Off the Crossbar (15 page)

“That’s what you always say,” Hilton grunted. “Let me look.” He bent over and examined Charlie’s arm.

“It doesn’t hurt that much anymore.” Charlie wiggled his fingers vigorously to prove the point.

A spasm of pain shot up his arm. His wrist throbbed, but he struggled to hide any sign of discomfort. Without him, they’d be down to Matt at centre — and no one to
shadow Savard.

Hilton’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you sure you can play?”

“I’m fine, Coach. I just got a stinger, is all.”

Hilton bit his upper lip. Finally, he nodded. “We’ll give it one shift. Be careful, and we’ll monitor the situation.”

Matt was coming to the bench calling for a change. Charlie leapt to his feet and hopped the boards before Hilton could change his mind. Nick hit him with a pass almost as soon as his skates touched the ice. He set off down the wing, as the crowd let out a loud cheer when they saw him back on the ice. Charlie was relieved to find that he could grip his stick without too much difficulty. He had no support, up against two defenders, so when he crossed the blue line Charlie fired a shot on net. Instantly, a burning sensation swept down his arm, leaving him feeling sick to his stomach. And even though he’d just come on, and Savard was still on the ice, he headed straight back to the bench.

Fortunately, the pain subsided after icing it for a minute, and he was ready for his next shift. Shooting was definitely out of the question, though. That was not a big problem since his real job was to keep Savard off the score sheet. At the same time, Terrence Falls needed to score to win and, unless he could shoot there was little chance of helping in that department.

Five minutes later the buzzer sounded to end the second period. As he headed off for a change, Savard skated up alongside him and asked about his arm.

“Forget about it,” Charlie replied. “It’s fine. Just stung, that’s all.

“Good,” Savard said, tapping Charlie on the shin pads lightly and skating off to his bench.

Charlie sat down next to Pudge. Despite icing it after every shift, his arm had swollen up since taking that shot from the blue line, and one spot on his forearm was still very sensitive, even with the protective bandage. Of course, he wasn’t about to let Savard know that. Savard was too good a player not to take advantage if he knew Charlie was playing at less than one hundred percent.

With ten minutes to go in the third period, Charlie leaned back and surveyed his teammates on the bench. He realized that on a player-by-player basis, Chelsea was the more talented team. Perhaps Jake, Liam and Thomas would have evened it out, but without them, Terrence Falls simply couldn’t match up. As the third period ticked by, Chelsea’s skills were taking over, controlling the puck for long stretches of time and showering Alexi with shots. Apart from the occasional icing to relieve the pressure, it seemed the whole game was being played in Terrence Falls’ end. Charlie had worked hard to keep the puck off Savard’s stick, and the whole team did a good job of containing Burnett, but Chelsea had other players who could play and they were getting closer to scoring.

Constantly defending your own goal is exhausting, and the Terrence Falls players were tired. Charlie knew a tired team made mistakes. He could see it starting too. Instead of playing solid positional hockey, conserving energy, and headmanning the puck, guys began to run
around the ice, trying to do things themselves, taking foolish chances with the puck. All were signs of a team in serious trouble. Fortunately, Terrence Falls had an equalizer in Alexi. All champions need great goaltending, and Terrence Falls was getting it, in spades. He was at his best when he got lots of action, thriving on the pressure. Three times in the space of five minutes, a Chelsea player came in on a breakaway, and not one managed to beat the cagey Russian.

Unfortunately, though, despite Alexi’s heroics, the inevitable happened. A Chelsea player got loose in front of the net and jammed home a rebound, giving his team the lead. Charlie sensed the energy drain from the entire bench. Shoulders sagged and no one could muster words of encouragement. Even the normally positive Hilton was grim-faced.

“We’ll get that back,” Charlie announced. “This ain’t over. We’ve come too far to lose. No chance. We gotta get a break at some point.”

His fighting words failed to register. His teammates sat quietly and watched the faceoff at centre. Charlie sighed inwardly and took a sip of water. He had tried his best — so had the rest of the team. Sometimes your best wasn’t good enough.

“Need liquid?” he offered Pudge.

The plucky right winger had fought through the pain of his swollen ankle to play a mighty game. You couldn’t ask more of a teammate — or a friend.

Pudge took a long swig.

“We need one lucky break,” Charlie repeated. “The
bounces aren’t going our way. It’s been like that the entire game.”

Pudge nodded weakly. His face was pale and drawn.

“You okay to keep playing?” Charlie asked with concern.

Pudge straightened up and placed the water on the ledge in front of him.

“Game’s over when the buzzer goes — until then, I’m with you.”

Charlie gave Pudge’s shoulder pad a whack.

“Then let’s tie this game up.”

A loud cheer rose from the Terrence Falls supporters.

“What happened?” Charlie asked Zachary.

The left winger stood up, his usual cockeyed grin firmly in place.

“Looks like you got that lucky break. Nick was cuttin’ up ice and Chelsea’s forechecker got his stick caught in Nick’s skates. Cheap penalty — but I say, we’ll take it.”

Hilton leaned over Charlie’s shoulder.

“I agree with Zachary. Why don’t you three go out there and get me that goal.” In Charlie’s ear he whispered, “and I think this is one shift when I want you to ignore Savard and try to score. This could be our last chance with a man advantage. I sense they might be a bit overconfident.”

Charlie, Pudge and Zachary filed onto the ice

“This is it, boys,” Charlie said to them as they skated to a faceoff just outside Terrence Falls’ end. “We may be wounded, but we’re not dead yet.”

“Not even close,” Zachary replied.

“Let’s do this,” Pudge added.

The referee dropped the puck and Charlie knocked it over to Zachary. Chelsea’s left defenceman hadn’t moved up to cover him, so Zachary was able to leg it over the red line and fire it into Chelsea’s end.

Pudge stormed down his wing after it. He couldn’t move too well laterally with his bad foot, but straight ahead he could still bring a load. The defenceman barely touched the puck before Pudge hammered him into the boards with a punishing bodycheck. The puck squirted into the left corner. Charlie went in hard and wrestled it free, shovelling it behind the net to Zachary. Zachary looked around, and fired a sharp pass to Scott at the point. Chelsea set up their box and waited for Terrence Falls to make a move.

Pudge immediately made himself a nuisance. He parked his big frame two feet from the crease and refused to budge an inch, despite several whacks at the back of his legs, courtesy of Chelsea’s goalie. Zachary stayed near the boards at the hash marks as an outlet for Scott. Charlie surveyed the scene and, on a whim, went behind Chelsea’s net. It took him out of the play, but Chelsea’s box was relatively high, and he thought that there might be an opportunity to attack down low.

Maybe it was the cheering crowd, or simply that it can be hard to stay in one place, but the Chelsea winger covering Scott grew impatient, and he suddenly lunged forward, swinging his stick at the puck. Scott was ready. He bounced to the outside, and fired the puck around the boards to Charlie, who stopped the speeding disk with
his body pressed up against the boards. He quickly scooped the puck up and went back behind Chelsea’s net.

Now Chelsea had a problem. Neither defenceman could force him to pass for fear of leaving the front of the net open. Chelsea was a well-coached team, however, and didn’t panic. Each defenceman covered one post, bending down low to stop the pass in front. The goalie kept back in his net, down on one knee, covering the far post with his pad, and dropping his paddle sideways to the ice. One winger covered Pudge in front of the net, and the other stayed up high to guard the slot.

Charlie feinted left, then right, trying to get Chelsea to overreact, but had no success. He was about to pass it back to the point when Nick charged at the net on the left. Charlie went that way, but the winger up top shifted over to take away the pass. Charlie moved back behind the net. He’d held the puck there for almost ten seconds, and the tension was starting to mount. The crowd was certainly excited, and they roared loudly, imploring their charges on.

Nick remained down low after his little mini-rush at the net. Scott drifted into the centre. Charlie looked up at Scott and nodded. Everything was set up for a play they’d worked on in practice. Charlie rifled a pass to Zachary at the side boards, which drew the left defenceman towards him. Zachary flipped a pass to Scott at the point, and then charged the front of the net to set up a screen with Pudge. Scott raised his stick as if to shoot, which drew the left winger towards him. The two defencemen struggled to push Pudge and Zachary aside, while the other winger
watched Nick. That left Charlie still uncovered, and he slipped to the side of the net, behind everyone.

Scott faked the shot and slapped a hard pass to Charlie. Everyone on the ice was completely fooled. The goalie had come out for the shot, and the Chelsea penalty killers were too busy fighting for position in front of the net.

Charlie didn’t try to stop the pass. He merely angled his stick and deflected the puck into the net. He spun towards his own goal, and pointed at Scott with his right glove. The two boys embraced in celebration, and were soon joined by Pudge, Zachary and Nick.

“Unbelievable pass,” Charlie yelled in Scott’s ear.

“Just doing my job, Joyce.”

Zachary was pounding his teammates on the helmet. “Beautiful, boys. Way to go. What a play.”

The players came to the bench for a change. Hilton was waving at the referee.

“We’ll take a time out,” he said.

Charlie was surprised. It was odd to call a time out with seven minutes on the clock. Hilton motioned for his team to huddle around.

“Boys, you’ve played a whale of a game. I’m really proud of you. I don’t think anyone in this building expected us to be tied with seven minutes to go.” He then added, wryly, “I expected you to be winning, but this is okay.

“I don’t want to go end-to-end with them. They’ve got too many shooters. We need to slow the tempo down and get Chelsea out of its rhythm. If the puck’s in our end,
ice it. Don’t take any chances. When it doubt, fire it up off the glass.” He turned to Alexi. “You’re the one who can take the most minutes off the clock. Catch every puck you can or cover it up, and hold on unless there’s absolutely no one around and the ref is yelling at you to move it.”

The referee skated over and blew his whistle. “Time out’s over.”

“One last thing,” Hilton said hurriedly. “When the puck’s in their end, only one forechecker. The other two forwards stay outside the zone, either forcing a player with the puck or picking up your check.”

The referee’s whistle blasted. The Terrence Falls players rushed to set up for the faceoff. Charlie took a seat on the bench. He understood the wisdom of the time out now. The coach realized a new strategy was needed for them to win. The penalty had been a lucky break, and they’d taken advantage. But Chelsea would be coming at them even harder now. Terrence Falls had to slow the game down, or they would certainly give up a goal. If they could frustrate Chelsea, play solid defence and look to counterattack, then they might get lucky and bag the winner.

Matt won the draw, and Ethan slapped it straight up the middle and right on goal. For the next five minutes that scene was repeated over and over. Terrence Falls iced the puck at every opportunity. Chelsea tried to mount an attack, but with four or five Terrence Falls players lined up in the neutral zone, there was little they could do.

The Chelsea fans started booing once they saw
Terrence Falls was in a defensive shell. A few began to heckle Hilton.

“Hey, Coach, why don’t you just give up?”

“Afraid to play against a real team?”

Charlie grew increasingly uncomfortable with the strategy, and the catcalls stung his pride. Holding back and slowing the game to a crawl went against his competitive nature. He obeyed his coach’s orders to the letter, though, along with everyone else, dumping the puck out of their end, icing it, and taking time off the clock at every opportunity.

With a minute to go, the whistle blew. Alexi had robbed Chelsea yet again from point-blank range, with a magnificent glove save.

“Charlie, your line’s up,” Hilton said. As they filed out the door, he added, “And I think that’s enough defensive play for a while. How about we try to win the game?”

Charlie grinned and nodded vigorously. He was more than happy to shift into high gear. His arm was starting to feel better, so he thought he could risk at least one more shot.

Charlie had battled Savard in the faceoff circle all game, and he hadn’t done badly. Savard was probably the best centreman he’d ever faced, and whenever he didn’t stick to the basics, Savard had beaten him cleanly. Still, an idea came to him. It was risky, but it offered a chance of winning. He guessed Savard would try to draw the puck back to Burnett. His idea was to let Savard win the draw, but intercept the pass before it got to Burnett.

He steeled his nerves and waited for the puck to drop, inching over to Savard’s
inside shoulder, praying the ref wouldn’t notice and tell him to square up. Fortunately, the ref was more focused on making sure everyone lined up outside the circle. When the players were all set to his satisfaction, he bent down, held the puck over their sticks momentarily, and dropped it.

Charlie hesitated for a fraction of a second. Savard drew the puck back, but didn’t notice that Charlie had jumped around him until it was too late. Burnett never got to let that big shot go. Instead, Charlie got the puck first. He veered away from Burnett towards the boards. The other defenceman made a bad decision and tried a poke check at the blue line. Charlie simply bounced the puck off the boards, skated around the defender, and picked it up just inside the red line.

Charlie raced down the ice on the left side. He glanced over his right shoulder and spotted Zachary striding up fast to catch him. Burnett had managed to scramble back, skating backwards frantically, looking back and forth between the two attackers. Charlie slowed to allow Zachary to catch up. They hit the blue line together. Charlie slid the puck to Zachary, who immediately turned on the jets to the outside. Burnett was surprised by the move. It looked as if Zachary had forgotten that it was a two-on-one. Zachary surprised him even more when he cut in sharply towards the net at the hash marks. The goalie moved out to protect the short side, and Burnett slid along the ice to block what he thought would be a shot on goal. The rangy winger had not forgotten Charlie at all, however. At the last moment, he flicked a pass across
to Charlie in the slot. The goalie flung himself back to the middle of the net in a butterfly. Charlie took one stride with the puck and from ten feet out snapped the puck decisively. His arm hurt when he let it go, but he didn’t hold anything back.

Clank!

The goalie’s best friend came to Chelsea’s rescue — the sound of it broke Charlie’s heart. The puck rang off the crossbar and ricocheted straight back to Savard, who whirled around to lead a counterattack.

Savard hadn’t had much of an opportunity to skate in open ice since the first shift of the game when he missed the breakaway, so he clearly wanted to make the most of it now. He fired a crisp pass to his left winger, who wisely passed it back once Savard had gathered up a good head of steam. The crowd was really into it now, sensing that this might be the deciding moment.

Savard bore down on Scott and Nick. They both readied themselves at the blue line, determined to stand him up. Savard veered towards Scott and faked a move outside — the steady defenceman didn’t bite. He kept his eyes directly on Savard’s chest, and waited for him to make a real move. And that he did. When he was five feet away, Savard cut into the middle of the ice and pushed the puck between them. Nick lowered his shoulder, and Scott bent down for a hip check.