Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
My legs feel like I’ve climbed Mount Everest five times, but the adrenaline in my body tells me to push harder. We are in triple overtime in game seven of the Stanley Cup finals. The line changes that usually go forty seconds we are putting down to thirty seconds to give all of us a chance to rest. But it hasn’t been working. Both teams are fucking exhausted, but this is what you fight for all year. The Stanley Cup is somewhere in this building, just waiting to be hoisted up. The big question is, which team is it going to be?
“Change,” the coach yells, and I skate over to the bench, swinging my leg back over, my legs almost giving out when I sit down. I try to focus on my breathing, working to get it back to normal. I reach out, grabbing a green Gatorade bottle and spraying water in my mouth before looking up at the Jumbotron. There are two minutes and seventeen seconds left of the triple overtime. Both teams have given it all we have.
I lean forward, my eyes watching everything happening on the ice. The feeling you want so much to help and you want so much to be the one who helps bring your team to that place is like the biggest monkey on my back. My legs start to shake now with nervousness as another line change is done. “We are going to try something different,” the coach says, coming over to me as I sit next to my defense partner, Ben. “We are putting Grant in for Ben’s place.”
I look at Ben, who looks at me. “If there is anyone who will take my place, it’s going to be Cooper. He’s the best defensive player.” I nod, agreeing with him. This season has been the best of my life, if I’m honest. I finally found my footing, which is crazy since I’ve been with this team for eight years. I was drafted to the team at eighteen and picked fourth overall. I thought I would be drafted and then immediately put on the team. I wasn’t. You had to earn your spot, so for two years, I busted my ass to earn my spot.
Fighting for your spot is different than assuming you will have it. It makes getting on the team so much sweeter. Every single year, I trained hard and worked my ass off to make sure I belonged on the team. The whole team is filled with superstars, so I had to definitely keep up with them.
“Stone,” the coach yells for Dylan, who looks back at him. “I want your line on there with Monti and Grant.” A couple of eyes look back at the coach and then at each other. I’m sure everyone is wondering what in the world the coach is thinking. “Grant, you good to play back?” I’m sure the only thing on everyone’s mind is, don’t fuck this up.
“Yeah,” Cooper says as we get up and make the line change. Not fast enough because the other team skates into the zone. It takes a second for us to get into position, but not before they get a shot at the net. My eyes fly to the little round black puck. The whole time, I hold my breath, hoping if they do score, I’m not the one on the ice. You always want to be on the winning line, but you also never ever want to be on the line that gets scored on. Even though no one ever blames you, you have enough blame inside yourself to go around. Steven, our goalie, sticks his leg out, and it bounces off his pad. I quickly get to the puck first, and the five of us now hustle back toward the other end. Cooper playing back by me, with Michael, Dylan, and Xavier skating ahead of us.
I take my time to skate up, taking the puck out of the zone, looking over at Michael and passing it to him. The three forwards skate against the two defensemen in front of them. I stay back at the center ice until they get into the zone, making sure I’m on it if the puck is intercepted. Monti skates up right along Michael and Dylan. Cooper stays back with me on the opposite side. His eyes watch the play at hand. Michael passes the puck to Monti, but Dylan skates up and intercepts it, just like the play we did in practice a couple of days ago. He skates into the zone, rushing for the goalie. The three forward players are all around him, leaving Monti empty. Monti glides closer to the goalie, who is not even watching Xavier. He’s watching Dylan. He slides over to the corner to make sure he’s got it covered, but Dylan passes the puck so fast to Xavier that there is no time for the goalie to slide across to the other side. The puck hits the center on Xavier’s stick, and he slaps it toward the goal, making the goalie slide across the ice to the other side. Everything feels like it’s going in slow motion, the puck suspended in air as it flies to the back of the net. The horn fills the arena, but it’s drowned out by the crowd banging on the glass behind the net. I throw my stick down, and my gloves fly above my head as I scream at the top of my lungs. We did it! I can’t even think right now. Xavier is the first to jump into the air with Michael, who jumps with them. Dylan skates to the net to grab the puck before joining them, followed by Cooper and me.