Playing the Part

15. is that all i get?

Everett

I've loved hockey my whole life. 

It's so surreal to go from rushing to finish dinner to watch the NHL with my golden retriever, Teacup (Gracie named her), to playing in front of thousands of people to watch. 

Even during the worst days of my life, there's nothing a hockey stick in my hand and being on ice that would not make it better. 

I live and breathe for hockey and that's how I feel when the linesman's hand goes down and I go for the puck. 

To say the Big Reds are huge is an understatement because holy shit, seeing them in real time is fucking unreal. 

Every player is at least six-four and we're over here looking like we belong in the little league. 

I pass the puck to Nick who's skating past the opponents at a godly speed. He tries for a shot on the goal but the goalie catches it in his glove. 

Before we know it, the Big Reds are charging toward us, number thirty-three - the right winger  - cross-checks Doncic, and the whistle blows. 

I skate over to Doncic, who's on the ice, clutching his ribs. "Hey man, you okay?" 

"I'm fine." He mutters and I gotta give it to him; he's one tough motherfucker. 

Number thirty-three begrudgingly skates to the penalty box and we take this opportunity to try score a goal. 

The puck flies in my direction and I race to the goal, trying for a backhand and the puck flies into the net. 

The crowd roars in unison and my teammates pile onto me. 

But we're far from over. 

With three minutes left on the clock, number thirty-three is out of the box and ready to serve injuries on a silver platter. 

Big Reds' left winger shouts as he gets passed the puck and skates toward our goal. He crushes the ice with a brutal slapshot and the puck flies over our goalie's shoulder and into the net. 

The buzzer sounds and we're tied. With two more quarters to go. 

I expected worse. 

We head into the locker room and Doncic is trying to hide he fact that he can't stand straight. He lifts up his jersey, revealing a plane of red bruises. 

"Oof, brutal hit, my guy." Leon winces at his injury. 

He ignores Leon and tilts his head back against the wall. 

"Where the fuck is the teamwork? James, you left Larson out there high and dry like you weren't even on his fucking team. And Van Kirk, get off your lazy ass and skate like an Elo player, god." He rubs his eyebrows in distress. "Now, I expect some unity here. I'm not asking for a lot; act like you're a team." 

I squeeze some water into my mouth, exhausted but ready to enter the rink again. 

The next quarter proves to be frustratingly uneventful. No goals were scored. 

I have to give props to our sophomore goalie, Perry, for taking on the Big Reds like he's getting paid for it. 

But at least we know one thing: the opposition is no where as agile as us. "We have to keep passing the puck. That's the only way to get to them." 

So entering the third quarter, the pressure is on. 

Leon gains possession over the puck and passes it to me. I avoid the fucking giants as best as I can before getting checked into the boards. But not before I slide the puck over to Nick who buries it with a wrist shot.