Sophomore Surge

by K R Collins

  Rocky’s line can’t clear the puck either. Sophie’s breath sticks in her throat as Big Red flips the puck down the ice. It’s a temporary relief, and Zinger leans on his stick as the official fetches the puck. J-Rod taps Lindy’s pads and, between the distance and the mask, Sophie can’t tell how Lindy feels.

  Montreal switches out for fresh bodies. Ducasse easily wins the faceoff. The Mammoths move the puck like a cat playing with its food. Ducasse drops down into the slot, and J-Rod is a step too slow. Ducasse has a clear shot and—

  Misses.

  Relief crashes through her, sharp and sudden. She raises her gaze to the ceiling. They finally have a change and—the Jumbotron shows the replay. Ducasse missed the puck, because Big Red’s stick was hooked around his wrists.

  Oh.

  The stadium is thunderous as the official makes the call. The fans behind the penalty box laugh and jeer as Big Red’s shut in. The ones behind the bench slap the glass as if Sophie’s stupid enough to acknowledge them. They grow louder as Ducasse takes the faceoff.

  He wins the puck back to Korhonen who snaps it on net and scores. The noise almost drowns out her disappointment. The fans sing along to their goal song then, when Big Red’s released from the box, they chant “Thank you” until he looks completely broken. Sophie reaches out to him but he says, “Not now,” and sits at the far end of the bench.

  It’s only 1-2, the game isn’t over, but looking at her teammates, it feels as if it is.

  At the end of the second period, it’s 1-3, and they troop down to the locker room with the Mammoth goal song ringing in their ears.

  “You hung with them in the first period so I know you can do it,” Coach Butler says. “You slipped in the second, now you need to step it up in the third.”

  He doesn’t look at Sophie, but she feels as if he’s speaking directly to her. She didn’t accept the captaincy, because she didn’t feel as if she was ready for it. There’s no better proving grounds than right here.

  As soon as Coach leaves them to their own devices, she turns to Merlin. Her winger groans. “What fucking impossible thing are you going to ask of me now?”

  “It’s not impossible.”

  “Here we go,” he says, but he settles in to listen. Witzer crowds closer, a council of three.

  It takes two minutes and forty-seven seconds for Concord to score their second ever playoff goal.

  Witzer stares at his stick, disbelieving, until the goal light knocks him out of his stupor. He kicks his leg in the air and barrels into Merlin as he shouts his excitement. Sophie claps them both on the back. “This is what we need.”

  They skate back to the bench, energizing their teammates as they go through the line. By the end of it, Nelson and Garfield are refocused, Spitz and J-Rod are talking breakout passes, and Big Red doesn’t seem as haunted by his penalty.

  She looks down the bench and sees her team believe. She grins, sweat-soaked pads feeling as if they weigh nothing. She nudges Kevlar. “Time for the D to contribute?”

  Sweat glistens on his skin, and his visor fogs up before he towels it off. She can still see his ruffled indignation. “After the game I’ll show you my fucking bruises. Time to contribute. Forwards!”

  She laughs and slaps him on the back as Coach Richelieu sends him and Theo over the boards. Kevlar blocks two shots and delivers a big hit on Cassady. When he returns to the bench, breathing hard, he arches his eyebrows as if to ask good enough?

  She hands him a Gatorade bottle. “Yes. Keep it up.”

  “Your turn.” He pats her helmet and drops gratefully onto the bench.

  She takes her line out, Spitz and Kuzy on their backend, and they hold their own against Ducasse and the rest of Montreal’s top line.

  They’re down by one when Coach Butler signals to Lindy. “As soon as he’s here, Fournier, you’re up.”

  She slings one leg over the boards and taps her stick, impatient. Once Lindy’s close enough, she hits the ice and skates right for the offensive zone. She crosses the blue line in time to keep the puck in. By the time she’s settled it, the crowds is booing her. Booed by the home team in the Maple Cup playoffs. She grins. Guess I’ve made it.

  She passes to Nelson and drops into a pocket of open space. He passes and then finds his own open space. They move the puck, using their numbers to their advantage. Only, Montreal has the game clock on their side and time winds down without anyone shooting.

  Theo loads up but hesitates long enough to lose his lane. It’s a scramble to keep the puck in the zone. The next time, they aren’t so lucky. Nelson doesn’t take his shot and Ducasse steals the puck and lifts it out of the zone.

  Kevlar tracks it down before it can do any damage, but they have to all clear the zone and re-enter. It drains precious seconds off the clock. Someone has to shoot the fucking puck.

  Garfield leads them into the zone and then drops a pass back to Sophie. She drifts down, evaluating. She doesn’t have a perfect shot, but if they wait for perfect then they’ll run out of time. She passes to Theo then, trusting he’ll show the same reluctance as before, cuts to the net, banging her stick. He whips her a pass, and she shoves the puck over LaJoie’s shoulder.

  Three-three.

  Relief washes through her, even as her teammates crash into her. The game is tied with…0:05 left. She skates to the bench on shaky legs, and she’s grateful to sit as Rocky heads out for the faceoff.

  “Cutting it a little close,” Merlin teases.

  “Fuck you.”

  He laughs and slaps her helmet.

  Five seconds later, the horn sounds on regulation. Unlike the regular season when tie games result in a ten-minute OT and a shootout if needed, the playoffs is twenty-minute periods until someone scores. She’s glad they have a full intermission to recover before they play again.

  Of course, Montreal also has time to recover, and they come out hard to start the period. McClure slams Sophie into the boards with enough force to rattle the glass as if he wants to make sure she doesn’t score the game-winner.

  With each passing shift, the pressure grows. OT is sudden death, which means one mistake could cost them the game. Concord tightens up. They stop taking risks, too afraid of the consequences. But it means they’re trapped in their own zone, scrambling and making increasingly desperate plays to keep the puck out.

  With each shift they’re worn down more and more until Lindy’s consistently bailing them out. They haven’t been scored on yet, but they haven’t recorded a shot on goal either.

  Sophie switches out for Rocky, but Big Red and Zinger aren’t able to switch out for Merlin and Witzer. It’s a mishmash of a line, but Sophie sticks to her defensive coverage and keeps her eyes peeled for an opportunity to break out.

  Big Red flings his stick out to break up a pass, and Zinger darts in to knock the puck out of the zone. He skates hard to the bench, but he’s forced back out after the official declares an icing. He and Big Red both look beat, and Sophie doesn’t feel much fresher.

  One goal, one opportunity, it’s all I need. She takes a deep breath and skates to her place at the faceoff dot. A moment later, Ducasse appears across from her. He smiles but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. She knows she’s only 40 percent from the dot tonight, and it drops to 35 percent against him. Her team is tired, and his isn’t fresh, but they have more energy and momentum on their side.

  But this is a new faceoff, a new opportunity.

  She loses the faceoff.

  Ducasse knocks the puck forward to Cassady who passes up to McClure at the point. Big Red lunges forward to poke the puck away, but he overcommits and McClure easily skates around him. Sophie has to shift her coverage, and it opens a passing lane to Ducasse who accepts McClure’s pass, shoots, and—scores.

  Sophie looks away from the goal light, and Lindy’s hunched defeat. She still hears the goal song and Montreal’s celebration. And, of course, she can’t avoid the hats as they rain down for Ducasse. X leads the Condors off the ice. S
ophie’s the last of her teammates, and she pauses to look at the Jumbotron. Final score 3-4, OT.

  They’ll be better next game.

  They have to be.

  The team always sticks close on road trips, but they’re even closer now, no room for any kind of distraction.

  “It’s nice,” Teddy says at lunch after practice. They’re all in the hotel ballroom, eating a catered, team-approved meal. Sophie’s with Teddy, her linemates, Spitz, and J-Rod. The older guys are at the table next to them, talking about some fishing show they watched this morning. “Normally, I have to go out with my parents when we’re in Montreal. Which is fine, but right now…” He shrugs. “Hey Sofe, you have family in the area too.”

  “Yeah.” As soon as they made the playoffs, Mémé called to scold her. Why didn’t you try harder for the third seed? Now you are playing Captain Canada. My heart is too fragile for this. “But they wouldn’t come anyway.”

  “Gotta limit those distractions,” Merlin jokes.

  Not quite. Her phone is full of texts and voicemails from her dad, well-meaning advice she can’t deal with right now. “More like extra motivation. They only come to the big games. They watched most of the Winter Games from the hotel. The only one they saw in person was the gold medal match.”

  “What the hell?” Merlin’s earlier humor is gone. “Marissa’s parents think hockey’s a barbaric fucking sport, but they’ll be there when we play at home.”

  Sophie shrugs, uncomfortable with the attention they’ve drawn from the nearby tables. Rocky’s openly staring as if she’s an exhibit at the zoo. Garfield and Nelson are subtler, but she still accidentally catches Garfield’s gaze, and they both quickly look away.

  “So will mine, if we make it to the Finals.” Which means they need to win four games against Montreal, another four, and another four in order to make it to hockey’s biggest stage. It’s exhausting even thinking about it. She spears a broccoli floret with her fork. “My brother wanted to come down but he was overruled.”

  “Sucks,” Teddy says.

  “It’s how it is. Winning tomorrow’s game will bring us a step closer.”

  Not even Teddy smiles at her attempt at positivity. It took everything they had last night to tie the game and they lost in overtime. Where are they going to find more?

  Both teams pick up where they left off the night before, Montreal riding the high of a hat trick from their captain, and Concord run down and scrambling to keep up.

  Montreal scores two quick goals to open the period. They score a third midway through, and Coach Butler looks down the bench. Teddy pulls out of his slouch, but Coach turns back to the ice to bark at their players.

  It’s a 0-6 bloodbath, leaving Sophie with the heavy knowledge they weren’t ready for the playoffs. They clawed their way into the fourth seed but Montreal is a playoff contender. Toronto, who is easily dismantling their own opponent, is a contender.

  Sophie tells herself this is good experience. They’ll be better for tasting the playoffs but as she sits in her stall, she can’t help but wish experience didn’t come through losing all the time.

  “Well,” Merlin begins but doesn’t finish. He pulls his jersey over his head and sits next to Sophie.

  No one else tries to speak, and the locker room is silent until the media files in. Sophie’s blander than usual, talking about compete and grit and battling for pucks. She misses Matty so much her chest aches with it. He would know the right things to motivate the team. He’d fire them up for their first ever home playoff game. He would know which players need a hand on their shoulder and a quiet word of encouragement and which ones need to be challenged.

  But Matty’s in Toronto, and Sophie’s supposed to fill the space he left behind.

  There are more Montreal fans than Concord ones at the first home playoff game in their franchise’s history. Sophie’s not sure if it makes it better or worse when they lose in front of them.

  She stays an extra forty-five minutes to answer reporters’ questions, the same questions she’s asked herself since Game One. How will you beat them? Who in the room will breathe life into this team? Do you think you made it to the playoffs a year too early? Is there a leadership vacuum?

  She doesn’t have any more answers for them than she does for herself.

  In Game Four, Ducasse hits her hard enough to send her skittering across the ice. It takes her an extra two seconds to get back on her skates, because she wonders if it’s worth getting back up.

  It’s the moment she knows they aren’t winning the game.

  It takes three goals from Montreal and another forty-seven minutes, but Concord’s first playoff experience ends with them being swept in the first round.

  She’s glad her parents weren’t here for it.

  She does her media on autopilot.

  “Yes, it’s a disappointing way to end our season.”

  “It was a good next step. Last year, we didn’t make the playoffs, this year we did. Next year, we’ll push deeper.”

  “I don’t think the sweep is on any one player. We all could’ve done better.”

  “The summer’s a good time to work on improving our game.”

  “I don’t know if Matty would’ve made the difference. Yes, I saw Toronto’s up in their series.”

  “I don’t know what changes management is going to make over the summer, but once they make them, the team will adjust.”

  When it’s all over, she’s wrung out and wants nothing more than to go home, curl up on her couch, and call her mom. Instead, she avoids her couch, changes into her comfiest clothes, and drives to X’s. Aline and the kids are at the Lindholms’ tonight so the team can crash here and have a pity party.

  X greets her at the door, his playoff stubble speckled with gray. He holds his hand out to her. “Keys.”

  “I’m not drinking.”

  “Don’t care. Keys.”

  She hands over her keys but lingers in the door. “Next year—”

  “Not now.”

  Yes now. She steps into his space like she would on the ice. Coach Butler threatened to trade her the way Matty was traded if she doesn’t produce. She had a phenomenal run to end the regular season, but the team crashed and burned in the playoffs. Next summer, her contract is up, which means she has one season left to prove why she should stay a Concord Condor. She has one season to prove she deserves her place in the NAHL.

  There’s no better way than winning the Cup.

  She wraps her arms around X’s waist, surprising him with the hug. He’s smaller when he isn’t in his pads, and it’s too easy for her to fit her arms around him as if he lost weight when he was injured and never managed to put all of it back on. They both have work to do this summer to be ready for next season.

  He hugs her back, careful, as if one of them is on the verge of breaking. “Go mingle.” His voice is scratchy as he pats her hair. “Eat junk and drink too much. We’ll deal with the rest in the morning.”

  She lingers in his embrace for another moment before she forces herself to step back. She moves into the kitchen where she looks at the wide array of food on the counter. Queso dip with three bags of chips next to it, a tray of mozzarella sticks, another with buffalo wings. There’s a whole bounty of desserts and she grabs two cupcakes, chocolate with a thick smear of fudge frosting.

  Her personal belief is any problem can be solved by hockey or chocolate. and hockey is over. She brings her cupcakes into the living room. The couches and other furniture are nowhere to be seen. It’s a big open room, and her teammates are sprawled on the floor with various drinks and snacks surrounding them.

  She drops down next to Teddy. He glances up, away from the line of shots he was contemplating. His shoulders are heavy with the loss and his chin is dotted with hair, because they weren’t in the postseason long enough for him to grow even a bad beard.

  She holds out a cupcake. “Want one?”

  He stares as if considering it and then lifts the clear shot. “I’ll
get drunk quicker if I don’t eat.”

  She wants to tell him it’s a terrible fucking idea. Instead, she raises her cupcake in a toast.

  She uses the bathroom. As she’s washing her hands, she looks at her reflection. The end of her ponytail is still Condors red. She turns the water off and tugs on her hair as if she can pull the color off.

  While her teammates grew facial hair in honor of the playoffs, she did what she did at Chilton; she dip-dyed her ponytail. For each round they made, she dyed more of it.

  Here, of course, it’s only the tips. It’s still too much, a reminder the season is over before it should be. She opens the top drawer and finds a beard trimmer and nail clippers. The second drawer has Q-tips, a nail file, and a dozen plastic hair clips. The third drawer has a box of tampons.

  She takes a detour through the kitchen and rummages through X’s drawers until she finds a pair of scissors. She brings them into the living room and surveys her teammates. Garfield face-plants into a plate of cheese puffs. Merlin’s half-asleep on Theo, who traces Kevlar’s sleeve tattoos with his finger. Beside them, Spitz looks alert and then alarmed when he spots Sophie and the scissors.

  She offers them to him, handle first. “I need you to cut my hair.”

  “No way.”

  “I’ll do it.” Merlin pushes off Theo’s shoulder but pushes too far and tips alarmingly before Theo reels him back in.

  Sophie looks pointedly at Spitz who sighs and, acknowledging her point, takes the scissors. “Next time we do this, I’m drinking too much to be responsible.”

  There won’t be a next time. They’re winning it all next season. They were caught off guard by the playoffs but now they know. They’ll push themselves harder during the regular season so they’re ready for the jump. But for now, she pulls the elastic out of her ponytail and shakes her hair out.