by K R Collins
“I can’t replace X. He’s—” Spitz waves his hand around as if to encompass everything Delacroix brings to the team.
“You can’t,” Sophie agrees. “No single player can. It means we all step up to fill in the gaps. You’ll take top pairing minutes every game and the forwards will play better defense. We’ll push the other team to the outsides and make sure Lindy has a fighting chance.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It isn’t.” She stacks cold cuts on her own sandwich. “We still have a lot of season left and it means we’ll lose games and we’ll have losing streaks, and we’ll make silly mistakes, but we need to put those things behind us. They’re flukes, not our identity.”
Spitz still doesn’t look convinced.
“One shift at a time,” she tells him, and his lips quirk up in a smile before he smooths his expression out, guilty, as if she’ll think he’s mocking her. It’s a hockey platitude, but there’s a reason it’s used so much. “We can’t think about the rest of the season. Right now, even thinking about a whole game is overwhelming. We play one good shift. Then another and another until we’ve played a whole period. Then two periods. Then a game. It’s slow and it’ll be hard, but this is a team built to succeed.”
Sensing he needs a break, Sophie opens the fridge. “What do you want to drink?”
“Gatorade. Water doesn’t taste like anything.”
She grabs three Gatorades and a water and sets them in front of the bar stools. “There’s nothing wrong with water. It’s neutral, like beige. Everything goes with it.”
Spitz looks around the apartment, the living room walls bare except for the TV and the gray couch with two cream-colored pillows. The teal ones are hidden in the ottoman. “Your decorating scheme suddenly makes a lot more sense.”
“You don’t even have a place of your own,” she says as she finishes making her sandwich. “You aren’t allowed to judge.”
“I had an apartment in Manchester. I lived with two other guys and our place was nicer than this.”
Sophie arches her eyebrows.
“Decorated nicer. It definitely wasn’t cleaner.”
“Here’s my question,” Teddy says as they warm up for their game against DC. “How come Cleveland is the Presidents and DC is the Founders?”
“Beats me,” Theo answers.
“You’re American. You should know these things.”
“Like you know everything about Canada.”
They’re bickering good-naturedly, something they wouldn’t have been doing even two days ago. Sophie’s relaxing into their argument, a smile tugging at her lips when Matty skates over. Immediately, the smile drops off. She doesn’t want him thinking she isn’t taking warm-ups seriously.
“Seven US presidents were born in Ohio,” he says. “Virginia had eight, but they don’t have a hockey team.”
“History boner,” Merlin whispers, loud enough for Matty to hear him.
“You’re from Massachusetts. You should know your American history.”
“I know enough to know DC shouldn’t be the Founders. Massachusetts is the only reason we even have a country.”
“Oh, here we go,” Nelson mutters as Matty puffs up and defends his home state of Pennsylvania.
Teddy leans against the boards, grinning, as the team debates if Ben Franklin would’ve made a good president and whether it would be more ridiculous for a turkey or a condor to be the national bird of America. This is exactly what their team needs, a bit of light-hearted bickering to keep them loose and remind them this is fun.
Once the puck drops, they’ll be all business.
Teddy has the start for them tonight. It isn’t Lindy’s fault they were lit up against Cleveland—everyone is to blame—but Lindy bears the brunt of the loss. He also bears the brunt of the punishment. She can’t help but remember last year when Coach Butler scratched a bunch of players after a bad game.
She wasn’t scratched then, but Coach did scratch her later, keeping her out of the lineup to teach her a lesson. She wouldn’t put it past him to do it again. But for right now, it’s Lindy who is at the far end of the bench, ball cap pulled down low over his eyes.
Sophie taps Teddy’s pads as he hops into the net to face a few warm-up shots. “You’ve got this.” She knows it isn’t easy for him playing backup. He only plays a handful of games, expected to be sharp on a moment’s notice, and every game he’s given is one taken away from Lindy. She thought she wanted to be a goalie once. She’s glad she isn’t.
But Teddy grins at her as if there isn’t any pressure on him at all. “Of course I do. Didn’t you hear? The Founders are phonies.” His eyes crinkle behind his mask as he smiles.
On Sophie’s first shift, she bats the puck out of midair, catches it on her stick, and puts it on goal for a shot attempt which is swallowed up by the goalie. Last game, the puck would’ve bounced over her stick and been picked up by the other team. She didn’t score but she made a good play and got them an offensive zone faceoff.
She takes her seat on the bench and Spitz bumps his knee with hers. “Good shift,” he says.
She flashes him a smile. “Now we have another one.”
They enter intermission tied at zero. For a team who has been bleeding goals recently, it isn’t a bad start.
Sophie makes sure to sit next to Spitz in the locker room. She breaks off a piece of granola bar and offers it to him. He holds up his own snack so she nods and leans back against the smooth wood. “You had a bunch of good shifts there in the first.”
“You too.” There’s a confidence in his shoulders she hasn’t seen in a while. “It’s like you said. I concentrate for a minute or so, get a break, then do it again. It’s easier when I break it up.”
Focusing on one shift at a time can sometimes make the game seem to stretch forever, but it’s a good strategy when they’re stuck in a rut like this. All she has to do is play well for forty-five seconds, maybe a little longer. On the bench, she reviews what she did well, what she should focus on next time, and waits for her next opportunity. So far, it’s a working strategy.
She talks up the high points of Spitz’s period, because he’s still looking spooked at the big jump in minutes and pressure. She highlights his exit passing, compliments the way he hangs back so Kuzy can jump in on the rush, and she notes his good gap management when defending off the Founders’ rush.
Then Coach Butler enters, and she quiets so he can have the room. He’s stingy with his praise, but Sophie chooses to focus on the fact there is something to praise. He emphasizes what they did well, reminds them to continue doing it before he moves on to the improvements they need to make.
At the end of it, there’s doubt lurking in Spitz’s eyes again. She nudges him, trying to gently knock it out of him, but he only offers her a tight smile before finding Kuzy so he can quiz the older defenseman on how to be better.
Sophie finds Merlin who channels his discouragement into snide comments. “Oh, sure. No problem. Do everything we did then more.”
“We can do it,” Sophie says. She notes his eye roll and the way he doesn’t quite face her as he does it. She bumps his shoulders with hers, forcing him to pay attention. “I mean, unless you’re afraid of a little hard work?”
Predictably, Merlin juts his chin out. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
She fights her smile. “Give me a hard first shift then. We get behind their D and go to work.”
“Can I invite Witzer to the party too?” Already, Merlin is looser, and they sandwich Witzer between them on the bench when they reach ice level. He nods as they detail their plans for their first shift. When Coach takes his place on the far end of the bench, Sophie talks a little louder so they don’t look to him. He coaches with a mixture of guilt and fear and yelling and sometimes it’s what they need. Right now, it isn’t.
Matty’s line secures them an offensive zone faceoff. Sophie runs through the plan with her linemates one last time as they take the ice. Then she s
quares up against her opponent and takes a deep breath. For their plan to work, she needs to win this faceoff.
She does.
Witzer takes the puck behind the net, drawing two players to him. He passes the puck up the boards to Sophie who battles against a Founder in order to keep possession. She absorbs a hit from a second player before she’s able to work the puck free and up to Theo. They cycle the puck and generate three shots before the goalie falls on top of the puck for a whistle.
Sophie’s line switches out for Peets’, and she bumps his glove with hers as they pass each other. “Your turn.”
He pauses for a moment before he nods and skates over to the faceoff dot. Sophie sits at the far end of the bench and her linemates sit on either side of her. “I want the same thing from you next shift.”
Merlin, breathing heavy, picks up a water bottle. He sprays some on his face and takes a drink. “What’s gotten into you?”
“We’re winning this game,” she tells him.
There’s less than a minute left in the period when Theo winds up for a shot. The puck hits the goalie in the chest, but he can’t trap it with his glove so Sophie tries to knock it into the net. He kicks out, but she grabs the puck before it can skitter harmlessly away. She’s shoved and cross-checked, and she slides the puck through a maze of legs and sticks to Merlin. He slaps at the puck, and the goalie makes another save, but he still can’t cover up.
Merlin whacks at the puck again and then again. Finally, he shoves the blade of his stick at the puck and pushes it over the goal line.
Immediately, a whistle is blown. The official has his arm up in the air, and Sophie backs out of the crease before the scrum really starts. She finds Merlin and throws her arms around his shoulders. “I guess you had more in you after all.”
“Are you being smug about my goal?”
She laughs and facewashes him before stepping back so Theo and Kevlar can pile on him.
She catches Spitz’s eye as she returns to the bench.
One shift at a time.
They win 3-1, and the team leaps off the bench as if they won Game Seven in the Cup Finals. They rush Teddy’s net, fighting over who can pat his helmet first. Their good mood carries into the locker room as the guys laugh and mime their favorite plays from the game and plan where they’re celebrating tonight.
Witzer playfully punches Kuzy’s shoulder and weaves around him and punches the other. Kuzy wrangles him into a headlock and waves Spitz over to help as Witzer tries to break free. On the other side of the locker room, Garfield and Nelson communicate in their half-telepathy, half-facial expressions code which has made them such dominant linemates. Matty wriggles his way between them and they cheerfully give him shit for his empty netter.
Sophie doesn’t think things can improve any more. But X crutches in, and the entire room lights up and chants his name as if he scored the empty netter to seal the win. He tries to look grumpy for all of two seconds before he grins and whacks Matty’s shins with one of his crutches.
She’s still smiling when the media pour in, invited to the locker room today so they can see how high everyone’s spirits are.
“It’s only one game,” Marty Owen says.
Her smile brightens even more. “It’s how we’re going to do this, one game at a time.”
Chapter Ten
THE WIN AGAINST DC snaps their seven-game losing streak, and they board the plane for Denver, determined to put together back-to-back wins. This will be Sophie’s first time in Denver since her draft. Landing in Denver International and later, stepping into the Boulders’ stadium, brings back memories she’s done her best to keep down.
Her draft will always be a mix of emotions for her; the elation of being the first woman drafted, the cold fear on the first day when her name wasn’t called, and the hot, burning anger when she was picked last. She spent all of last year telling reporters she didn’t care about draft order, she was glad for the opportunity to prove herself, but like a lot of things she tells the media, it isn’t strictly true.
She deserved to go higher. Setting records her rookie season and earning herself the Maddow Trophy as the regular season point leader wasn’t enough to quiet the doubters. It wasn’t even enough for everyone to admit she was the best rookie. She knows Dima worked hard for the honor, but she worked harder. She always works harder and what does she have to show for it?
Right now, the worst record of any team in the League. Seattle is higher in the standings than them which is fucking embarrassing.
Her thoughts churn in her head as she laces up her skates. The seven-game losing streak lurks in the back of her mind along with last summer. Maybe she isn’t as good as she thinks she is. She knots her laces tightly and looks around the room for X. He’s been with Concord since the beginning and it feels as if he’ll still be there at the end. He’s the one who’s seen everything, who reminds her to breathe because if he’s battled through tough season after tough season, then she can make it through one game.
But X’s stall is empty, and her stomach drops out on her. Merlin goes through his own pregame warm-ups, oblivious to how unsettled she is. She needs someone to help settle her. A hand on her knee or her shoulder, someone to crack a joke.
Instead, she takes the ice for warm-ups, and the crowd chants, “Two-two-four! Two-two-four!” as loudly as they can.
Matty secures an offensive zone faceoff, and Sophie’s line is sent over the ice. It’s her first shift of the game, and Denver counters with their top line. Anthony Sinclair, their captain, takes his place across the dot from her. He was a graduate of The Weston School, same as Hayes, and the banners in The Weston School’s rink all had his name on them.
In between setting records for most fights and most penalty minutes, he scored a few goals and even managed a championship. Years in the NAHL have made him tougher, and he sneers at her as she adjusts her grip on her stick.
She wins the faceoff, but he slashes her wrists in the process, hard enough to sting. She glares at him, and she almost misses a pass from Witzer. She rims the puck around the boards to Merlin’s waiting stick. Sinclair shadows her as she drifts closer to the net. He knocks her into his d-man who scowls and knocks her back.
She skates up to take a pass from Kevlar. Normally, she’d hold the puck for a few seconds to survey her options but Sinclair is right on her, and she has to make a split-second pass. It’s almost picked off, but her team manages to hold on to possession. Two passes later, she has the puck behind the net, and Sinclair shoulders her into the glass.
By the fourth time he’s rammed her into the boards, Sophie has a pretty good idea of how this night will go. This time, the puck is long gone, but he holds her there because he can and she doesn’t have any leverage to shove him off with.
“How long until one of your boys comes to your rescue?” he asks.
Right now, “her boys” are streaking up the ice on a four-on-four. She twists, trying to dislodge the bigger player. “How long until Lenno gives up his first goal?”
Sinclair laughs and gives her one last shove before he takes off down the ice. She scrambles to follow.
They start the second period down 0-2, but it isn’t an insurmountable deficit. It felt like it entering intermission, but Matty preached patience and discipline, Coach Butler outlined how they can be better, and Sophie’s ready for the next twenty minutes.
Her first shift is a scramble in the defensive zone. Pickard winds up at the point, but Theo drops down to block his shot, and the puck hits his shin pad and skitters away. Sophie sprints for the puck. She’s the first to reach it and she takes off down the ice, blowing past Pickard and even Kirkland who dropped back to cover his d-partner.
Kirkland turns and skates after her, coming up on the inside to try to put himself between her and the net. But Merlin streaks up the far wing, a two-on-one, the kind of play they’ve practiced hundreds of times.
Lenno stays where he is, waiting to see which way his d-man will go. Kirkland sh
ifts to the passing lane so she can’t slide the puck to Merlin as if he’s the bigger threat. Lenno pushes off his goal line to challenge her.
She dekes around him and taps the puck into the net.
“Ha!” Merlin points to her and shoulders through Kirkland to reach her. “He didn’t think you could put it in.”
She taps his helmet. “Thanks for being a good distraction.”
“Distraction?” He puffs up, mock offended, and she laughs as Witzer and their d-men join the celebration.
The score is stubbornly 1-2 after Matty hits the post twice. On the other side, Lindy has three highlight-reel-worthy saves, and Kevlar is living up to his name, having blocked two shots on the same shift.
Sophie’s across the dot from Sinclair again, and his face has somehow gotten even uglier as he smirks. “Trying real hard to win.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s the point of the game.”
He leans in with a nasty grin. “I heard they pass you around after.” He waggles his eyebrows, meaning clear, and Sophie jerks back, surprised. It’s a mistake, because his smile only grows.
He wins the faceoff.
She isn’t a stranger to people talking shit during games. It’s hockey so she’s been called a wide range of names and accused of sleeping with everyone from her team’s enforcer to the owner of her team to the Commissioner. It happened when she was a kid and got worse when she went to high school. For some reason, she thought it would be better in the NAHL.
But when Matty scores with a minute left in the second to tie the game 2-2, Sinclair points down the benches at her. He doesn’t even have to say anything. Her shoulders draw up, and she hates herself for giving him the reaction he wants.
