Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 26365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Everybody holds still as the referee lifts the puck over the red circle.
This is my favorite part. The second or two of frozen tension before the puck hits the ice and everything explodes into action.
It always feels like a grenade dropping down.
Calm, calm, and then BOOM.
The puck drops and Sebastian battles the other center for it. It slips back to the right and Svensson scoops it up.
He does a good job of killing time with the puck. He wastes about seven seconds before the other team gets it. Nine seconds left until McKinstry is back on and we’re no longer outnumbered.
The Icebreakers bring it back into our zone and eventually shoot on the net. Nolan makes a wicked save and the whistle blows.
“Did you guys miss me?” Tucker asks in that deep growly voice as he skates over, his penalty finished.
“Yeah,” Sebastian says with a grin. “We have thirty-seven seconds left. Think you can avoid going back in there?”
“No promises,” Tucker grumbles as he rolls his giant shoulders while glaring at the biggest guy on the other team.
Sebastian quickly fills him in on the play as we get into position for another face-off.
My heart is racing. The pressure is on me.
I had a killer slap shot all my life. Almost every time I let it loose, it went in, the buzzer rang, the crowd cheered, I got swarmed by my teammates.
But here, amongst the best players in the world, aimed at the best goalies ever to exist, they’re not going in.
The goalies are too fast. The game moves too quickly. I don’t have that extra split second to line up my shot. I can’t aim as well. I can’t pull back and get full power.
It’s been frustrating.
The puck drops and Sebastian passes it back to Harris. Tucker smashes some poor fucker into the boards as Harris passes it back to Sebastian.
We’re all off, racing to the other net as our opponents try to get into a defensive position.
The goalie on the Icebreakers is damn good and he looks ready.
But he’s got the best player in the league coming at him. Sebastian gets around the guy in front of him and shoots a beauty at the net.
The goalie shifts at the last second and the puck smacks off his stick. It bounces away—still live—and Svensson manages to grab it.
I get into position as we get ready to execute Coach’s plan.
Fourteen seconds.
Svensson passes it to Harris, who fakes a shot on the net. He’s so good, he gets everyone to react, then he quickly passes me the puck.
I pull back, ready to unleash a game-winning slap shot.
Come on, man.
With a grunt, I let it rip as hard as I can. The puck flies off my stick and heads right for the open corner.
For a split second, there’s silence in the arena.
The silence is interrupted by the dull thud of the puck slamming into the goalie’s shoulder pad.
Are you kidding me? Fuck!
The puck bounces off, still live as the crowd lets out a collective groan.
Tucker fights some big fucker for it and then passes it back to Sebastian.
There’s no opening, so Sebastian passes it back to me.
Eight seconds.
I should take another shot. That’s the plan, but I pass it to Harris instead.
The Flamethrower yanks back his stick and lets it rip with a devastating slap shot.
This time, the goalie doesn’t have a chance.
The puck rips into the top corner of the net and the crowd explodes into cheers.
I watch with my stomach dropping as the boys swarm him. The spotlights are going, the crowd is roaring, and I want to join in the celebration, but I head to the bench instead.
“That was your shot to take,” Coach Moss says as he gives me a disapproving look.
I drop my head. “Sorry, Coach.”
The boys come skating back and just as I’m feeling lower than an earthworm, Harris puts his hand on my shoulder.
“That was a great pass, bud,” he says with a smile.
“Oh. Thanks!”
I can’t help but smile as he skates away.
We close the game out and it’s a big celebration in the locker room.
Some of the boys are dancing on the benches. Some are cracking beers.
I sit down on the bench and text my dad. I always do after a game.
AUSTIN: I choked on the slap shot
DAD: You almost had it. You’ll get into your groove. It’s still your first year. Don’t be too hard on yourself, you’re doing great.
AUSTIN: Thanks dad
DAD: I’m proud of you son. Are you going home?
AUSTIN: Nah, big party tonight
DAD: Okay, don’t party too hard and don’t forget where you came from. Stay focused.
“We’re headed to Carmella’s tonight,” Nolan says as I turn off my phone. He’s only wearing a towel around his waist. “Big party. Lots of A-listers going to be there.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Edvard says as he puts his arm around Nolan’s shoulder and takes a long sip from his beer can. “A few basketball players in town—Dennis Frazier, Steve Swoopes. Some huge rapper I never heard of, and apparently, there’s a movie filming nearby so there’s going to be some hot actresses popping by. It’s going to be lit.”