Part 3 (2/2)

I shrugged. ”No.” I took my turn at a shot during warm-ups and then circled around the back of the line. Leo did the same and then came up behind me. ”I called the hospital when we landed and no word yet.”

”You still hung up on her?”

”I wouldn't say I'm hung up on her. Just concerned.”

”She's in your zone.” His mood s.h.i.+fted, we looked up and saw Cage shove Remy away from him. Instead of trying to shoot the puck for practice, Remy took his stick and waited around the back side of the net. When guys would go for the shot, he'd smack Cage in the back of the head. ”Oh man...” He took the end of his stick and jabbed my ribs. ”...I forgot to ask you, how was that girl after the Bruins game. She looked wicked.”

”Man,” I groaned, looking over my shoulder as I remembered the raven haired beauty I took home a few weeks back. ”Seriously, five times that night she wanted to go. I finally had to tell her to leave.”

With Leo's s.h.i.+t-eating grin and Remy leaning over the boards like he couldn't look at me, I knew something was up.

I looked at Leo. Leo looked at me.

”Are you mic'd up?” I finally asked, taking a shot, unamused. This wasn't the first time Leo had done that s.h.i.+t to me. He once got me talkin' s.h.i.+t about Sid Holgrove, a defenseman with the Boston Bruins, only to find out we were filming a commercial together the next day. I had some explaining to do.

”Yep.” He beamed, twirling around as though he was a figure skater. I followed his head tip toward the monitors. ”Gotta love ESPN.”

”You know...” I shoved him against Remy who approached us, knocking them both into Travis. ”...both of you are a.s.sholes.”

”Mase!” Leo gestured to the camera pointed at us. ”Keep it PG-13 for the kids.”

I wanted to say so much more but didn't.

Coach was eyeing us so calmly; horsing around was done.

When the game started, my mind was focused, but there was always a piece that was going back to Ami. The fact that I couldn't get her out of my head was p.i.s.sing me off.

Action brought me back to the game. Play was focused in the crease, and it was my job to defend our goal.

My job as a defens.e.m.e.n was to stop an incoming play at the blue line. I broke the plays up, blocked shots, covered forwards, and cleared the puck in front of the goal. If someone was roughing up our forwards, I was also in their face answering the bell.

Offensively speaking, I got the puck to the forwards and followed play into the attacking zone, staying around the blue line at the points.

I wasn't a high scorer since it wasn't my job. My job was to defend and protect with my own style. And I had my own style. Starting out as a forward in junior hockey, I learned speed and accuracy. Then they moved me to a defender position when they saw how forceful I was with the puck.

Turns out it was a good fit for me.

I tended to play with speed and force where guys like Leo would control the puck and slow the plays down, but he had crazy stick skills. It was what we needed and exactly why he was our captain.

I got Leo the puck, and he got the goal. I scored, too, just not as often as the forwards did.

My first NHL goal actually came in game two this year from an a.s.sist off Leo.

Play was in the Predators zone at the blue line, quickly moving forward. The puck rolled to Harding, the Predators' goalie, who covered it with his catching glove. Everyone stopped, except for me. I raced for Harding, stopping inches from him, throwing a spray of snow in his face, hacking at his glove again and again. Getty, their left wing, shoved me back, and Harding rolled the puck to another defenseman to my right, and play started back the other way.

This happened every possession change.

A quick pa.s.s to Noel, then Foster with the Predators, and it was two-on-one at our blue line with only Travis hanging back. Leo, with his speed, shot up ice and hooked the puck away and followed through onto bare ice.

A shoving match broke out at the crease again. This time it was Remy and Hunt.

For someone with his obvious talent, Remy seemed remarkable. He believed what he said and f.u.c.k if he didn't practice it. He was tough, too. That motherf.u.c.ker would knock your teeth out as soon as you turned your back.

”Oh, I'll catch ya with your head down, all right!” Remy shouted back, commotion all around him and Nashville's rookie center.

Nashville called a timeout after that. We stood huddled around the bench, Leo humping his stick and poking it into Ryan's ear. Ryan Shaw, another rookie on our team, sat on the bench with a still fuming Remy.

When play resumed, action moved quickly end to end. No scoring, just fast aggressive play.

s.h.i.+ft changes with the four lines moved freely, everyone taking their turn to spin the game our direction or gain the jump on Nashville.

When you were on the bench you saw the game differently. You saw it for what it was: adrenaline, desire, commitment, heart, sweat, and even ruthlessness at times. You could see the plays, the s.h.i.+t your team was f.u.c.king up, and you could see the skill in players you never noticed before.

Like Travis Sono, a right wingman for us. He had hands that were quick and skilled to perfection. On the ice, I never saw that because my focus was on the game.

Since late October, Leo, Remy, Travis, Dave, and I formed a line with Cage defending the pipes. We usually started games and ended them. It was just the way it was. Four lines were actively played each night, rotating every thirty seconds to a minute; the time varied. Your first and second lines were the scorers, the guys that made the plays. The third and fourth lines were the penalty killers and the checkers.

Play stopped at Nashville's blue line. Dave and a defender with Nashville were chirping at each other. Dave got called on roughing and then was slapped with a major when he took a swing after the whistle. He seemed intense tonight, off maybe. We all had nights like that. h.e.l.l, I was having one.

Dave, though quiet and una.s.suming at times, had a mean streak on the ice. I'd seen it before, and I knew if Nashville didn't knock that s.h.i.+t off, they'd be seeing more of Dave tonight. Already marked up from the game with the Red Wings a few days ago, he looked pretty fierce with six st.i.tches above his black eye.

When I first moved to Chicago last year, I stayed with Dave, and he became a good friend to me. Having never been to the city, it was nice to have someone hang out with who could show me around, someone who understood the lifestyle we had. He'd been playing for Chicago for four years and was the captain of the team until Leo showed up. Bitter maybe, at the changes when Leo came, but definitely enjoyed the freedom of not being the captain.

My time spent living with Dave was interesting. That guy saw more action that Hugh Hefner. I didn't know what he did to get them there, but he had a revolving door of women. The summer after my first season, I decided to get my own place. That lifestyle wasn't for me.

When the puck dropped, Nashville got possession, end to end, hard aggressive play again.

”Look up, look up!” Leo yelled from his place on the bench. He could see Cage, our goalie, s.h.i.+ft his position the wrong direction.

Cage had his f.u.c.king head down, and Benny snagged the pocket for the tie.

Roughing was called at the crease. Remy had shoved another winger, knocked him down, and then made a suggestive move that implied more than what the refs thought was appropriate. I couldn't imagine why they'd think Remy making motions of him sucking his d.i.c.k wasn't appropriate.

Remy earned himself a five minute major, bowed to the fans, and then flipped them off. Nashville had their power play they were looking for. The crowd was on their feet howling in response.

My s.h.i.+ft was approaching. Travis and I took to the ice while Jeff and Karl hit the bench.

Lance Agardh was a touch right winger that I'd known since last year when I sent his a.s.s to the hospital in a game. He should have known not to f.u.c.k with me again, but I guess he didn't.

Circling center ice, he looked for retribution. He dropped his gloves, and I smiled. It was pretty stupid of him if he actually took the time to think about it. First of all, I was bigger than him, not to mention the fact that he'd been cheap shotting me all night and I was pretty p.i.s.sed about that already. I took one swing, and he went down. Somehow I slipped and we were on the ice, my elbow instantly meeting his face. I took the fight right out of Lance and landed us both in the penalty box. Good news was there were some girls sitting beside the box. I got some nice shots of that girl in the pink s.h.i.+rt I was eyeing earlier. All I had to do was tap the gla.s.s with my stick, wink, and she was all over that s.h.i.+t. My night was looking good, despite the time in the box.

When we won it was looking even better.

After the game, pink s.h.i.+rt girl was there waiting. Any other time I would have taken her home and showed her a good time. Sadly, we had to catch a plane back to Chicago so there wasn't time for that.

It wasn't that I made a habit of taking girls home with me because I didn't, but there were a few that I did.

<script>