I hate my room-mates right now. After beating the Russians earlier, Carey and Ashby have gone off in search of puck bunnies which I imagine at least one of them will bring back to the hotel to do unspeakable things to. I'm probably kidding, but it means I won't get much sleep, so I've gone off in search of a better offer. I'm standing in front of Sasha's door with a blanket and some pillows wearing only my boxers and a t-shirt. I knock on the door. I could spend the night rooming with my brothers but well…if you had the choice wouldn't you take the sultry brunette? You probably don't have the best mental picture of Sasha but maybe I can help you out. There's a picture of her mom and dad at some Embassy hostage situation at the Sudanese embassy from years ago, she looks just like that except there's a little more auburn in her hair and she's like two inches shorter.
She comes to the door in a t-shirt and jogging pants. "What's up?"
"Carey and Ashby have gone off in search of loose women, I don't want to be in the room when they get back tonight so I figured I'd come down here and bunk on your floor." I reply and she lets me into the room.
"You can sleep down here, but I'm not letting you sleep on the floor." She pushes me down on the bed. "Can you keep your hands to yourself?"
"Do you want me to?" I reply coyly just to watch her blush. Her cheeks turn a bright beet red and I chuckle to myself. "Coach wants me asleep by eleven, is that okay?"
"Probably better for you." She replies. "You're gonna have to get up early tomorrow anyway."
"Why?" I inquire.
"Because do you know what my dad will do to you if he catches you in here tomorrow morning?" She smiles at me a little evilly and I'm slightly worried. "You're a pretty big guy but my dad will kill you."
"You're sure I can use the bed then? Because I really value my life, and losing it before the gold medal game would kind of suck." I move up near the pillows at the top of the bed.
"You'll be fine." She tosses a pillow from the couch at me. "I'm just going to change; I'll be back out in a second." This is the problem I have with women; I don't know what 'going to change' means. See, I thought she was already in her pyjamas. What the hell could she possibly be changing into? I pull the covers up over my legs and turn on ESPN. "I'm not watching that." I hear a voice come from the doorway to the bathroom and I look over to see her in this red satin, I guess it's a nightie but it's a lot sexier than that. I try not to stare but I'm failing miserably. I just hand over the remote, hug the far side of the bed and pray for dear life. "You know, I don't have a contagious disease, you can move closer to the centre of the bed."
"No, I can't." I shake my head enthusiastically. She reaches over, grabs me around the waist and pulls me toward the centre of the bed. I just have to focus on falling asleep and I'll get through the night. Luckily for me, the high amount of exercise knocks me out really fast.
I'm awoken a short time later and I look over at the alarm clock radio. I look over at Sasha who's curled up in the foetal position. "Did you wake me up?" I ask groggily.
"It's a thunderstorm." She says pointing to the window. "I just don't sleep well with thunderstorms."
"Come here, you." I smile at her and open up my arms. She curls up to me and adopts the classic spooning position. Her back is pushed up against my chest and I've got my arms wrapped around her; my hands settling just below her breast. "I didn't know you had problems sleeping through thunderstorms."
"It's a family thing; my mom has problems with it too." Sasha replies, and she starts to soothingly rub my arms.
"What's with the sexy lingerie?" I whisper.
"You think this is sexy? You should see some of the things I've got it home." She teases me. She loves teasing me. She plays it so sweet and innocent most of the time but I think there's a tigress under that veneer. "I don't know, if you think this is sexy maybe you can't keep your hands to yourself tonight."
"Don't think it's my hands you need to worry about." I reply flirtatiously, making sure my breath trickles down her neck. She snuggles even closer into me. God, I'd love to fall asleep right now because there's no way this moment gets any better. Her scent just overwhelms me, a part of me wants to just start kissing her neck and not stop until I reach her toes. Both our heads settle down on the pillow. I really need to sleep tonight, I've got practice at eleven tomorrow and then a cardio workout until three in the afternoon. Then I've got to tape a few interviews with ESPN, the local NBC affiliate and Canada's TSN.
But here, right now, I've got a beautiful woman in my arms. I'm trying to limit any contact with her soft olive skin, trying not to let my nostrils be invented by a smell I can only describe as "innocent sex". Yes, I know I seem to like that word but I'm in my boxers and she's really hot, what do you expect? I try to focus on just falling asleep again. It shouldn't be that hard…but by morning there's a damn good chance it will be.
I wake up the next morning at eight and punch the alarm. She turned in the night and right now her hair is fanned out over my chest. Her cheek rests softly on my right pectoral. I reach over for the phone to order room service and turn on the television, with the volume down so as not to wake her. "Hi, this is room 821. Can I get a bowl of oatmeal, some yogurt and orange juice? As well, can you send up whatever your signature breakfast is as well with some really strong coffee? Thank you." I place the phone back down. I know how Sasha eats, she'll order the richest most tasty thing on the menu. I have to order an assortment of the healthiest things available so that the muscle mass I've spent the last year building doesn't turn to mush overnight. I'm a slave to my body; I'd rather be a slave to hers.
I lightly stroke her arms until her eyes flutter open. "Morning." She says drowsily, turning her head so that her chin rests on my chest and she looks into my eyes. "You sleep well?" Considering the direction of my blood flow five minutes ago, I'd say I slept very well.
"Yeah." I nod. "I ordered breakfast."
"None of that bird food you eat, right?" She inquires.
"Only for me, I made sure they sent up only the best for you." I reply with a smile. "Is this weird for you?"
"No. Why, is it weird for you?" She asks, those big brown doe eyes just look so warm.
"Not at all, that's what has me a little concerned." I chuckle. "Is…is it okay if I grab a quick shower?"
"Sure, there's a spare bathrobe in the bathroom and the towels are in the drawers." She points to the bathroom. I smile and head in. I turn on the shower, take off my clothes and step inside. I can't believe I spent the night in her room and now I'm showering there. I'm sorely tempted to ask her to join me but then we'd never get out of here. After a few minutes, I step back out of the shower, run a towel over my hair before wrapping it around my waist and putting on the bathrobe. I walk out into the bedroom to see Mrs. Rabb standing there with Sasha and I know I'm in trouble.
"Morning, Mrs. Rabb." I try to greet her with a plastered on smile.
"Cut it, the pair of you." She has a no-bullshit look on her face. "I want a straight answer, did the two of you sleep together last night?"
I'd love to jump in and handle this one and if it was my parents or her father I would but Mrs. Rabb scares the hell out of me. "Mom, how could you think that?" Sasha protests.
"Let's see, you're in lingerie and he's in a bathrobe. The sheets are messed and there's a room service cart." Mrs. Rabb replies smartly. "Did you two have sex? You're not in trouble, I just need to know so I can keep your dad's stress level at an acceptable level until he finds out."
"No." I answer simply. "My room-mates were rowdy and I wasn't going to get any sleep upstairs so I came down here to see if I could bunk."
"And you didn't go to your brothers' room because?" Mrs. Rabb continues her examination.
"They're even rowdier." I reply.
"Uh-huh. How do you explain the sheets?" She continues.
"Mom, it was a thunderstorm last night, you know I don't do well when it comes to sleeping like that. So, I asked him if he'd hold me just to kind of calm me down, is that okay?" Sasha voice becomes prosecutorial.
"Don't take that tone with me, young lady." Mrs. Rabb warns. "And how do you explain the lingerie."
"I wanted something to sleep in." Sasha replies. "Don't think I haven't heard the Russia story a dozen times. You wore something just as risqué in the same bed with dad once and the two of you claim it was completely innocent at the time."
"I was twenty-nine, you're seventeen. And this isn't about me. My seventeen year-old daughter just spent a night, in her hotel room with an older guy…" Mrs. Rabb is cut off by her daughter.
"He's eleven months older." She points out.
"…an older guy and I don't have the right to be a little protective?" She points out.
"No." Sasha protests. "Mom, I am seventeen. Which, Madam Chief Justice, is over the legal age of consent in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania; so if I want to throw him down and ride him like Secretariat, that's my private business." She strides over to me, puts her hand on the back of my neck and forcefully pulls my lips down to hers. After a few seconds, the primal part of me just takes over and pulls her tight against me. After a few more seconds, Mrs. Rabb storms out of the room and slams the door behind her.
"Just how much trouble are we in?" I ask, wincing as the door slams. "By the way, that little rant you unleashed was the hottest thing I've seen all week."
"Yeah, well in a few minutes I expect this floor to do its own rendition of the last days on Pompeii, so brace yourself." She sits down on the bed and pulls over the room service cart. "Might as well not let the food go to waste."
"How did your mother even end up in the room anyway?" I ask as I pull up a chair to the other side of the cart.
"She saw the two plates on the room service cart, so she walked over to the door. She heard the shower running so she got naturally inquisitive and of course you entered at exactly the wrong time." She laughs as she lifts of forkful of her eggs to her lips.
"I knew this would be made my fault somehow." I laugh as I pick at my oatmeal. We sit and talk and eat for a few minutes before I hear a loud thumping at the door. I get up and go to the door. Looking through the peephole I can see it's her father. Now, Mr. Rabb is the kindest man I know, he isn't capable of irrational violence but that's not my concern. She shouldn't have to deal with her dad; I will. I open the door and slip out.
"You." He says simply.
"Yeah, I think we need to talk." I reply with a self-satisfied smile. "Nothing happened last night. I mean nothing. Priests and nuns have had more explicit nights than we did, trust me. Now, as for what happened in that room about twenty minutes ago, the two of them blew up at each other. I'm not going to assign blame because there's no way that makes the situation any better. But I'm pretty sure I can convince Sasha to apologize to help smooth things over."
"Are you done now?" Mr. Rabb has his arms crossed in front of his chest.
"I think so, yeah." I reply.
"Well first off, while appreciate the balls it took to come out here and confront me, especially considering the assumptions I was working under, this is really a family matter in which I think it would be unwise for you to involve yourself. Second, and we were probably bound to have this conversation anyway, don't play with my daughter's emotions. If you hurt her, I will make you suffer. Are we clear?"
"Freakin' crystal." I answer.
"Good. Last, if you could really get Sasha to apologize, you would be saving me a world of hurt. Do you think you can do it?" Mr. Rabb's back to being a more laid back guy.
"I think so, I mean they both kind of acted completely irrationally, which is odd for the two of them. I think Sasha will apologize once she realizes how it must have looked this morning." I explain. "That's a hell of a daughter you raised, sir."
"I like to think so." Mr. Rabb smiles. "Remember, you hurt her…"
"I suffer, I got it." I shake his hand and he heads back toward his room. My dad always told me that good people appreciate being dealt with directly and honestly, which was the only way to handle this situation. I open the door and head back into Sasha's room.
"Who was that?" She looks up from breakfast.
"Your dad." I answer taking a seat next to her on the bed.
"Awful brave of you." She replies with a fond smile. "What did he have to say?"
"Your mom's pretty upset." I start. "Also something about my suffering if you were hurt but it was mostly about your mom being upset about that little exchange you two had."
"Yeah, can you believe her?" Sasha turns to me.
"No doubt that she was a little over protective but you were a little aggressive with her too. I mean, I think you were completely right but she's your mom and there are some things you just shouldn't say to your parents." I'm treading lightly here.
"So you think I'm right but I should apologize anyway?" She questions.
"Yeah." I nod hesitantly.
"Why?" She questions.
"Because it doesn't matter who's right and who's wrong, she's your mom and that means you're the one who should apologize." I answer taking her hands in mine. "Just keep the peace; it's a hell of a lot easier than fighting over who's right or wrong. Do you really want to fight with your mom over something as small as this?"
"It's not small!" Sasha argues. "She doesn't trust me. She doesn't trust that I'm able to just sleep in a bed with you, one of my oldest friends, without having sex with you."
"No offence, babe. But look at what you're wearing and look at what I'm wearing." I indicate that she's still wearing the red satin number and I'm still in a bathrobe. "I could call a few people in here; they'll make the same mistake. Now, it's a completely innocent mistake, there's no malicious intent, they're just following the trail of evidence."
"And the evidence suggests we had sex?" She questions, it's good to know she's back to trying to make me blush.
"Well, short of DNA…" I start but I see here start to move slowly closer to me on the bed.
"What was that you called me a minute or two ago?" She looks at me slyly.
"I may have used the word 'babe' but you were the one who kissed me pretty hard twenty minutes ago." I'm suddenly feeling the room get very small. I have to remember what dad says, the best defence is a good offence. I spin her around on the bed and begin to rub her shoulders. It's hell on me and I know that sounds pathetic but she's beautiful and she's got this great skin and the problem with touching her is that you want to kiss her. The problem with kissing her is that we then end up having to have some conversation about what this means for us. I know, I know, you're thinking I just kissed her. No, she kissed me. It's a small but important distinction. In these crazy delineations we've set up, she's allowed to kiss me whenever she wants because I'm not going to ask a lot of questions.
When she starts to emit these tiny little moans, it sends this shiver up my spine. This has to be a feeling of both pride and uncertainty. The clock on the nightstand reads 8:50; I've still got an hour before I've got to leave for practice. She's just letting her head roll loosely as I massage her shoulders. I don't think that my hands are going to be able to maintain their chivalry much longer. I get up from the bed and start to wring my hands. "Why did you stop?" She turns and looks over her shoulder at me.
"You can't be serious!" I charge. "Look at you! You think it's easy for me to touch you, to stroke you without wanting to just be with you?" I've got my arms crossed in front of my chest. She gets off the bed and starts walking toward me.
"Why don't you just be with me then?" She puts her hands on my chest.
"Because you don't know what it means." I reply. "When I get back to Kitchener, we go at a break neck pace until March, when the season ends. Then we've got the playoffs. If we're lucky or good or both, there's two months of those. Then I get a week maybe ten days off if we make the Memorial Cup, then I go to that week long tournament in Kingston. Once the season's over, I've got two or three weeks off before the draft combine and interviews and then another two or three weeks before the actual draft in June. After the draft, I have two months before training camp starts, I report to my NHL team at the start of September, if I stick with the team, I'll be there all season, if not then they send me back down to Kitchener." I explain, taking a deep breath.
"What's your point?" She asks, those big eyes pleading with me.
"You're about to enter university, then you'll have medical school, you really want to start a relationship with somebody who can at best be a part-time boyfriend?" I question, trying not to let it slip that all I really want to do is take her in my arms and tell her that I can be everything she wants me to be. "I don't want to say no, because I can't say no when I look at you. I want you too much. But I don't know that a relationship is good for either of us; I've never been good at that kind of thing. I'll leave it up to you." I put my hands on her shoulders, lean forward and kiss her forehead.
"Will you come back here tonight?" She asks.
"No." I shake my head. "Not with the gold medal game the next day. But I'll be here the night after the game." I smile and close the door behind me.
The next thirty-six hours pass ridiculously slowly. I pull out all the stops at practice on the day off and in the gym after practice to try and get her out from under my helmet but it's not helping. Now we're all getting our equipment on before the biggest game of any of our lives. Of course those of us like Nolan, Marty Schaefer and myself who were here last year when we lost to Canada in the gold medal game. Pulling my skate laces tight, I look around the room and see the grim spectres of a team that's still trying to get over the close game against Russia Wednesday night.
The Canadians are the heavy favourites; they've absolutely laid waste to the competition they've faced in this tournament. They play a pretty simple style, they spend the first thirty minutes of the game establishing a multi-goal lead and then once they have it, they just play a shutdown game against the other team. There are a few guys on the other team that I'm worried about. Trevor Wood is expected to go first overall at the Draft in June; he's a star centre with the Guelph Storm in the OHL, those things generally amount to a media created rivalry between the two of us back in Canada. Then there's the Team Canada Captain, Marcus Grundler who plays in the Western Hockey League for the Everett Silvertips. He's a big defenseman with a bit of a temper and a huge slap-shot. Last year, I almost got in a fight with him during the gold medal game and tempers could run high again this year. Finally there's the Canadian goaltender Jean-Antoine Gaudreau who plays for Baie-Comeau Drakkar of the Quebec League.
Once I've got my jersey on, I look down at the blue on the sleeves. I love wearing this jersey, though I'll never admit it out loud, it does kind of make me feel like Superman. I pull my helmet out from behind me and I stare down at the white helmet contrasted against the black cage that comes down over my face. I slide my gloves over my hands and begin to pace the room. "You're gonna tire yourself out, Cap'." Nolan muses as he spins another roll of tape over the blade of his stick.
"Just trying to work off a little of the excess energy." I reply, running my hand through my hair.
"Thought that was what the little brunette missus was for?" Nolan jests and I take a seat next to him. "You're about to introspect aren't you?"
"I'm just trying to understand the world." I reply, hunching forward in my seat.
"No, you're trying to understand women and that's dangerous." Nolan chuckles. "Now, get your head in the game and leave the girl in the stands." Nolan and I are the leaders of this team on the ice and on the bench. It's going to be interesting for us to skate out on to that ice and see Doc playing for the other team, since we're used to playing with him in Kitchener. But maybe it'll be just like playing against Huddy in the Czech Republic game.
Coach gives us a pretty good pre-game talk and then we head down the hallway to the tunnel. Tonight's game, just like Wednesday night's game is being broadcast on NBC right before the bowl game. The overnight ratings from Wednesday showed that we got six million viewers, so NBC opted to show the gold medal game as well. They call out the Team Canada players first and they take the ice in their Canadian red jerseys. Then they call out the Team USA players. The line slowly shuffles out on to the ice until I'm the only one left in the tunnel. They call my name and I skate out on to the ice to a mass of deafening cheers from the sell out crowd here at the Wachovia Center.
The coach sends out our shutdown line against the top line for Team Canada. The only thing that becomes apparent after the face-off is that they're overmatched. The Canadians bowl over them, even most of them are able to do it with size but Trevor Wood does it with pure skill. The Canadians control the play for a few seconds before Wood slides a pass out in front of the net to one of his line-mates to put the Canadians up 1-0. Coach shakes his head and sends my line over the boards. Just as I climb over the boards, I look over at the Canadian bench and see Marcus Grundler taking to the ice.
Ashby and Doc line up on opposite sides of centre ice. Ashby's got arms like an oranguatan; it's what makes him a great centre. He wins the draw and pulls the puck back to Spencer at the point. Spencer looks for me or Carey in order to make a quick pass up ice. He finds me on the right wing and I streak up ice with the puck on the blade of my stick. I've hold to the outside of Grundler who's trying to force me into the boards. I flip a pass over to Carey who has kept pace with me. Carey barely accepts the pass before firing a wrist shot on goal. The Canadian goaltender Gaudreau gets over and catches the shot in a brilliant save. I come to sharp stop in front of the Canadian goal, spraying snow all over the goaltender. Grundler gives me a shove that causes me to stagger for a second. I take a step and give him a hard shove right back that knocks him flat on his butt.
Back home in the Canadian League, if the two of us met like this we'd just drop the gloves; pull off our helmets and fight to get it over with. But you can't fight in international hockey without being kicked out of the game. When Grundler gets up, he goes helmet to helmet with me and jaws at me. He'll call me every name under the sun and I'll respond in kind. The linesmen get between us and separate us and direct us back to our benches. This is going to keep happening though. The game takes on a rough and tumble attitude for the rest of the game because of what I've done. It plays right into the hands of the Canadian team and at the end of the first period; the Canadians are up 3-0.
As we re-enter the dressing room in between periods, I break my stick over the door in frustration. "Ease up, Cap', we'll get them next period." Carey gives me a pat on the back. Goddamn, I want that gold medal so badly but I can feel it slipping away again. We sit here and listen to the coach lecture us. He's pulling our goaltender, Petrecki and putting in our other goalie, Kevin MacMillan. He's tearing into our defence for not standing up the Canadian wingers at the blue-line and he's even ripping some of our other forwards for not back-checking hard enough. All the while, Nolan and I are sitting there shaking our heads. We're trying to figure out some way to crack the Canadian goaltender's focus. Eventually Nolan and I arrive at a plan that we're going to try going into the second period. We pull on our helmets and head out the door to play the second period.
Coach sends our line over the boards first. Ashby wins the face-off and draws the puck back to Nolan. The big defenseman is able to control the puck with such ease. He flips a pass up to Carey who skates it in over the line. I skate hard toward the front of the Canadian net to obstruct to goalie's view. The goaltender's trying to push me out of the way and so is Grundler. I just crouch over and hold my ground. Carey drops a pass back to Nolan who hesitates for a second so his booming shot doesn't hit me before letting one goal. It's along the ice and it hits the goaltender in the pads. Before I can get my stick on the rebound, I feel Grundler cross-check my back, so I make sure I fall forward on top of the Canadian goalie. The Canadian players rush over to pull me off their goaltender and Grundler manhandles me again. This time the referee calls him for a penalty and escorts him to the box.
We set up the power-play. Nolan and I stand guard on the point with Ashby, Carey and Jack Hamilton as our forwards. Peter wins the face-off and draws the puck back to Nolan. Nolan handles the puck just long enough to give me time to set up on the other side. Ashby sets up in front of the net to block the goalie's view. Nolan sends a pass over to me I look for an open shooting lane. After failing to find one, I send a pass back over to Nolan who looks for an open lane to the net. He pump fakes two shots before throwing a quick pass back over to me. I fire a quick one-timer on net that Ashby gets his stick on and deflects into the Canadian net passed goaltender Gaudreau.
Sadly, that was as close as we got all period. We weren't able to maintain any kind of pressure and the Canadians took advantage. By the end of the second period, the score is 5-1 for Team Canada. The team returns to the dressing room a dispirited group. Nolan and I are hanging our heads trying to find someway to motivate this team. We're the leaders of this team whether we like it or not. It's not the time for speeches, though in the movies this is always where the Captain or the coach gives a speech. I get up from my stall and walk over to the coach. "Put me out against Wood next period." I tell him.
"You want to play against their top line?" He questions.
"No, I want to knock the little fucker into next week." I reply with an evil smile. "Something's going to shake our guys loose and there's no better way to do it than to lead by example."
"So, you want to take a penalty?" The coach presses, I can tell he's annoyed.
"No, I want to rattle a cage or two." I reply. "Completely within the rules."
"Alright, either you're crazy or I am, but we've only got twenty minutes left at this tournament, so we'll figure out which." Coach gives me a pat on the shoulder. "Still one of us should say something."
"I got it." I nod at him. I clap my hands together a few times to draw attention to the centre of the room. "Listen up! We've got twenty minutes left and at least four goals to score, so if I see anybody in this room play like they've given up, so help me God you will need the trainer to pull my skate out of your ass, got it?!" There's a round of grunts. "I'm not kidding guys; you better go out there ready to play."
"Come on, Cap'." Bienkovsky interrupts me. "We're tired, we're frustrated, they're bigger, they're stronger. It's like being a welterweight in a fight with a heavyweight. We stayed in as long as we could but they're got us on the ropes, why does it matter how we fall to the mat?"
It's a good question, they must all feel defeated. I take a second and scratch my brow. Eventually I return my eyes to the questioner. "Because when the fall's all that's left, it matters a great deal." I answer and I look over at Nolan, Carey and Ashby who are all nodding. "Now, let's go out there and take it to them." I rally the team. They're half-assed enthused but they'll pick up steam as the period goes on. We head for the tunnel back out on to the ice. Coach wants me, Carey, Ashby, Nolan and Spencer on the ice to start the period.
Ashby steps into the face-off circle against Trevor Wood. Wood wins the face-off but Ashby steps into him and knocks him to the ice. I'm waiting for Peter to flick me a pass because the Canadian defence has folded in on the middle of the ice. Peter flits a pass out of the crowd at centre ice to my side of the ice. I take the pass calmly on my stick and take off for the net. Grundler removes himself from the scrum and takes off after me. He gets alongside me and tries to knock me off the puck but I'm just bearing down on the net at a solid rate of speed.
As we near the net, I've got to think of something to do to shake my defensive coverage. I slow down just a little bit and Grundler gets a step on me but I slide the puck through his legs a lift a backhanded shot on net. The big Canadian defenseman is standing between me and the puck in the air right now but when I see the red light go on behind the goal; my arms go into the air. Canada 5 – USA 2.
We head back to the bench for about a minute. The rest of the team might not think we can still win but at least my line does. Nolan rubs the top of my helmet as the two of us lean forward on the boards. Another line goes on the ice before it's time for my group to head back on. We're a little more than two minutes into the period and we climb over the boards for another shift. The Canadians iced the puck, and under new international rules, it's just like back home. They can't change their lines to match up with ours.
Ashby wins the face-off and draws the puck back to Spencer. Spencer plays with it for a second before sending it down the boards to me. I toss a pass down low to Ashby in the corner. Peter heads around behind the net with the puck. He drops a pass to Carey who moves in from the half-boards to the corner. Carey watches me move in from the opposing half-boards to the side of the net. He fires a hard pass across in front of the net and it lands right on the blade of my stick. I just flick my wrists and it ends up in the back of the net. Canada 5 – USA 3. The team's starting to get a little more revved up at the bench. We head back over to a crowd of smiles and cheers. Our team might just be back in it.
The period drudges on for a few more minutes and at times it seems like the Canadians can keep us hemmed in. But just as it looks hopeless, Andrew Bienkovsky fires a long stretch pass to Jack Hamilton who's hovering in the neutral zone. The Minnesota Wild first rounder and freshman at the University of North Dakota, is headed in alone on the Canadian goaltender. He fakes a wrist shot to the glove side goes to his backhand and lifts a backhander over the blocker of the sprawling Canadian goaltender. Canada 5 – USA 4. Hammy comes back to the bench and is mobbed by his team-mates. There isn't a soul on this bench who thinks we can't win now. I rub the top of Hammy's helmet as he joins us on the bench. Time continues to count down for us though. With slightly over two minutes left, Coach sends my line over the boards.
Ashby wins another face-off but within a few seconds we're struggling to maintain puck possession down low in the Canada zone. I'm trying to muscle a few guys in red sweaters off the puck. I succeed and move in behind the net. I slide a pass back up to Carey at the half-boards but he's checked fast by a Canadian defender. He loses the puck and I go chasing after it but before I can get there I feel a force throw me from my feet into the boards which I'm still more than two feet from. I go down and pull my helmet off my head. This serves two purposes, first is that it plays up the hit that came before it and the other is to allow me to check my vision to make sure I'm okay.
The whistle goes and Grundler is taken to the penalty box for two minutes for boarding. I slowly get back to my feet and put my helmet back on. Here's our last chance. We line up for the power-play, the only substitution is that Spencer Kraft is sent off and Jack Hamilton is sent on. I move back to the point next to Nolan. Peter loses the face-off and a Team Canada defender tries to send the puck around the boards and out of the zone. I race over and intercept the puck at the blue-line. I slide a pass down low to Jack Hamilton. Hammy plays with the puck before sending it across behind the net to Carey Moore. Carey tries to move a pass out front but reconsiders and fires a cross-ice pass to me at the far half-boards. I move in a little toward the net, in a bit of a draw before firing a pass back to Nolan at the point. Nolan rips a slap-shot on goal that sneaks in over the Canadian goalie's shoulder. Canada 5 – USA 5.
We all skate back and mob Nolan at the blue-line. The American side of the arena is on its feet having just erupted in applause. The Canadian side is absolutely stunned. With twenty-one seconds left in the period, the game is tied. There's massive cheering just coming from our own bench as we head back over. We play out the last twenty-one seconds of the game and prepare for overtime. Overtime is five minutes of hell, it's an intense quasi-orgasmic experience because the next goal wins and the energy from the crowd just pulsates throughout the building. I'm on the ice for almost all five minutes and while there are quality chances at both ends, no one scores. We're headed to a shootout.
The rules of a shootout are simple. Each side designates three different shooters. Whichever side scores the most times from those three shooters wins. If it's tied, then the coach can designate anyone on the team to take the following shots in the sudden death rounds. For our team, coach picks Nolan, Ashby and me. I don't know who's going for Team Canada but I'm willing to bet that Trevor Wood is their third shooter. "Hey Nolan!" I shout and my team-mate turns back toward me. "Ring the bell." I tell him and he nods.
We have to shoot first and our first shooter is Nolan. The ref blows his whistle and Nolan pushes the puck forward. He steps over the blue-line and has the puck well out in front of him. He tees up another slap-shot and just unleashes it. It slams the front of Gaudreau's mask and knocks the Canadian goaltender flat on his back. It's no goal, but it may have served a better purpose than scoring.
The Canadians send out Ontario League sniper Ronny Fernandez. Fernandez zooms in on goal and fires a shot at the high glove hand side of the net. But our goaltender, Kevin MacMillan, flashes his glove hand out and keeps the puck out of the net. The next shooter for our side is Peter Ashby. Peter's great a handling the puck, as he moves in on net, his moves get more frantic and styled. He curls up on his forehand as he's right up against the blue paint of the crease and he fires a quick wrist shot into the top of the net. He taunts the Canadian bench as he skates by on his way back to our bench.
The next up for the Canadians is Marcus Grundler. In spite of the fact that I think he's a goon, he's actually a really talented defenseman. Grundler moves in on our goaltender and fires crisp, heavy wrist shot through our goaltender's five-hole. Now, it's up to me. I'm the third shooter for Team USA. I take the puck at centre ice and slowly gain steam as I move in on the Canadian goal. Just as I move in toward the slot, I ease off the gas a bit and fire a shot, low blocker side, on the Canadian goaltender beating him and putting Team USA up by a goal. I skate full tilt back to the bench and take a flying leap into my team-mates waiting there for me. But now it all comes down to our goalie. The Canadians send Trevor Wood out to take the shot.
Wood skates in full throttle on MacMillan. As he gets in close, he fakes a shot to the glove side, somehow controls the puck and wraps it around MacMillan to the stick side. We're still tied. The ref calls me and Grundler over to discuss the rules for extra shooters. We have to change the rotation because it's the last game no team is to be given an unfair advantage or some stupid rule like that in the IIHF book. So, the Canadians get the next shooter too. They send Wood back out. This time he moves in on MacMillan a little slower, taking time to weigh his options. This go around, when he gets in close to MacMillan, he fires a shot at the stick side but MacMillan uses his blocker to direct the shot to the side boards.
I stand at centre ice. The equation now is simple. I score and the gold medal is ours. I take the puck in at a pretty fast pace. I fly down the left hand side, curving in slowly toward the Canadian goal. I make the play like I'm going to try and lift a backhander over Gaudreau's shoulder so he hugs the post really tight. I cut hard and fast back into the middle of the ice and the goaltender follows me, prepared for the shot. At the last second, I reach around him with my stick and flip a backhander into the net. The red light goes on and I head back toward the bench but my team-mates have already hopped over the boards and they mob me on my way over.
The Canadian team is completely deflated. They watched a four goal lead slip through their fingers. The two teams line up at centre ice and we shake hands to congratulate each other on a hard fought match. An absolute bloody war on ice. I shake Doc's hand and laugh because I know I'll see him on the flight tomorrow. Grundler and I shake hands with a grudging respect. Our series is tied, he beat me last year and I beat him this year. But I think we'll meet again. The two team line up on their respective blue-lines for the awards ceremony. Gaudreau, Grundler and Wood all get named to the tournament all-star team from Team Canada. From our team, only Nolan and I get that honour. Hedlund, the Swede, is the only other player on the team. Wood is named the player of the game for Team Canada, and I win the honours for Team USA, it's my third such honour of the tournament. Then the medals are presented. We line up and let them hang the golds around our necks and once that's done. We sing along with the ceremonial playing of The Star Spangled Banner at the top of our lungs.
After a few moments of waving to the crowd and conducting on-ice interviews with the sports news services covering the game, we head back toward the tunnel and the dressing room. I stop for a second to sign some autographs for the kids pushing pucks and jerseys and copies of my hockey card in my face. After signing a few autographs, I look up a see a familiar face hanging over the rail. It's Sash. I reach up take her by the crook of her neck and pull her into a kiss. I don't really use the word "love" a lot but I do love this woman's tongue. She moves it so well and so nimbly. Eventually we part, look up and realize we're on the jumbo-tron hanging over centre ice. I lean forward and whisper in her ear. "Tonight?"
"Yeah." She breathes back.
Well, I never did get to her hotel room last night. The boys took me out celebrating as the hockey world's newest gold medallists. We got back late last night and hit the sack almost immediately since we had early flights the next morning. So, I got up at six this morning. Wrote a very long note trying to explain myself and my actions and slid it under her door before heading down to meet up with the boys for breakfast. We left for the airport together. We all said goodbye to Ashby so he could hop on a short commuter flight to Erie. Spencer, Carey, Nolan and I met up with Doc and Huddy at the gate for the Kitchener flight. We're a good contrast, the six of us. Three of us know where we're going. Huddy's going to the Atlanta training camp next September, but he'll likely end up with their AHL affiliate in Chicago. Spencer's the same way, he'll go to the New York Rangers' training camp but he'll likely end up with their AHL affiliate in Hartford. Of all of us, Nolan has the best chance of cracking the pros next year with the Philadelphia Flyers.
Carey, Doc and I, we all gotta wait until June just to see if we get drafted and if we do, where we'll end up. Even then there's a chance that the three of us will end up back in Kitchener next year. Not a bad thing, but Kitchener's miles away from Harvard.