“Army. How the hell are you?”
“Good.” Duncan grinned at the guy he’d played NCAA hockey with for two years, now playing for the opposing Wolves. They stayed close to the center line but didn’t cross it into opposing territory during the warm-up. “How’s the family?”
Louey and his wife had just had a baby a month ago and this was the first time the teams had met up since.
“Great.” He grimaced. “So fucking happy to be in a hotel tonight and get a decent night’s sleep.”
“Aw. Keeping you up at night, is he? Poor baby. That’d explain your lack of points lately.”
“Asshole. Least I got an explanation.” Louey skated off with a grin.
The horn announced the end of the warm-up and they left the ice for their respective dressing rooms as the Zamboni prepared to drive onto the ice. In the dressing room, Duncan took off his helmet and pulled his jersey over his head, then drank his Gatorade followed by a big glass of ice water. In that order.
He felt good, really good, eager for the game to start.
Duncan watched Hallsy sitting quietly by his locker, apparently lost in thought. He frowned. Man, Hallsy better not play like shit again or there was going to be some kind of revolt. Maybe he needed to talk to Duper, who as team captain could approach Hallsy and see what was going on with him. Couple of months ago, Duper’d been worried about Ronner and his prescription drug use after having surgery, and his suspicions had been bang on. Ronner was now in rehab.
Surely to Christ Hallsy couldn’t have the same problem? He hadn’t been injured, so there was no reason for him to be taking drugs, but illegal drugs weren’t unheard of either. Last season, Williams in Florida had been arrested for possession of cocaine and what a shit storm that had been. It was just stupid. They were all subject to two no-notice drug tests a year, at any time, and one of those was done team-wide. Positive tests resulted in a twenty-game suspension and mandatory referral to the NHL’s Substance Abuse and Behavioral Health Program.
Coach announced the starting lineup—him, Hallsy, Rico up front, Benny and Kirby on D, and, of course, Stoykers in goal. “Get right into it, guys,” Coach shouted.
Time for the game to begin. Focus. He followed his teammates through the tunnel once more, hearing the crowd cheering as the announcer bellowed out, “Ladies and gentlemen, here they are…your Chicaaaaago Aaaaaaces!”
He took a running leap to the ice, flashing lights and pumping music and loud cheers surrounding him. A rush, every time. He always wanted to be grateful that he had this, that his dreams of playing in the NHL had come true. Even eight years later, he never wanted to take that for granted.
He skated fast laps around their end while Stoykers headed to the net and began roughing up the paint with his skate blades and going through his own routine. Then the rest of the players headed to the bench while Duncan and the starting lineup skated into position on the blue line facing the flag, removing their helmets.
He did his visualization during the national anthem, as he always did, gloves on the top of his stick, head bowed, picturing how he wanted the game to go, starting with the opening face-off.
He pictured Rico taking the face-off, getting the puck to him, how they’d move into position.
The nasty tone of the game was set right from the start. As he lined up for the face-off at center ice, Girolama, winger for the Wolves, started jabbing and jostling him. “Jesus, Bamalama,” Duncan muttered out of one corner of his mouth, lifting an elbow and holding his ground. “Get a little closer, why doncha. You wanna dance with me or fuck me?”
Rico won the face-off and got the puck to him and it was sweet to snap it away from Girolama and send it ahead to Hallsy. Duncan skated after him on the right wing, letting Hallsy take it over the blue line, then pass it to him. Right on the tape, it was a perfect pass, and he let it go toward the net in a fast wrist shot. The crowd roared, but Chaney in net caught it in a glove and the play was whistled dead.
Not bad for a start. First shot on goal in the first minute. Duncan grinned as they prepared for another face-off. “Sucker,” he said to Girolama. “Maybe you should pay more attention to your game, not dancing with me.”
Girolama growled and shoved him.
“You’re so close I can tell you had onions for lunch. Your breath stinks.” Duncan shoved him back and got another push in return, earning a glare from the linesman.
“Easy, guys,” the linesman said.