Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I can’t let Morris get to me.
But I need to find a way to get to him.
I turn to Jacobs. “When we get back out there, put one in the net.”
He rolls his eyes. “Gee, why didn’t I think of that?”
“No, I’m serious. They’re too focused on me. Use the weakness, slip by them, and put it in the fucking goal. I need a face-off with Morris.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“He’s trying to get in my head. I’m gonna give it right back to him.”
He holds out his glove for me to fist-bump, and a few minutes later, our chance happens. As soon as I hit the ice, Vermont’s defense comes for me.
I trust my teammates to seal the deal, and with me leading UVM on a wild goose chase around the rink, it happens faster than anticipated.
Then I’m there, face-to-face with Morris. He scowls but all I do is smile.
“I’m sorry your mother didn’t cuddle you enough as a child. No need to send your goons after me.”
His scowl doesn’t let up. “Isn’t that what Zach did? Yeah, I know you’re his best friend’s brother. That’s what the last game was about, right?”
The ref tells us to get in position. I wait for him to put his stick down first and then take my spot.
“I’m Zach’s boyfriend, dickhead. That’s what the last game was about.”
“Oh.” Surprise flashes in his eyes behind his visor. He knows I know what he did to Zach. The whole story. He’s momentarily distracted which gives me my chance.
It’s all about the mind games, and I just threw Morris off. Unfortunately, his goons are still after me.
All it does is make me skate faster and shoot harder.
I play some of the best hockey of my life, and after scoring a hat trick, the other team realizes they should be focused on trying to get on the board.
They push back and manage to get two goals past us.
By the third period, I’m more tired than I’ve ever been during a game. I’m flagging, the adrenaline is dying, and I think it’s a team-wide state.
There are games where it’s so easy it feels like I’m not even breaking a sweat, but when the game is as important and hard fought as this one, it wears us down.
We’re two ahead, but this is still anyone’s win to take.
All we have to do is hold on in this last period, but as we hit the locker room for intermission, it’s obvious we’re all flailing.
After some water and pep talks half of us don’t listen to, the coach pulls me up as the others head down the chute.
“I didn’t want to tell you because I thought it might affect your game.”
“Tell me what?”
“Just trust me when I say to keep stoking the flame inside you. You’re playing the best game of your entire college career, and this is your moment.”
I want to argue I’ve scored more goals in one game before, but he must sense that tickling the back of my brain.
“You’re not only scoring; you’re showing great defensive skills. You’re basically an agent’s wet dream right now. Don’t fuck it up in the third.”
“Agent …”
Coach holds up his hands. “I didn’t say anything. And I’m definitely not telling you I think you and … the agent who is not out there would be a great fit. Don’t let the exhaustion tear you down now.”
There’s an agent in the crowd? It’s not the first time I’ve been approached, and I try not to think about which firm the agent might represent. I’m not trying to be selfish when I say I want a big name, someone known in the industry. Someone with direct connections to the NHL who could sell me as the next big star.
The ones in the past have promised the AHL, and hey, if that’s all I can get for now, I’ll take it. But I want someone who believes in my talent and will fight to get me on an NHL team next year.
The pressure of doing well does its job in giving me a second wind, but Vermont comes out refreshed as fucking daisies.
What’s in their Gatorade?
I try to block everything out and do what I do best.
There’s no Morris.
No Zach.
No agent.
It’s me, my skates, the smell of the ice and sweaty hockey pads, my stick, and a puck.
That’s it.
Vermont scores.
Motherfucker.
We can’t let them tie up the game.
This is what athletes thrive on. The thrill of the chase. The taste of the win.
Vermont gets desperate and sloppy. One of their defensemen checks me after I’ve passed the puck, giving us a power play.
Two-minute penalty.
Now’s my chance.
I use every second to my advantage, scoring another goal and setting up a perfect play for Jacobs to send the puck sailing past the goalie for the second time in one hundred twenty seconds.