Page 71 of Campus Fake

Then he tried to do too much.

Instead of dumping it in or making the simple play to the point, he tried to cut to the middle and deke the defenseman. The D-man read it, poked the puck free, and Colorado transitioned the other way in a two-on-one.

I squared up to the shooter, cutting down the angle, and when he passed across to the trailer, I pushed off hard and slid across, getting my pad down just in time. The puck deflected into the corner and the whistle blew for an icing.

Eric was already back on the bench when I looked up. His head was down. I knew he wanted to prove he belonged and felt like he’d just fallen short, but we’d all played poorly at one time or another. None of us had forgotten how bad Drew played after Rory had first showed up.

Shit happened. It was how you turned it around and kept pushing to be better that mattered.

The first period ended 1–0 in our favor. In the locker room, Coach made adjustments. He told Eric to simplify his game, which was exactly what he’d said before the game started. Eric took it without argument.

In the second period, Colorado came out harder. They scored twice in four minutes—a deflection off a skate that I had no chance on, and a snipe from the slot where their center picked the top corner over my glove. I tipped my mask to the ceiling and exhaled.

Fuck, I hated when they got past me.

Our student section started a chant to get us going, and Drew and Liam gave each other a look that I knew too well.

A few minutes later, Liam fed him on a cross-ice pass, and Drew wound up from the left circle, ripping a slap shot that beat the goalie clean. Tie game. Drew skated past Harper, flexing his arm and making her laugh and shake her head.

Midway through the second, Coach sent Eric’s line out on a key shift. We were in a grind, cycling the puck deep in their zone, and the third line needed to keep the pressure on while the top six rested.

Eric parked himself in front of the net which was smart. He was big enough to be a presence there, and screening the goalie was a thankless job that won hockey games. The puck came back to the point, and our defenseman wound up for a shot. Eric held his ground while the goalie tried to look around him, and he took a cross-check to the kidneys without flinching.

The shot went wide, but the rebound kicked off the end boards to Eric’s stick. He had a half second to react, and he didn’t try anything fancy this time. He swept the puck toward the net where it banged off the goalie’s pad and trickled across the line.

Eric’s linemates swarmed him. He looked stunned for a second, like he couldn’t believe it had gone in, and then his face split into a grin that reminded me so much of Sam that I glanced to where I knew she was sitting in the stands. She had the same wide smile on her face as she cheered on her brother.

On the bench, Liam grabbed Eric’s helmet and shook it.

Eric was still grinning when he sat down, clearly riding the high of his first goal for CFU. His eyes found the stands—looking for Sam, I was sure—and he sat a little taller when he saw his sister cheering for him.

The third period was a war. Colorado threw everything they had at us and kept me busy. There was a breakaway that I stacked the pads on, a point shot through a screen that I blocker-punched into the corner, and then a scramble in front of the crease where three of their players were hacking at loose pucks and I covered it with my glove while bodies crashed into me.

The clock ticked under two minutes, and one of our defensemen got called for hooking. Drew slammed his stick on the ice. “Are you kidding me?”

Colorado went on the power play with a one-goal deficit and nothing to lose. Coach sent the penalty kill unit out and Eric was on it—a decision that surprised me until I remembered how he’d planted himself in front of the net earlier without flinching. Coach needed bodies willing to get in shooting lanes, and Eric had already proven he’d take the punishment.

Colorado’s power play was organized. They cycled the puck around the perimeter, probing for seams, patient enough to wait for the right look. I tracked the puck and the players, looking for any hint of where they might shoot it. Their center fired from the slot and I made the save, but the rebound was alive, bouncing toward the open side of the net.

Eric dove.

He threw his body across the crease and blocked the puck with his shin, sending it skittering to Drew, who cleared it the length of the ice. The buzzer sounded two seconds later with us still in the lead.

The guys mobbed me and Eric, showing him as much love as they would anyone else on the team because even though he was still new, he’d proved his worth.

He was a Lumberjack now for sure.

After the game, I was one of the last ones out of the locker room. Eric was waiting in the hallway, freshly showered, with his gear bag over his shoulder. Sam was with him, her hand on his arm, talking animatedly about his goal. Her whole face was lit up as they talked and my chest warmed. I wasn’t kidding earlier; as long as he kept that smile on her face, he and I were good.

“Your boyfriend made an insane save in the third,” Eric said to her, a little awe bleeding through the casualness he was trying for. “I thought for sure that breakaway shot was going in.”

“He does that.” Sam slid her arm through mine and leaned into me. Her warmth seeped through my jacket, and I couldn’t help but stare down at her, once again feeling like the luckiest man alive, before focusing back on her brother.

“Good game, Eric.”

He adjusted the bag on his shoulder. “Thanks, Gordy.”

He said good night to Sam—she hugged him, long and tight, and told him she was proud of him—and then he headed to the parking lot.