Page 198 of Cross Check

“Fuck Atlanta,” I say, finishing the tape job on my stick. “Let’s do the damn thing.”

“Everyone loose?” Maverick calls out. “Feeling good?”

“Time to get the job done.” Connor grabs his helmet and pops to his feet. “It’s an honor to be here with you all, gentlemen.”

“Listen up, boys.” Coach strolls into the locker room. “It’s game seven. We have the advantage of being on home ice, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to let up on our aggression or take our foot off the gas. Our opponent has come out hot every single night, and we’ve consistently found ourselves down in the first period. We need sharper passes tonight and cleaner shots on goal. I need you to trust each other and know this group of guys has what it takes to go all the way.”

The locker room murmurs in agreement. I sit up, excited to get the night started. I love the grind of practice, but I love this more; the thrill of the moment and being on center stage when it matters.

“Three minutes until we’re going out there and proving every single person who has ever doubted us wrong. We’re leaving it all out there, okay? Empty tanks, full fucking hearts. A win takes us to the next round. A loss sends us on a four-month vacation. How this plays out is entirely up to you.”

“Hands in,” Maverick yells. “Family on three. One. Two. Three.”

“Family!” we yell in unison.

I jump up and down, buzzing with anticipation and excitement. Ethan talks to Connor in a low voice. Liam bites his jersey and mumbles under his breath. Hudson and Maverick huddle close, a silent conversation passing between them.

It’s the perfect way to head into what could be our last battle together. No one ever knows how the offseason will go. There could be contract extensions, but there could also be free agency moves. Some guys move on and find the next spot where they want to land. This roster might not ever play together again, and we file out of the locker room with our arms slung around each other.

The ice is smooth when we skate out of the tunnel, and we take our last few shots on goal. When the buzzer sounds, the hometown crowd roars. The starting lineup is introduced. I try to calm the last of my nerves during the national anthem, but a camera pans down our line. Amelia said she’s watching—she’s probably glued to the television in my living room—and it makes me toss a smirk at the camera.

After one more team huddle, the puck drops, and away we go. The game is a bloodbath from the start, both teams racing across the ice at breakneck speed. I swear my blood is humming from how loud the crowd in the arena is cheering on every possession, and I feel alive.

But then the penalties start.

Ethan is called for slashing and gets sent to the penalty box for two minutes. Connor is whistled for boarding soon after, and we miraculously survive both penalty kills without giving up a goal.

With two minutes to go in the first period, I accept a pass from Hudson and kick the puck over to Maverick, watching as our captain attempts a wrist shot that’s less than an inch shy from flying into the net.

“You’ll get the next one, Mav,” I say on our way to the bench to switch lines. “Keep your chin up.”

“Been off all night.” He groans and climbs over the boards. “I need to focus.”

With a minute left in the period, I stand with the rest of the team when Connor lines up for an open shot on net. Atlanta’s goalie is quicker, anticipating the movement of the puck and stopping it with his glove.

“Back to the locker room to refuel,” Coach says when the buzzer sounds. “We’ll see if we can find something that works in the second period.”

We don’t.

Both teams are called for multiple penalties, and nobody scores. Each side’s defense is too damn good, and I’m gassed when I sit on the bench and down half my sports drink.

“Damn. Is this how you feel every night, Huddy?” I pant, hanging my head between my legs. “Like you’re seconds away from collapsing because you’re an old man?”

“Watch your tone, Everett.” He wipes his face with a towel. “I’m schooling you out there.”

It makes me laugh and reinvigorates my depleted energy. Back on the ice, I start playing more aggressively. Less passing, more attempts to score. I get close, my backhand shot bouncing off the goalie’s blocker, and I’m disappointed in myself when we break for the second intermission.

Our rest time passes in a blur. Our equipment manager does a lap around the room, making sure he has all the gloves on the drying rack. Lexi tapes Hudson’s wrist and moves to Connor when he complains about a twinge in his knee.

“Hey.” Riley sits next to me and smiles. “You look great out there tonight.”

“Thanks, Mitchy. I feel like I’m a half second late on every possession, but there’s plenty of time left.”

“You know what to do. Trust your instincts.” His prosthetic leg bumps against my hockey shorts. “I’m proud of you, Grant.”

“And I’m proud of you. Having you in the locker room has been a big help.” I pat his thigh and rest my head on his shoulder. “We’re lucky to have you here.”

“You all know I’m not usually one for words,” Coach starts, and everyone quiets down. “I want you all to know you’re doing everything right tonight. Our effort is there. Our defense is there. We’re taking good shots on goal. Great shots on goal. I don’t want anyone to get discouraged, okay? The last forty minutes don’t matter. Forget about them. We’re going to focus for the next twenty.” He pauses. “I want each of you to take a second and close your eyes.”