Page 43 of My One & Goalie
“Sure, bud. Let’s do it.” Together, we move to the bench and join the rest of the team. All the kids are talking a mile a minute about hockey as Jackson and I lace up skate after skate.
“Okay, let’s hit the ice for a quick warm-up.” Jackson ushers the team onto the ice and together we lead them through our standard drills.
After ten minutes, the referee calls time and both teams exit the ice. Jackson and I corral the kids onto our bench and then he gives the pre-game pep talk.
“Alright, boys. Tonight’s game is our chance to get out there and show everyone what we can do. Communicate and do your best out there. But most importantly, have fun. Stars on three. One, two, three!”
“Stars!” The kids shout and high-five each other, amped up for the game. Jackson and I get the starting lineup onto the ice and then return to the bench.
Jett’s our goalie, and I flash him a thumbs up. He grins around his mouthguard and a mix of pride, excitement, and anxiety rushes through me.
I’m not used to being on this side of the bench, unless I’m in the penalty box. It definitely feels different.
The ref blows his whistle and both kids go for the puck, our guy winning the face-off.
“Yes!” Jackson pumps his fist in the air. “Great job!” he yells. The kids on the bench clap and cheer and now we’re in it.
Our center slaps the puck to his right wing, who passes to the left wing. They make it down the ice, close to the other team’s goal. But then the center from the Flyers skates in and steals the puck, charging down the ice.
“Cover him!” I shout to the wings as all the kids skate toward Jett. “Look alive, defense!”
Jett perks up, staying wide and low like I taught him. I steal a glance up at Rachel, but she’s singularly focused on her child. She looks as nervous as I feel, her hands clasped together.
“You’ve got this, Jett! Help him out, guys!” I scream to the defense. Both players move into position, flanking Jett as the two centers vie for the puck.
The Flyers take a shot and Jett hurls himself in front of the net, getting as wide as his little body can stretch.
“Yes! Great job, Jett! Atta, boy!” I cry, pumping my fist into the air.
The team sitting on the bench high-fives and Rachel’s cheering like crazy, beaming down at the ice. Jackson cycles the defense out, and the game moves on. The puck flies up and down the ice a few times, the clock ticking down, the score still zero-to-zero.
We get the puck back with a minute left, but the right defenseman on the Flyers—a tall, gangly kid—whips the discaway and takes off toward the net. With a strong crack, the puck flies down the ice and the left wingman has possession.
“Get moving, guys!” Jackson yells to the defense, but they can’t stop the tall kid. He takes aim and the puck flies into the net.
“One-zero!” the ref yells as the halftime buzzer vibrates.
Jett’s face crumples and he hangs his head as he skates in for halftime.
Jackson huddles everyone onto the bench, crouching low and leaning in.
“Don’t be down, boys. Plenty of time left in the game. Jett, great job defending the goal.”
Jett bites his lip, staring down his skates.
“We need more help from the offense in this next half,” Jackson continues. “I’m subbing in Tommy on goal, and Braxton and Aidan are wingmen. Stars on three!”
The boys chant and then the buzzer goes off and halftime’s over. Jett slides down to the end of the bench, his hands on his knees.
I saunter over, sinking down next to him.
“Hey, it’s okay, bud.” I pat his small thigh. “Everyone gets scored on. It’s all part of the game.”
He shakes his head, oversized gear rattling. “You don’t.”
I chuckle. “Uh, yeah. I definitely do. Getting beat in the net every once in a while is part of hockey. You’re doing great out there.”
“But I let the other team score. If we lose, it’s all my fault.” Tears well up in his big blue eyes and my chest squeezes tight.