Carved in Ice

Jake Abbot Being a goalie is never easy, but it’s worse when you are the reason your team is losing. Ever since we lost the championship last season, I’ve lost it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, and I’m bringing the entire team down with me. And so far this season I haven’t been able to pull my head out of this rut. The more we lose, the more the depression drags me under. “Hell yeah, Win,” my best friend and teammate cheered at the TV. Wyatt and I play for a team in the national hockey league, the Timberwolves. Wyatt is center on the starting line, and I’m the starting goalie, not that I could stop anything. The entire team was at the team manager's mansion to watch his daughter and Wyatt’s younger sister play for Gold with the women’s national team. If they win, this will be her third gold medal. The name Hart on the back of a jersey flashed by as she took a shot. I laughed when it bounced off the goalie's helmet, knowing all too well that she was seeing stars for a moment. “That’s my girl,” William, our team manager shouted. “I think she’s better than you, Wyatt,” our head coach and Wyatt’s older brother, Warren, chuckled. I snickered beside Wyatt, and he backhanded my chest in warning. I took a swig of my beer as I focused on the game. It was now or never Winter, I silently cheered her on. The game was tied in the third period and the clock was running down. If she was going to make a move she had better do it quickly. The whistle blew, calling off sides. I could see Winter was getting frustrated as she skated to the face-off. She was over her shift time, but I knew, being the captain, that she was determined to win her team another gold medal. “Keep calm, little one,” William muttered as we watched, holding our breath. She was playing our country’s rivals, and she didn’t want to lose. Winning the face-off in the other team's zone, she passed it to her right-winger, who was instantly covered by the defense of the other team. She whipped it to the boards and Winter picked it up again. Dodging players from the other team, she took a shot. There were two minutes left. The room was now standing as we waited to see if the puck hit the back of the net. It happened so fast, the siren blared with the goal, but it was Winter who I couldn’t take my eyes off. The rival captain cross-checked her from behind, sending her down and sliding into the boards. “What the f**k?” William yelled, throwing his hands in the air. The ref blew the whistle, not that it mattered, Winter wasn’t moving. My heart stopped beating as we waited for the announcers to announce something. “Number twenty-five, Hart has taken a nasty hit. We are waiting for news of her injury.” The arena booed as the ref threw the player off the ice. The room here booed the TV. I would have as well, but I couldn’t breathe. “Get up,” Wyatt yelled beside me. Get up, I repeated in my head over and over again. Her coach and medic were rushing onto the ice, as her right-winger knelt beside her. We should be there. If our season wasn’t in full swing we would have been, but that did nothing to ease the guilt that churned my stomach as I watched someone I grew up with not moving on the ice. Seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours as we watched, unable to do a damn thing. Then she moved and I took in much-needed air. When she slowly sat up and rested on her elbow, my breathing became harsh, but I was breathing. “Hart is getting up. We still don’t know the extent of her injuries,” the announcer said. “That was a dirty hit, and it will be noted that number fifty-three will be suspended from playing in this league indefinitely. We only play here every four years and she isn’t a rookie. She was the captain. Oh, Hart is getting up now, and she’s standing.” There was blood running down one of her cheeks. “She is stronger than she looks, that’s for sure. I know men who play in the national league who wouldn’t be getting back up after a hit like that,” the other announcer said. “That’s it little one, take it easy,” William said as we watched her skate off the ice to the bench. She took off her helmet and there was a cut under her eye from her visor. “Less than two minutes left in the gold medal game folks. We have just been informed Hart will not be returning to the ice, but she is okay. With the ice now clear and the score three to two, let’s get this game finished.” William pulled out his phone and made a call. He went into the other room and started yelling at the person at the other end. “f**k, that was close,” Wyatt breathed out. “We still don’t know the details,” I sighed. We all gasped when Winter jumped the boards and entered the game again. The other team had pulled their goalie with thirty seconds left. “Dad, get in here,” Wyatt shouted, and his father rushed back into the room. “What the hell is she doing?” Her father yelled at the TV. “It seems Hart wants another piece as she has entered the game with only thirty seconds left,” the announcer exclaimed. “What a pass from right-winger James to Hart. Hart is on a breakaway and she is untouchable. She winds up the shot and GOAL!” We all cheered as the siren sounded the goal before the buzzer blew, signing the end of the game. Winter’s and her team’s gloves and helmets covered the ice as they celebrated their four to two win. She looked better with a smile on her face. Her cheek now had a bandage, but she was still beautiful with her face flushed and covered in sweat. “Why the f**k would you let her back on the ice?” Will screamed into his phone. He hung up and flopped back in his chair. He looked like he had aged ten years. “She’ll be okay, Will. She’s stronger than most boys in the league.” My father, his best friend, and ex-teammate reassured him. “She has a concussion, she shouldn’t be on the f*****g ice,” he growled. I couldn’t tear my eyes from the screen. She gathered with her team on the ice as they handled the gold medals. She was all smiles. If she was in pain she didn’t show it. “She’s celebrating, so that’s a good sign, Dad. The medical team wouldn’t let her back on the ice if they thought she couldn’t handle it,” Wyatt told his father. I looked at him. Does he not know his sister at all? Even Warren scoffed. “Clearly, you don’t know our sister.” The camera went to an announcer on the ice and Winter was waiting to be interviewed. The joys of being captain. Her long auburn hair was pulled back in a braid and her deep green eyes were sparkling. “Winter Hart, Captain of the Gold-winning team. How are you feeling after that nasty hit?” He asked her. I rolled my eyes, obviously, it hurt, asshole. “I’m feeling good.” She panted. I could see the deep bruise on her cheek, even with a bandage. “You must be proud of your team for this historic win. This is your third gold medal.” “I’m so proud of them. This was a tough game, and they pulled through like I knew they would.” She smiled. It was then that her team came up behind her with the water and dumped it all over her. She was soaked and laughing as she ignored the announcer and embraced her team. “Winter Hart, everyone. One of the best female hockey players I have ever seen. Which isn’t a surprise since her father played for the Timberwolves in his prime. Now his oldest son, Warren Hart, is head coach after an injury that ended his hockey career. Her other brother, Wyatt Hart, plays center of the same team. She comes from hockey and, with three gold medals, I think it’s time for a women’s league.” “And if you didn’t know it, folks, she is officially off the market. Engaged to sports lawyer, Tristan Cole,” the head announcer said. “f**k, I hate that guy,” Wyatt grumbled. I felt the same way. “Watch it,” his father warned. “He’s good for her.” “But could you imagine if she got with another hockey player? Their kids would be unstoppable.” The other one countered. I can agree with that one.