After introductions, the national anthem, and a final TV commercial break, it’s time for the game to begin.
Face-off.
Those few seconds when the players find their places around the center circle, elbow-to-elbow with the enemy.
Coen Highsmith steps in to square off against his opponent.
Patrik stands before the net in a slight squat, rolling his head side to side.
Thunderous cheers and roars of anticipation roll through the arena.
Every bit of it has my skin prickling with fear and unfettered joy, a not-so-terrible combination when you put them together, but I feel like I’m about to explode.
I am one hundred percent focused on this team and this game and our debut.
My eyes cut past the players in the face-off circle and lock with Sophie sitting across the ice, third row back. Okay, maybe I’m only ninety-nine percent focused on the game.
She flashes me a double thumbs-up, and I smile in return. My eyes move back to center ice just as the puck drops, and Sophie is forgotten.
Now I’m at a hundred percent focus.
The puck hits the ice, and Coen is so fast on the draw, he easily flicks it to Gage. A quicker player—perhaps a little younger and not coming out of retirement—could beat Gage in a race to the opposing team’s zone. But what Gage doesn’t have in speed, he makes up for in strength, experience, and determination. Lowering his shoulder and spinning away from the Breaker beside him, he protects the puck and carries it over the blue line, followed quickly by his teammates.
If anyone had an idea of how the opening face-off would go, given the hard-knock story of this organization, they couldn’t have hoped for such a quick attack by our less experienced team. Once inside the Breaker zone, there’s a flurry of activity. A couple of clean, efficient passes are made, and Coen takes a quick wrist shot. It’s perfectly angled and catches the goalie by surprise, but in a show of dexterity and lightning reflexes, he deflects it.
The puck bounces straight to a Washington player, and their team takes off down the ice. Five players who’ve had six months of playing together move in synchronization, understanding slight nuances in their teammates’ moves and reading subtle cues.
Our defenders look discombobulated. Not squaring up to the puck, a little unsure of themselves, and that results in them being just a second too late in making a grab for the puck.
Just as we did moments ago, the Breakers execute three sharp passes and their center takes a hard slap shot, aiming to slip just under the top crossbar. Patrik flips an elbow up and manages to change the puck’s trajectory. It bounces right back to a Washington player, lands perfectly on his stick, and all he does is snap his wrist to launch a quick strike. The biscuit slithers to the left of Patrik’s hip and hits the back of the net.
It only took twenty-four seconds for the opposing team to score on us.
Patrik’s head lowers in defeat. The other players have slumped shoulders while the Washington players celebrate.
The arena is absolutely silent. None of this bodes well for the remainder of the game, but this isn’t surprising. We are a team that just hasn’t had a chance to find our groove.
But then something quite amazing happens. A few of the fans start chanting, “Titans, Titans, Titans!” It’s not one of those chants that dies out as soon as it starts but is immediately picked up by every person in the arena.
“Titans, Titans, Titans!”
It gets louder, louder, and louder, and fuck me… some of the opposing team fans yell it too. Everyone is standing, stomping their feet and clapping their hands. The combination of noises is so loud, I swear I feel the vibration through the floor.
Our first line—forwards Coen, Gage, and Stone, and defensemen Nolan Carrier and Kirill Zucker—stare at the fans. Patrik takes off his mask, his expression confused by what seems like the crowd’s approval they’d been scored on.
But eventually, they get it.
It’s the crowd’s approval that they are on the ice and that they are trying.
Gage skates over to Patrik and says a few words. I have no clue what, but clearly it’s encouraging. He then claps him on the back a few times, and Patrik nods with a smile.
Gage waves the remainder of his teammates over quickly and pulls them into a tight circle. Again, no clue what he’s saying, but whatever it is, as they break apart and skate back for the next face-off, at least their heads are held high.
And thus begins the first game for this new team.
CHAPTER 15
Sophie
Frankie and I walk into the bar, and there is no punch line.
We’re going to meet Baden for a post-game drink, but he’s still at the arena doing whatever it is coaches do with the team after the game. He’ll come here once he’s able to.