Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
And when we enter the rink at TD Garden the next day for our first regular-season game against New York, I’m confident.
I feel good. Pumped. The energy is high, and the crowds are loud.
Diedrich, Larsen, and I have started to find a rhythm that works. We still mess up, and it’s not smooth yet, but when we make a flawless play, I’m hit with that rush of adrenaline I don’t get from anything else.
I’m slowly starting to find my place here, becoming more comfortable with the team. I almost feel like the old me again. The guy who has his shit together.
I’ve also managed to keep a professional distance since Philadelphia, and Ezra’s been doing the same, but every now and then he’ll catch my eye, and I can’t stop myself from giving him a smirk. It’s too easy. Too fun.
I don’t want or expect it to get me anywhere other than under his skin.
The minute I hit the ice, I can feel it. The win. Normally I don’t like to get ahead of myself, but there’s something that feels so right, and it’s like the rest of the team feels it too. Right from the puck drop, we win possession, and then it’s like we can do no wrong.
Diedrich, Larsen, and I work together seamlessly, and even though New York is on their game, they’re no match for us. We manage a goal each before we enter the last period.
Other than one goal Ollie Strömberg gets past us in the middle of the second, our defense is equally tight. Ezra’s game is clean, and he doesn’t get sent off once.
At the next face-off, Diedrich takes control of the puck and sends it sailing into my blade. I fly up the open ice, and all that’s standing between me and my next goal is New York’s goalie. I can almost taste the next point, can feel the crowd’s cheers. It’s one and one as I cross the blue line, draw up close, and—
I’m clipped from behind. My skates fly out from under me, and I smack into the ice. My momentum almost sends me into the boards, but I pull up short, afraid to move for one second as I test out the damage.
Thankfully, everything seems to be working.
Kosik reaches me first. “You good, Hayes?”
“Yup.” I push myself back upright and shake out the arm I landed on. He slaps me on the shoulder, and we skate back to where Poulsen is being sent off the ice.
“Power play!” Ezra shouts as he skates past.
We’re already leading by two, but one more point will pull us far enough ahead that there’ll be no coming back for New York. We have a one-man advantage—we need to use this.
We take our line, and I face Ollie Strömberg, waiting on the puck drop. He’s a legend in the game for being one of the first out players in the NHL. I admire him.
But not today.
Today, he’s in my way.
Play starts, and the second Diedrich takes possession, I’m off. He passes to Kosik, back to Diedrich, to Larsen, who shoots a snapshot my way. I deke past Ollie, and as I’m about to line up my shot, Johansson blocks me. We fight for possession when I catch Ezra out of the corner of my eye.
I pass backward to him, and like he was expecting it the whole time, the second the puck hits his blade, he shoots. It sails straight past the goalie and hits the net.
The lamp lights up, and the crowd is almost deafening in response.
It’s all over for New York.
We’re unstoppable.
And as the clock finally runs down and we come out on top, I’m still riding the high.
When we leave the team box and head down the chute, I linger for the fans hanging merch over the side. Larsen and I sign a few things and pose for photos.
“Anton!” a teen girl shouts. “You’re my favorite.”
“Thanks, darlin’.”
Her face goes red. “This is for you.” She drops a furry stuffed cat over the side, which I catch and hold in the air, using it to wave to her as we leave for the locker rooms.
Larsen sniggers. “Don’t let Ez see that thing.”
I glance down at the cat. It’s black and fluffy with a red heart ribbon around its neck. “It’s a toy. He’s not that superstitious, is he?”
“Yup. He makes the rest of us look levelheaded.”
A slow smile creeps over my face as I tug the ribbon off. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to hide it the second we get back.”
Right in Ezra’s locker.
And luck is with me because when we reach the locker room, he and Diedrich have been called away for the press conference, so it’s all clear.
I put the kitty right in the center of his cubby so there’s no missing it.