Page 282 of Cross Check

It’s my own fault that I’m winded, but this is the most excruciating game of my career. It’s fast-paced with no icing calls to stop the clock. Every person on the ice is one of the most elite athletes in the world. By the end of the scoreless first period, my legs are tight and my lungs are having trouble finding air. Our athletic trainer uses a massage gun on my hamstring, and I grit my teeth through the pain.

It hurts, but it’s nothing compared to the ache of not having Amelia by my side.

Back on the ice in the second period, I start to find my rhythm. My shoulders loosen. My stick feels lighter in my hold. I’m bolder with my bursts of offense, not afraid to take a shot when I’m open. I miss, but it gives me the courage to try again in the third.

“Hanging in there?” Hudson asks, passing me his sports drink. I squirt some in my mouth then wipe my face with the back of my hand.

“Yeah. Felt better in the second period than in the first, and I’m feeling better now than I did in the second.” I stretch my neck to the side, glad when it cracks. “Did you see the boys?”

“I did. Can’t believe Mav got Sully to wear that shirt.” He laughs and gestures to Canada’s bench. “And there’s our boy, Easy E.”

“I don’t like playing against him. He’s a fucking bullet and way too fast.”

After a timeout, the game resumes. Ethan must have heard us talking about him, because he leads the offensive push for Canada. With an open path to the goal, he winds up for a backhand that slices through the air so beautifully, I swear I don’t even see it sink in the net.

I groan and hang my head while Canada celebrates. Coach switches the line, and it’s my turn to get back in. I’m inspired by Ethan’s goal, and I decide to take matters into my own hands. I work with Davis off a face-off win, kicking the puck back and forth as we enter the offensive zone. I see Thorne open to my right, and I shoot the pass over to him before Canada has a chance to steal the possession. He scoops it up and slaps it through the goalie’s knees, lifting his arms above his head when the horn sounds to signify the goal.

“Fuck yeah,” I yell, feeling the most alive I’ve been in days. “Hell of a shot, Foster.”

“Nice assist.” He pats my shoulder and knocks his knuckles on my helmet. “Let’s keep this momentum going.”

Both teams try to be the one to close out regulation with a win, but time expires, and we’re still tied at one.

“I hate overtime,” I say on the walk back to the locker room for the fifteen-minute intermission. “3-on-3? Sudden death? Talk about the highest stakes in existence. No fucking pressure or anything. At least I’m not going to be the one out there.”

“What are you talking about?” Coach looks up from his notebook. “You don’t think I’m putting you out there?”

“Uh, no? You have much better options for guys who cover the ice.”

“Not tonight I don’t. You’re going out there, Everett.”

“Jesus fuck.” I whimper and race over to my stall that’s next to Hudson’s. “I’m scared, Huddy.”

“Don’t be. You’re built for this, Grant. And at the end of the day, it’s just hockey.”

It’s just hockey.

He’s right.

The game and the sport I love are great, but when the dust settles and the lights go out, that’s all it is. Entertainment, a place to have fun. I might as well give it my best effort, because even if I fail, I’m still doing something incredibly cool.

“Okay.” I wet my lips and reach for my tape. “I’m ready to step up, Coach.”

He gives me a nod, and I spend the rest of the break locking in. I go through all the mental mantras I know, reciting the important ones and reminding myself I’ll have two teammates with me out there.

I don’t start the overtime period, but I am switched in after only a few minutes. I take the ice with Hudson and Davis, and I like the combination of the three of us. Canada goes for a shot that our goalie blocks, and Hudson scoops up the rebound. We spread across the ice, working alongside each other as we move and shift and switch positions.

Hudson passes to Davis who drops the puck to me. I shove it over to Hudson who doesn’t keep it for long after getting cornered against the boards. I take control of the puck, and when I line up to go one-on-one against Canada’s defender, I realize I’m looking into the eyes of Brady fucking Williams.

Guess even pieces of shit have the chance to play for their country.

I grit my teeth and keep my gaze on him as I move to my left. He tracks my movements, but instead of circling around the goal like he anticipates, I cut to the right. Williams trips over his skates and falls on his stomach, sliding across the ice and leaving me an open path to the goal.

I think of Amelia’s advice she’s given me over the years. I keep my wrists strong, and I take a chance on a slap shot that soars through the air. I hold my breath, letting out a scream when the puck lands in the net.

My gloves and helmet are off before I can even think. I throw them in the air and toss my stick to the side, making sure to step over Brady Williams on my way to the bench.

“That was for Amelia, you dumb fuck,” I say to him as I pass. “Enjoy your silver medal.”