Page 105 of Over the Line

Out of nowhere, Liam swiped the puck right off the stick, and then he was barreling up the ice. There wasn’t a single Portland player between him and the netminder.

With only a few feet left between Liam and the crease, though, one of Portland’s defensemen caught up and reached out to poke-check the puck away from him.

Just before the defenseman would’ve relieved him of possession, though, Liam spun around and whipped the puck back toward the blue line.

Right onto Chris’s tape.

Chris’s one-timer flew past the defenseman, Liam… and the goaltender.

My kids and I were instantly on our feet along with everyone else in the arena, roaring as the goal horn blared. Far below us, Chris pumped his fist in the air just before his teammates were on him, hugging him and smacking his helmet. Then they were skating toward the bench for fist bumps—Chris, with Liam right on his heels.

Oh, hell, the emotions swirling through me in that moment. Pride. Guilt. Elation. Shame. My son had scored an incredible goal… assisted by the man he didn’t know I was this stupid for.

Chris’s goal gave Pittsburgh the lead and a surge of energy. Egged on by the crowd, they widened their lead by another goal before much longer. As time wound down, Portland tried to rally, managing another goal and closing Pittsburgh’s lead to one. With two minutes remaining, they pulled their goalie to bring out the extra attacker. We all spent ninety solid seconds on our feet, shouting our encouragement and trying not to die of heart failure as six Portland skaters tried to break through Pittsburgh’s defenses to get into the back of Barnum’s net.

Just as the clock ticked down to thirty remaining seconds, Temo did an open ice check on a player twice his size, knocking the man off the puck. The crowd was screaming as he broke away, puck on his stick, and then fired it down the ice toward Portland’s empty net.

I doubted anyone in the building heard the goal horn. Everyone in the partners’ box screamed and high-fived and hugged as if we’d been the ones marching toward victory down on the ice. The adrenaline and exhilaration were intoxicating…

…and so was looking at the Jumbotron just in time to see Liam’s sweaty, focused face as he skated up for a center ice faceoff. This was hockey, so even a two-goal lead in the final thirty seconds wasn’t a sure thing. They had to stay focused all the way to the end, and my God, did Liam set that example. Brow furrowed, stick twitching in his hands as he anticipated the ref dropping the puck.

The puck dropped, and Liam won the faceoff. He also shouldered the other center out of the way, and the crowd was again going wild. Instead of just cycling the puck and keeping it away from the other team until the clock ran out, Liam charged into the offensive zone. Chris and Temo were right behind him. A Portland defender tried to hit Liam the way Temo had hit the other player, but despite being bigger than Liam, the guy just bounced off him. Liam kept going as if nothing had happened. For a second, I thought he was going to pass to Temo, but then⁠—

The goal light came on again. The goal horn sounded over an elated and admittedly slightly shocked crowd.

“How the hell did he get it in?” Nick asked over the noise. “One second, he was skating, the next…” He gestured at the guys celebrating.

I laughed as I continued applauding. “Hockey.”

He nodded. Wasn’t that the truth. Things happened so goddamned fast in this sport, if you blinked, you could miss an entire play.

In this case, as we watched the replay, what we’d missed was a viper-fast backhand that caught the crowd, the goalie, and probably the laws of physics off-guard.

Liam’s line went to the bench. The second line came out to finish out the final eight seconds. We were all on our feet and cheering the entire time, even as Portland made a valiant attempt to get the puck and make a play. Craws snatched it away with four seconds to go, and he just skated around with it until the buzzer sounded.

“Wow.” Katie dropped into her chair, touching her chest. “That game was wild.”

“No kidding!” Charli exhaled. “I think I’d have a heart attack if I came to every game.”

“I sometimes wonder if I will,” I laughed.

Nick smirked. “You’d think they’d make old people get checked out before⁠—”

“Quiet, you.” I rolled my eyes. The kids all laughed, and I chuckled too.

There was no point in rushing down to the locker room. The guys still needed to shower, dress, do their media availability, and eat. They wouldn’t be ready for family members to come trooping in for a while yet.

While we waited, the stars of the game were announced. On the Jumbotron, three blank spaces appeared.

“Third star, from Pittsburgh,” the announcer called out, “with thirty-eight saves, number thirty-five, Chase Barnum.”

We all clapped as Barns’s face appeared in the third spot.

“Second star, from Pittsburgh, with one goal and two assists”—my son’s face appeared besides Barns’s—“number fifty-five, Christopher Kane!”

My face hurt from smiling as the remaining crowd roared and Chris skated out to salute them.

“And first star, from Pittsburgh, with two goals and one assist—your captain, number sixteen, Liam. Saint. Clair!”