Sleet Banshee by S.J. Tilly

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

SEBASTIAN

“A

lright boys, here’s what we’re doing. Luke, you’re shooting first. Jackson, you’ll go third.” Coach pauses a moment, clearly deliberating his next choice. “And Zach, I want you second.”

Zach’s grin is a little manic. “Whatever you say, Coach.”

Coach points a finger at him, “Keep that crazy look on your face.” My teammates chuckle. “You’ve got a reputation, and you’re still new enough that their goalie won’t know your style. Go in hard and fast; throw him off. And you two, just do your thing.”

The three shooters nod.

“Ash.” Coach tips his chin at me. “Keep it up.”

I roll out my neck. “You got it.”

Times up.

Here we go.

Skating over to my net, I look up to where Banshee’s sitting.

Scratch that, standing. Soaking in the energy surrounding me, I see that the entire arena is on their feet.

Meghan looks so nervous, and - surprisingly - it makes me feel calmer. I’ll let her stress for the both of us.

We lock eyes, and I take one deep inhale.

The next six shots will determine the game, and I’m in control of three of them.

I got this.

As the home team, Coach has decided that we’ll start.

Luke is up first.

The ref blows the whistle, and Luke’s off. He swings out wide, showing off his stick skills as he makes his way to the front of the net.

He waits until the last second to take the shot. The sound of his stick reverberates around the quiet arena. The puck flies, and the goalie catches it.

0 – 0.

Another deep breath.

Cali boy number one is at center ice. Whistle blows. He’s moving my way.

My eyes stay focused on the puck. He can do whatever he wants with his body; that puck is all I care about. He fakes a backhand, but I don’t fall for it. I read his swing as he aims low and to the right.

I kick out my leg and feel the impact against my pads.

Puck deflected.

0 – 0.

Zach’s turn.

The whistle blows, and Zach goes from a standstill to a sprint. He’s a fast motherfucker. I can imagine the intimidating look on his face, and I fight a smile at the thought. Zach skates straight, causing the goalie to back up into his net.

Zach takes the shot.

The goalie dives for it.

He misses the catch, but knocks the puck off course.

0 – 0.

I exhale.

Cali boy number two is up. Whistle blows. My focus narrows.

This guy is taking the same approach as Zach. Fast and straight. But I’ve played against Zach. A lot. And I know how to handle this.

He’s closing in.

I hold my ground; I won’t back up.

He slaps his stick against the puck, aiming high.

I catch it.

0 – 0.

Jackson’s turn.

This is our last chance.

The ref blows the whistle. Jackson starts at center ice and keeps his speed steady. He’s cool. Collected. Coach couldn’t have picked three more different players. Jackson’s stick skills are some of the best I’ve seen. He switches directions a few times, the goalie mirroring his movements.

At the last second, Jackson shifts his stance. His stick blurs, and the puck streaks between the goalie’s skates.

Goal!

1 – 0.

Last shooter.

I relax my jaw and breathe.

Cali boy number three is staring me down from center ice. He needs to make this to continue the shoot out. But I need to stop this to win. So, fuck him.

This is my game.

My ice.

My girl watching.

Whistle blows. Player three snags the puck and comes at me slower than the rest did. The pressure is on and he’s taking his time. That’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.

He’s twenty feet away. Fifteen. Ten. Five. He pulls the puck across his body, moves the stick forward to shoot.

I slide to my left, dropping to my knees to block.

It was a fake.

He pulls the puck back across. Shoots for the right corner.

Still sliding to my left, I stretch out to the right.

My stick hits the ice a split second before the puck can pass the line.

Deflected.

No goal.

Sleet win.

The volume in the arena is deafening. Everyone’s screaming, clapping, jumping. It’s a good fucking feeling.

My teammates pour onto the ice. Circling me. Crushing me in a ridiculous group hug.

It’s hard to hear their words over the noise, but I know they’re jacked. I’m jacked too. Jacked that it’s over.

Breaking free, I look over to where Meghan is. Knowing she’ll be cheering for me.

Her arms are up over her head, but she’s taller than she was. My eyes trace down her body to where a pair of arms are wrapped around her waist, lifting her in the air.

My relief turns to rage.

This changes. Tonight.