Sugar and Ice - RJ Scott Page 0,27
the ice so much he was exhausted. Getting back into the locker room, we wore a defeated air, going through the motions and living up to our label of worst team in the whole freaking league.
Colorado was suited up, our backup, benched, and I genuinely thought that even with the whole emu incident that he would be put in goal. I think he’d expected it too.
Coach Carmichael paced around the logo in the center of the locker room, thin-lipped and tight with tension.
“Okay,” he began, and exchanged glances with Assistant Coach Anderson, who leaned back against the wall and nodded before he continued. “I actually saw some good work out there.”
I could feel the surprise in the room. Next to me Alex huffed.
“Four goals Andre let in,” he continued, and I felt so damn sorry for the kid who looked wiped out. “The first one, yeah, that was on him, he was too far out of his crease, and he knows it.” He glanced at Andre.
“Yes, Coach.” Andre sounded broken, as if it was all too much for him.
“Goal two, what the hell were you even doing that far back Alex?”
Alex blinked up at Coach, “I was—”
“Goal three, Vlad, Eli, you were screening so badly that Andre couldn’t get line of sight. Why was that?”
Vlad stiffened. “With respect—”
“And four, well, our penalty kill team, I mean, what the fuck, Ryker? Eli? Tate? Do we not run enough drills?”
By now we’d all come to realize he wasn’t actually looking for answers at all.
“Let Andre do his job,” He held up a board, a complicated mess of Os and Xs that made sense to all of us. “Vlad, the D, I want you away from him, stop blocking him, he doesn’t need your help with that, I want you chasing down their forwards, got it?”
“Coach,” All of the D-men replied as one. Captain or not, if Vlad had fucked up then he was happy to be told.
“JAR line, Tate, your line, they have a solid defense blocking your way, I’m switching you up, confusing the shit out of them, I’m putting Tate, Alex and Ryker out first, with the remaining fifty-two seconds of this penalty kill. I want to see speed, accuracy, and I want any penalty they might get, made deader than an emu.”
“I think you meant dodo,” Colorado piped up and deflated when Coach glared at him.
“Vlad?” he prompted.
Then it was Vlad’s turn to talk. I was sure he’d say something inspiring in as few words as he could. That was his way; he knew what to say and when to say it, that was why he was the captain and that was why we all listened to him. My eyes slipped south to the floor and back up again as I recalled the way he’d held me against the refrigerator, and I was instantly getting hard, which in a cup was damn uncomfortable.
“Do we want to finish at the bottom of the league this year?”
Silence, and then a soft chorus of noes, including me.
“Do we want to make it to the Stanley Cup Finals?”
This time the confirmations came faster, but I sensed doubt in the tone, and Coach frowned at Vlad. The Raptors making it halfway up the table would be something to aim for. I was good, Ryker was good, Alex, Sebastian, Colorado when he wasn’t being a complete asshole, we could get up there, we just needed faith.
“Do you want to beat this team?”
“Hell, yes,” Ryker snapped next to me, a little louder than everyone else.
Vlad nodded at him. “Clean. Play the game. Keep your eyes open. Do not crowd Andre. And most of all, get some shots on goal. Got me?”
The reply was a chorus of “Yes Captain!” and it was loud and purposeful. We knew what we were doing wrong, and it was time to go out and beat Calgary.
Of course, we didn’t make it easy on ourselves. We managed to cut their four-goal lead, two from me, two from Ryker, and a beautiful slapshot from Eli. We tied at five each, took it to overtime, but we all knew that Andre would be out of his element in goal. He tried so damn hard, but Calgary got that decisive goal and won the two points. Still, we left with a point for tying the game, and you bet it was the best feeling in the entire damn world. With all the high-fiving going on I thought I’d be able to do the same to