Thin Ice

This Isn't A Romantic Comedy; Let Me Out Of This Closet!

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Excuse the mistakes

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“20… 19… 18…”

I whispered the seconds as they remaining time in my penalty ticked away. My hands rested lightly on the top of the boards, and I was bouncing on my skates. Sitting in the penalty box for the past two minutes had been painful. The play had mostly been in our end, and my teammates were tired and struggling, and it was my fault for getting a checking penalty.

However, my choices had been to clear the kid on the breakaway or let him get a shot on net. Since this kid had scored the only two goals for the opposing team, I’d chosen the former option. Coach Hannover had approved, which made me feel better, but I was still mad at myself for not catching him in the first place to avoid the breakaway all together.

I looked across the ice where our bench was, and I waved at Coach Hannover to try and get his attention. However, he was too focused on what was going on in our zone, and he didn’t notice me. I figured it was better to go to the bench, since we already had two defensemen on the ice.

“7… 6… 5…”

In the final seconds, one of our defensemen managed to pass the puck up to the waiting Dane. The penalty clock hit zero, and I jumped over the boards and landed firmly on the ice. I started to skate across the ice towards the bench, but before I got far, I realized I was in the prime position for a give-and-go from Dane.

"Dane!" I yelled, slapping my stick on the ground to get his attention, "Dane! I'm open!"

Dane swung his head around to find the voice calling to him, and when he saw that it was me, his eyes narrowed. I watched in shock as he completely ignored me as he kept battling through the swarm of players from our opposing team. Dane had intentionally held the pass when I’m sure he knew the play would’ve been better had he just passed it to me.

I had no choice but to skate towards the bench where my coaches were waving me over, and as I stepped onto the defense end of the bench, there was the unmistakable sound of the puck hitting the metal frame of the net. I didn’t have to turn around to know that Dane had scored; the cheers that erupted from the bench told me everything I had to know.

This game had been pretty close, with each team getting only a few shots. Until now, we’d been tired at zero-zero, and the air was thick with tension. Dane’s goal the first of the game, and our very first of the tournament, and it put us ahead. As happy as I was that we were now winning, I was also silently brewing about Dane’s obvious jilt.

“Welcome back to the bench, Rogers,” Coach Hannover called, and I looked towards where he was standing at the center of the bench.

“Thanks,” I deadpanned, and Coach Hannover nodded.

He paused for a moment, looking at me, and then he said, “That was a smart check, kid.”

“Thanks,” I repeated, in the same dead, flat tone as before. Coach Hannover frowned at me before sharing a confused look with Coach Marshall, and then he shook his head and returned his focus on the game. I grabbed one of the communal water bottles from the shelf in the boards and squirted some water in my mouth in an attempt to shake off what had just happened and get my head back in the game.

The effect was disappointing.

*

We’d managed a win.