Chapter 74 74

Chapter 74 74
Roman's POV

"Welcome back to a packed UIC Pavilion, hockey fans! If you are just tuning in, you are in for a total war today as the UIC Flames take on the undefeated, powerhouse SIU Salukis in this brutal home opener!" the commentator yelled over the arena speakers to the roaring crowd of UIC Flames fans. "The energy in this building is absolutely electric, and you can feel the tension from the nosebleed seats all the way down to the ice!"

I stepped onto the ice, the cold air fanning my face as my skates sliced through the smooth surface. The Salukis were already moving in perfect and synchronized circles around their zone; I had to admit that they looked pretty impressive out there. Even their gear looked ten times better than ours. Their imperial black and yellow helmets looked so pristine, and their custom carbon-fiber sticks glinted almost menacingly under the stadium lights. Even their padded jerseys looked twice as thick as our standard university issue. They didn't look like college kids, but like a seasoned minor-league roster built to break bones.

"Look at the size of their center," Jesse muttered, skating up beside me and adjusting his gloves. "That guy looks like he eats car parts."

"Doesn't matter," I replied him as I leaned down to strap my helmet tighter. "Let's just play our game. Don't let them dictate the pace."

Beside me, Carson and Miles were tapping their sticks against the ice, and I could tell they were trying to shake out the tension. Miles was smiling and leaning towards Carson, obviously in the middle of telling a joke. Meanwhile, Dex and Hartley were hovering near the blue line, eyeing the Salukis' bench warily, while Paulie had already taken his position in the crease, slamming his goalie stick against the iron posts to lock himself in.

"UIC Flames players get ready at center ice! Captain Roman Foster takes the dot for the Flames, facing off against the Salukis' massive top scorer, Rookwood!" the commentator shouted. "The referee drops the puck, and we are underway!"

The moment the game started, the Salukis dived in. Before I could even drop my shoulder to shield the puck, their center won the faceoff with lightning speed, sending it straight back to their defenseman. These guys were moving with a level of precision that terrified even me. The puck was zipping from stick to stick like a bullet.

"What? These guys are nutters!" I heard Dex exclaim as he skated past me to intercept them.

"Rookwood receives the pass, cuts inside the blue line, and unloads a massive slapshot past Dex Vance!" the announcer bellowed. "And it's in! Just forty seconds into the first period, the Salukis draw first blood! The score is now one to nil in favour of the Southern Illinois...."

We barely had time to gather ourselves, before they came at us again. They hit us like literal freight trains. At some point, one of their defensemen practically body-slammed Carson into the boards with a sickening thud. Within four minutes, the scoreboard read 3-0. Paulie was flat on his back in the crease, shaking his head morosely after their third consecutive puck went right over his glove hand.

"Get it together!" I screamed, gathering the guys in a huddle near our bench during a quick timeout. "They're fast, but they're overcommitting on the backcheck. Miles, when I take the puck wide, you have to cut down the center, okay? Jesse, clear the crease. Hartley, stop playing like a pussy and get your head in!"

"They're killing us on the physical plays, Roman," Hartley grumbled, spitting a mouthful of bloody water onto the ice.

"Then hit them back!" I ordered. "Give zero breathing space."

We went back out, and I forced my legs to pump faster, pushing past the odd burning ache in my knee. I intercepted a sloppy pass near center ice, protected the puck with my body, and drove hard toward their net. I dragged their defenseman wide, then flicked a backhand shot straight into the top corner of the net.

"Foster answers back for the Flames! What a brilliant unassisted goal by the captain!" the commentator yelled as the student section erupted into a loud roar. "The score now reads a three to one."

That was just the beginning of the madness. After I scored the first goal for our team, the game turned into an absolute scoring frenzy. I managed to score a hat-trick, followed by an extra goal late in the second period. Hartley scored one after a messy scramble right in front of their goalie, and Miles finally scored two beautiful goals off my direct assists, his quick wrist shots catching their keeper off guard.

"Miles Carter scores again! The Flames are fighting tooth and nail, folks!" the announcer shouted, his voice cracking through the static. "But every time UIC answers, the Salukis find a way to break through the defense!"

The commentator was dead right, because despite our massive offensive push, we couldn't stop SIU's counterattacks. Our defense was leaking goals from every angle. The Salukis were still ahead by 2 points, the scoreboard flashing a scary 9-7 as the final seconds of the third period began to tick away on the digital clock.

"Ten seconds remaining in the game! Foster tries to create one last opportunity, but he's separated from the puck by a massive hit at the blue line!" the commentator roared over the deafening noise of the crowd. "The Salukis pick up the loose puck, it's a two-on-one breakaway against Paulie Brooks! A quick pass across the crease, and Rookwood slides it home!"

The buzzer rang the exact millisecond that the puck crossed the red line. The game was over.

The final score flashed in bright red digits: 10-7.

The UIC spectators clapped in courtesy, but it was just a weak, polite smattering of applause echoing through the massive arena. The disappointment in the stands was vibrant enough to be felt. Our fans slowly gathered their coats and bags in silence. Meanwhile, across the ice, the Saluki players were celebrating, jumping all over each other and throwing their gloves in the air near their bench.

I didn't look at them. I couldn't bear to look at the scoreboard either. I skated off the ice and walked back into the hallway that led to the locker room. The sound of my teammates' loud, frustrated breathing and clattering sticks followed behind me, but I didn't want to talk to anyone. I bypassed the main locker room entrance and went to a small utility alcove that was behind the old ice-resurfacing machine.

I dropped my skates on the concrete floor, leaned my back against the cold brick wall, and slid down until my knees touched my chest. I unbuckled my helmet, letting it drop to the floor beside my skates.

In the silence of the alcove, the quiet was way louder than the stadium crowd had been. I closed my eyes and rubbed them with my fists, but I couldn't find any peace. The voices rang in my head like an endless, mocking echo.

If Aaron were still on the ice, he'd drop their captain in the first period to set the tone.

He knew exactly how to handle the Salukis.

Your brother would be proud tonight.

Your brother never lost a home game, Roman.

I pressed the heels of my hands hard against my eyes until I saw bright spots of light in the darkness. They all thought I could just step into his skates and mirror his ghost. They didn't see the hours I spent hurting from the dislocation in my knee, or the fact that I was training day in day out. No matter how many times I trained, I was never going to be Aaron. I had scored four goals today, I had given everything that my body had to offer, fought to the end, and yet it still wasn't enough to drag this team to a win.