The puck drops and I’m already moving, but Benedict, my opponent, is fast. I lean into him, using my shoulder to push him off the rubber, but we’re evenly matched. We fight for control, our sticks clashing, before he sweeps the puck back to one of his forwards. They waste no time advancing on our goal.
Fuck. I should’ve won that face-off.
I skate hard, but Kristiansen is there. He uses his massive size to force the puck carrier to the outside, where MacKenzie smashes him against the boards.
Hell yes. That’s what I’m talking about.
They battle along the boards, and Mac comes up with the puck.
He flips it to Ginny up top, and we reverse course, driving toward the Kings’ goal.
It goes back and forth like this for most of the first period, but early in the second, Hardy has a big hit, forcing a turnover. Ginny steals the puck, outskating his coverage to face the Kings’ defense two on one.
The kid has an incredible hockey IQ and seems to know how the defenders will respond, almost before they do. He dekes, and the one on the right glides closer, leaving the far side of the net exposed.
He’s so focused on Ginny, he doesn’t see me coming. I skate into position just as the rookie executes a perfect drop pass that all but lands on my blade.
A fresh burst of adrenaline floods my system as I wind up and take the shot, putting all my strength behind it.
The puck slices through the air. It’s got to be going ninety miles per hour, and it’s heading straight for the net.
Come on, baby.
The goalie lunges, and the puck rebounds off his glove. Disappointment flares, but Ginny is right there, batting the puck into the net with his stick.
Pride explodes in my chest.
Now that’s how you play hockey.
Ginny glides around the net, pumping his fist in the air, and when he reaches me, I throw my arms around his shoulders in a celebratory hug. “That was a nasty goal.”
Cheeks flushed, he grins and claps me on the back. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Kristiansen joins in the celly, and then we make our way to the bench for a line change, where the rest of the team is cheering.
My nerves begin to settle, replaced by cool confidence. We’re going to win this game. Everyone is playing well, Bouchard is a brick wall, and while the new lines aren’t as familiar as the old ones, McGinnis, Kristiansen, and I have good chemistry. With a little more practice, we could be unstoppable.
Things are finally going our way and the whole team seems to feel it. The energy on the bench is electric, and by the third period, we’ve got the momentum. We’re leading the Kings 2-0, but their fans are rallying, and in a desperate attempt to shift the momentum, one of their defenders cross-checks Ginny from behind, sending him crashing face-first into the boards.
“What the fuck?” Breathing hard, I skate for McGinnis, but he’s off the boards in an instant, shoving Stillman, the defender who took the cheap shot.
“You wanna go?” Ginny shouts. “Let’s fucking go.”
Oh, hell. Kristiansen gave him some self-defense pointers this week, but he’s by no means a skilled fighter.
“Aww, did Baby Glider get his feelings hurt?” Stillman throws out his arms in a taunting gesture. He’s clearly trying to intimidate the rookie, and it’s not a bad strategy given he’s got forty pounds on the kid. “Welcome to the NHL, pussy.”
Before McGinnis can respond, Kristiansen grabs Stillman by the sweater and spins him around. He hisses something I can’t hear, and then they both drop their gloves and square up.
Kristiansen doesn’t hesitate. He throws the first punch, clipping Stillman’s jaw. The defender retaliates, but his fist glances off Kristiansen’s shoulder. They trade punches, Kristiansen going for the face and shoulders while Stillman, with his shorter stature and arms, attempts to get in a few rib shots. Bash takes the hits, but they don’t slow him down. He clutches Stillman’s jersey in his left hand while delivering blow after blow with the right.
This is the Kristiansen I’ve played against for the last five years. The one I expected when news of his trade hit the wire. But knowing he’s fighting because he wants to—because he feels like part of the team—makes it that much sweeter.
Stillman’s helmet goes flying, and Kristiansen takes him to the ground, protecting the back of the other player’s head with his palm as he pins him to the ice. “You touch the rookie again, I’ll take your fucking head off,” he growls, shoving off the defender as the linesmen rush in.
They take both men by the arm and lead them to the penalty box, but not before Ginny thanks Kristiansen and we both give him a fist bump and a slap on the back.
Both benches are tapping their sticks, and several of our guys call out to Kristiansen in a show of support.