe a little, but not much in the grand scheme of things.
“That was my bad,” Chet says. “I turned it over. Sorry, Mase.”
“Don’t apologize. I should’ve had it,” I mumble.
“Next time.”
He smiles, and I smile back, pride blooming in my chest.
I’ve missed this competitive feeling. Granted, I always performed alone, but I missed this fire, this drive. I haven’t felt it in years, and I wish more than anything that I could keep it.
The first period comes to an end with our team losing zero to one, but my determination has never been stronger.
During the second period, I manage to block five shots, my posts assisting with two of them. We also tie the game up one to one by the time the clock runs out, leaving us to head into the third period with a tie.
I want to win this. We have to win this. It might not seem like the biggest deal in the world, but it somehow has become the only thing I care about right now.
As I take my place on the ice for the final period, I have a hunger in the pit of my stomach for the victory. Forget about the switch with Mason. Forget about the injury haunting my return. All I want at this moment is to win this game.
Does it come with a trophy? A medal? A cash prize? No, and I don’t care. It’d come with the pride that I earned it. I needto prove to myself, in some weird way, that I still have that competitive edge.
“Here we go!” Chet shouts as he skates toward me, tapping me with his stick and giving me a head nod.
I nod back, mentally locking in for what’s to come.
The other team is good, built of two forwards and one defenseman—I did a little research on my phone before starting this period. This means they’re fast on their skates but might lack on defense, which I’m hoping will give Chet and our other teammates, Marcus and Zach—I learned their names during the water break after the first period—a chance to win this game.
But in order for them to succeed, I need to keep pucks far away from our net, and I certainly can’t afford to let another one in.
The opposing team wins the first face-off, and they skate toward me while my teammates set up for defense, skating backward into the zone.
Ross passes it to his teammate, Ryan, who dishes it over to Jake on the right wing. Ross cuts through the slot, and it’s like I can see the play in my mind before it happens.
Jake chips the puck at Ross, who is going to try to deflect it into the net, but I line myself up.
The puck hits Ross’s stick, and flies toward me, but instead of scoring, it bounces off my chest.
Sticks fly on the ice in front of me, some poking me as everyone fights for control of it. Before anyone can get it, I remember that I can hold on to the puck and stop the play.
I pounce on the puck like a cat on a toy, and the play slowly comes to a stop.
They reset on the face-off dot near us as the clock continues to tick down. Their team wins it again, and Ross attempts to shoot it straightaway, throwing it as hard as he can toward me.
Oh shit, that’s coming in hot!
Closing my eyes, I hold my glove up to where I think it will be and pray for the best.
I feel its weight flick my hand back, and a bolt of electricity shoots through me.
