Taking a Shot at Love

Miles

“Good try, man.” I tapped Soto on the shin with my stick as he returned to the bench, and I went out to take the face-off. It would be the last shift of the game—if we avoided overtime.

“Go finish it, Robinson, so we can start the holidays.”

“Gonna do my best.”

We lined up to the right of New York’s goalie.

“This would be the perfect Hanukkah gift, you know?” Cole Ackerman took his position across the face-off dot. “A win. Two points. Go into the break with the conference and division lead.” He grinned as if he anticipated it actually happening.

I shook my head at him. “That’s a big ask, don’t you think? I planned to keep it simple with some gelt.”

“Aw, come on.” He scrunched his face into a pout.

“All right, you two.” The ref blew the whistle. “Sort out your gift exchange later.” He tried to sound stern, but I knew better. The refs throughout the league had long ago gotten used to our banter.

“You heard the man,” I said.

I held out my fist, and Cole bumped it.

“Let’s do this.” Cole crouched down and put his stick on the ice. I followed suit.

Focusing on Cole’s movements and the ref’s hand, I was ready to pounce. He dropped the puck, and it went straight down, not even flipping in midair once. Cole got the better of me, sending it back to his defensemen in the corner.

“Nice one,” I said quickly as I backed away to be in position if we took possession.

“If you don’t want to give it to me, I’ll just gift it to myself.”

We jostled each other in front of the net as he tried to keep me away from the prime shooting position. A Detroit wing and New York’s D scrambled in the corner.

Suddenly, the puck popped out. It sailed up to the point and we intercepted it. Detroit’s defense fired at the goalie, but it bounced off his blocker.

I beat Cole by half a step and shot before he could stop me. The puck sailed under the goalie’s right leg.

The red light lit. The horn sounded. The crowd burst into a frenzy of excitement.

My teammates gathered around me to celebrate as I raised my arms in victory.

I looked at the scoreboard over center ice. Twenty seconds to go and we were up three to two.

“You’re such a grinch.” Cole fell in next to me as we skated toward the center dot.

“I followed your advice and gifted myself.”

“So that’s how it is. Twenty-five years of friendship and this is what it comes to at the holidays.”

Behind Cole, the New York net was empty, and a sixth skater took up position.

The ref whistled. This time we said nothing. We always took the game seriously, even if our chatter might make some think otherwise. Sometimes, though, silence was required.

The puck dropped, and I got control, sending it back to our defenseman. With some sharp passing, we played a controlled keep-away until the buzzer sounded.

Detroit Arsenal was heading into the break on top of the conference with New York Empire nipping at our heels.

The arena erupted in cheers as “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” by The Jackson 5 blasted out to spread more holiday cheer. I waved at fans as I exited the ice.

I didn’t get far. David, a member of our PR team, grabbed me. “Hang back, Miles, you’re one of the stars.”

“Oh, sure thing.” It was always cool to be recognized by the hometown media for a good game.

“Ivan, you’re up too.”

Our goalie gave a gracious nod and stood next to me, out of the way of players headed to the locker rooms.

“Oh, hey, Ackerman!” David called out as Cole went by, talking with Empire’s captain, Caleb Carter.

He turned abruptly, which caused his longish, curly dark hair to drop into his eyes. He quickly pushed it back. “Yeah?”

“You’re star number three.”

Caleb clapped his back and smiled, and Cole looked surprised. I wasn’t. He’d scored one of New York’s goals, assisted on the other, and racked up several shots.

“Is this a good consolation present?” I asked as he joined Ivan and me.

“I suppose it’ll have to do.”

We gave each other a backslapping hug. Sharing this accomplishment with my best friend was perfect.

Ivan shook his head and smirked. “You two are ridiculous. You two go at it more than Pressgrove and Howell.”

Cole slung his arm around my shoulders and we grinned at Ivan.

“And now for the stars of the night,” said the announcer. “Your third star is from New York”—boos echoed through the arena—“although he’s a Detroit native, center Cole Ackerman for his goal and assist.”

Cole skated to center ice and raised his stick in salute.

“The second star is Detroit’s own Ivan Petrov for standing up to thirty-one shots.”

Our fans roared for Ivan. It was rare that he wasn’t a star, and the fans loved him.

“And your number one star of the night is Arsenal center Miles Robinson, with his two goals, including the game winner.”

I went out into an incredible wall of sound coming from the stands. I took my place between Cole and Ivan while the cameras focused on us for a few seconds.

“Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah,” said the arena announcer as we skated off. “Thank you for joining us tonight. We hope you’ll come out for our next home game on Saturday, December twenty-seventh at two PM. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Good game.” I fell in next to Cole.

“You too. I can’t believe I let you fire that shot off.”

“I needed that,” I said emphatically. “I’m behind when it comes to evading.”

Our shared agent, Nina Jackson, kept track of a dozen different stats for us—some related to our head-to-head matchups and some for how we did against other teams. All of them were things we’d made up over the years. It was always close, but I’d been behind over the past few weeks in several categories, and I didn’t like it.

“Fair enough.” We got to the intersection where we’d separate to go to our respective locker rooms and stopped. Simultaneously, we brought our fists up, bumped them, and opened our hands in an explosion as we pulled back.

“I’ve got something for you,” I said. “Meet in the lounge in fifteen?”

“I wouldn’t miss our gift exchange. See you in a bit.”

It was a perfect way to go into the holiday break—a win and seeing Cole for at least a few more minutes.