Light the Lamp by Catherine Gayle

was a possibility, as well.
    I didn’t have much more time to wonder what was going on with Luddy because the head coach, Scotty Thomas, shouted my name. When I turned to look at him, he said, “You’re going back to the top line with RJ and Eller. Jonny, you’ll be taking the right wing with Hank and Webs.”
    I nodded my acknowledgment, my stomach already roiling at the thought that I’d be expected to score again when I’d almost been free of those expectations, and turned back to the ice. Zee, Soupy, and Babs were heading over the boards to take the next draw, but Zee stopped and looked at me.
    “ Just play your game,” he said, his eyes boring into me. “Don’t try to be Luddy out there.” Then he skated off and won the face-off against Henrik Zetterberg of the Red Wings.
    Play my game. Right. That’s what I’d been trying to do for a year and a half, and I hadn’t gotten anywhere with it. But he had a point about not trying to fill Luddy’s shoes. I could never be him. He was a sniper. He lurked around the net, waiting for a pass to hit his stick so he could get off a quick wrister and beat the goalie with the speed of his release. That had never been my game. I was the kind of winger who would cycle and move the puck, looking for a seam. My slap shot had always been more lethal than my wrist shot, so I was more dangerous from a distance than in close.
    Not that anyone would consider me dangerous these days.
    Zee’s line did a great job of making crisp passes to each other, getting smoothly into the offensive zone. Zee shot the puck on net from the half-wall, and Soupy jammed away at the rebound, trying to poke it through the goaltender’s five-hole.
    Somehow, Nicklas Kronwall, the Wings’ top defenseman, got the puck free and shot it out of the zone. Our D corralled it and held on to it in the neutral zone, waiting for our forwards to clear so we could go back in without being offside.
    This time Babs took the puck in and cycled it down low. The forwards started passing from one guy to the next to the next. They couldn’t get any more shots on the net, but they were seriously wearing the Wings down. One at a time, our guys came off for a change, and Scotty shouted for my line to replace them.
    When Babs got to the bench, I jumped over the boards and skated into the offensive zone as fast as I could. Zee passed me the puck on his way off to change. It hit my stick right on the tape. I didn’t have a good angle, and I knew nothing I shot at the net would go in anyway, so I passed it back to our D at the point and moved into a better position. The guy trying to cover me couldn’t keep up; Zee and the boys had exhausted them already. The puck made it over to RJ, who had come out to replace Zee, and RJ didn’t even hold on to it for a second. He cocked his stick back and faked a slap shot, instead redirecting it so it was heading straight for me.
    I had a great angle. No one would be able to move into my shooting lane to block the shot in time. If I could elevate it and shoot glove side, I doubted the goalie could catch up to it.
    But that meant I had to shoot. I couldn’t pass and hope someone else would.
    I brought my stick back. I swung it forward, dropping down to get more torque on my stick. Contact with the puck. It flew toward the net, rising as it traveled.
    Top shelf.
    Red light.
    Goal horn.
    I’d finally scored a fucking goal.
     
    “ The boys all say you must be my good luck charm,” Liam said. “I’m inclined to agree with them.”
    I didn’t know about all that.
    We were walking through the main concourse at the Moda Center after the game. He’d come to get me once he’d finished showering and talking to the media, and now we were headed to the parking garage so we could leave.
    He’d put his hand on the small of my back when we’d left the owner’s box, using it to gently guide me through the building. That slight contact brought him close enough that I could smell the earthy,