“I hear you, kid. But an apology ain’t gonna put you back in this game.”
AKA, we’re utterly screwed.
I edge backward and leave the locker room. “Doesn’t sound good in there,” the security man says sympathetically.
“It’s not.”
I hurry back to our seats, where I file a report with Summer and the others. “Looks like Hunter is out, and so is Nate.”
Summer gasps
So does Rupi, who as usual is dressed like a walking J. Crew ad. Or a super-prissy American Girl doll. I wonder how many girlie, collared dresses she actually owns. Thousands, probably.
“This is a disaster!” Summer moans.
“Yup,” I say morosely, and we’re not wrong.
When the second period gets underway, you can see the difference in Briar’s game almost immediately. It’s like watching an Olympic sprinter crush the first heat of the 100-meter dash, only to come out for the next heat to find that there are spikes on the track. Without Nate, the captain of the team, and Hunter, our best forward, we’re struggling right out of the gate. Fitz and Hollis can’t carry the entire team. Our younger players aren’t fully developed yet, and the best ones, Matt Anderson and Jesse Wilkes, are physically incapable of keeping up with Connelly.
My eyes track Jake as he scores early in the second. It’s a beautiful shot, a work of art. Now Harvard is leading 2–1. And two minutes before the end of the period, Weston gives Harvard a power play by drawing a penalty from Fitz, who rarely visits the box.
Summer drops her face in her manicured hands. “Omigod, this is awful.” She finally glances up, seeking out her boyfriend. “His head looks like it’s about to explode.”
Sure enough, Fitz is stewing and simmering in the penalty box. Red-faced and clenching his jaw so tight, the muscles there are actually quivering.
Harvard takes advantage of the penalty Weston the asshole provoked. And just because I played Scrabble with the guy and he helped me out with Eric doesn’t make him any less of the enemy right now. Right now I loathe him. Maybe a couple days from now we can play Scrabble again, but right now I want him erased from the face of the planet.
Unfortunately, Briar is shorthanded, and Weston is the one who ends up scoring the power-play goal. Then Fitz is back and we’re able to breathe easy again.
Weston tries the same thing on Hollis during his next shift, but Hollis doesn’t fall for it, bless his puppy-dog heart. Instead, the refs catch Weston’s dirty hit and he takes a two-minute minor, and we’re all on our feet screaming ourselves hoarse when Briar scores.
3-2 now.
The second period is over. “You can do it,” I whisper to the boys as they disappear in the chute toward the locker rooms. Hopefully my dad gives them a Miracle-worthy speech and we can come back, tie it up early in the third, and then score again and win the damn game.
“We still have a chance, right?” Summer’s eyes glimmer with hope.
“Of course we do. We got this,” I say firmly.
We’re on our feet again when the third period starts. It’s scoreless for almost six minutes, until, in the middle of a shoving battle in Harvard’s zone, Jesse Wilkes gets a shot off that careens right between Johansson’s legs. It’s a total fluke, but I’ll take it. The Briar fans go insane as the scoreboard switches to 3–3.
I can’t believe everyone is still maintaining the same level of speed that kicked off the game. They must be exhausted after two grueling periods. But both teams are still playing like the entire season is on the line. Because it is.
I’m mesmerized as I watch Jake do what he does best. He’s impossibly fast and I can’t help imagining him in Edmonton next year. He’s going to have a hell of a season if he plays even half as well as he’s playing tonight.
“He’s so good,” Summer says grudgingly, as Jake literally dekes out three of our boys to charge the net.
He takes a shot. Luckily he misses, and I’m ashamed to say I experience a spark of disappointment when Corsen thwarts Jake’s attempt.
Oh God. Where do my loyalties lie? I want Briar to win. I truly do. And I hate what that Harvard player did to Hunter and Nate.
But I also want Jake to succeed. He’s magnificent.
We’re still tied, and the clock is winding down. The possibility of overtime worries me. I don’t know if we have enough juice left to hold them off. Especially Corsen. He’s good in the net, but he’s not the best.
Johansson, on the other hand, I’d definitely rank in the top three of college goalies. He stops every shot like a pro. He didn’t enter the NHL draft when he became eligible, but I hope he tries to sign with someone after college. He’s too good not to.