Page 59 of Fall For Me
“Change! Petrov off! Goalie!” Dad roars.
Petrov cuts hard for the bench, and vaults himself over the boards. Sean swings a leg over the wall once Petrov clears, and drops down, driving for the crease.
“Two-one-two! Seal the wall!” Dad yells.
Aiden checks seventy-four before he can settle the puck, then Werchky takes away the reverse behind the net.
“Atta baby!” I yell.
Seventy-four panics and tries a weak-side chip up the boards again but fails. The puck slams into the blade of Cal’s stick and drops straight down inside the zone.
Cal snaps it to Jerome. Jerome passes it to Aiden. He fires off the shot, and my breath stutters.
Get in the net!
Bodies crash the crease. The puck ricochets off a shin pad, and kicks loose.
Shit!
I hold my fucking breath as Cal lunges, and pulls the puck to his backhand. He shoots. The goalie drops into a butterfly, sealing the post, and the puck stays loose.
Dammit!
There’s so much going on that I lose sight of the puck in the sea of players. Aiden dives, stretching his stick through a cluster of skates and jamming it toward the line.
The red-light flashes.
The horn blares.
Hell, yes!
Dad glances at me with a smile spreading across his face and I wink. He holds out a fist. “Your daddy taught you well, kiddo.”
“I know,” I say, giving his fist a tap.
I look up at the time clock. Twenty-eight seconds left in a tied game. We’re going into sudden death.
My heart races with nervous energy. Players gather around for the two-minute break, Dad’s eyes skimming over each of them. He’s analytical and can usually see a play before it happens. I guess that’s something I’ve picked up in the almost two decades he’s been coaching. He demands control and rarely hands the reigns over to any of his other coaches, so it catches me off-guard when he turns to me and quietly asks, “Sudden death. Who are you putting in?”
“Miles.”
I don’t even have to think about it. Cal’s the only one I trust to win a clean draw under pressure. If we start with the puck, we control the pace.
“Who else?”
“Werchky.”
Dad stands with his arms crossed, waiting for me to name my last player. I glance at Aiden and hesitate. He shoots water into his mouth, then tosses the little green Gatorade bottle back onto the bench, his eyes meeting mine. Normally I wouldn’t think twice about putting him in, but this is an exhibition game which means we do need to use it to see who else we can trust under pressure. My eyes cast over to Petrov, the new rookie. His stick handling is incredible, and he’sstupid fast. That’s why dad tried to play him in a six-on–five. I’m kind of curious to see what else he can do.
“Twenty seconds. I need a player, Hannah.”
“Give me a minute. I’m thinking.”
“We don’t have a minute.”
This is the best time to test out Petrov’s skills without it counting against us if he fucks up. I hate to lose—even when it doesn’t count—which is why I marched down here in the first place. But with Cal and Werchky there to back him up I bet?—
“Five seconds.”
