Power play, p.18
Power Play, page 18
She returns to the bench after a particularly frustrating shift. Every time they cleared their zone, Sweden clogged up the neutral zone and put them back on defense. If she can’t score, she wants to fucking hit something.
“Your gloves stay on,” Jonny reminds her. “You want me to fight him? I can give you five minutes without him on the ice.”
Sophie takes a deep breath. She scored a hat trick with him on the ice. He won’t beat her or slip under her skin. She pats Jonny’s knee. “Thanks, but I’m good. Let’s just close this out, eh?”
*
The game ends 3-2, and Sophie launches herself at Gabrielle. Mads has the same idea and they catch Gabrielle in a three-way hug which the goalie only tolerates for a few seconds before she shrugs them off.
They eat at the rink between showers and cool downs and the media before they all crash in Ducasse’s room. He opens the connecting door to McClure’s room so it isn’t crowded. Alstead offers everyone drinks, and Sophie clings to her Gatorade and tries to avoid making eye contact with him.
“Top of our group.” Rawlings knocks his plastic cup against Sophie’s bottle. “Do you think we’ll face Russia or the US first?”
“Doesn’t matter. We’ll face them both and beat them both.”
Turner sucks in a breath and knocks on the desk. Sophie doesn’t roll her eyes but it’s a near thing. She sips her Gatorade and looks around the room. They have two more games together as a group. Two games and then they scatter back to their NAHL teams. Rawlings won’t care how many goals she put up this tournament—his job will be to keep her from scoring more. Gabrielle will be a goalie to solve rather than one to protect. She’ll have Elsa back though.
Rawlings’s phone buzzes, probably with a message from his wife. “Oh, shit,” he says. He snatches the remote off the table and turns the TV on. He flips to TNSN. Coach Butler’s scrum pops up.
“Party foul!” Alstead calls from the other room.
Rawlings waves a hand to make him shut up. On screen, Butler’s eyebrows draw together as he contemplates the reporter’s question. “Do I think Fournier’s focused?” He asks it as if he’s parroting the reporter’s question. Sophie’s stomach sinks. She has a good idea of where this is headed. “That’s Canada’s problem right now. I can assure you when this tournament is over, her focus will be where it needs to be.”
“Are you saying Coach Goulet doesn’t know how to properly coach Fournier? Are women more difficult to coach then men?”
“Turn this shit off,” Kevlar says.
“No, I wanna hear this.” Alstead snatches the remote out of Rawlings’s hand and turns the volume up.
“Every player is different.” It’s an uncharacteristically diplomatic answer for him. So of course, he follows it up with, “I can coach Engelking like one of the guys.”
“So, you’re saying that Fournier in particular is difficult to coach.”
Kevlar doesn’t bother with the remote. He manually turns the TV off. His glare dares anyone to try to turn it back on. The room is uncomfortably quiet now. Sophie untwists the cap of her Gatorade and wishes it was spiked with something. She still takes a long swallow. Then she holds her hands out. “Anyone else have something to say about my dinner habits?”
There’s a moment of charged silence before Ducasse speaks. “He’s trying to get under your skin.”
“Fucking stupid. He should know better.” Kevlar’s fired up on her behalf. She appreciates the defense, but she doesn’t need it. And she really doesn’t need this conversation being leaked to the media. “When people challenge you, you play better.”
Sophie rolls her shoulders and listens to them crack. “He wants to play me at my best? He’ll have me at my best.”
*
Sophie’s matchup against her NAHL coach will have to wait another game. The semis are Team USA vs Team Sweden and Team Canada vs Team Russia. Depending on the way things shake out, they might not even meet in the finals. Sophie’s not sure playing Sweden for gold would be better.
The day before the semis, Sophie meets Lucy in the lobby of their hotel for breakfast. Lucy’s already there in jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. She’s on her phone, but she keeps looking around. She spots Sophie and a smile flits across her face.
“Good morning,” Sophie greets.
“Morning.” Lucy studies her, long enough for Sophie to feel self-conscious. “You’re not hungover. Don’t hockey players party all the time?”
“We still have a tournament to win. Does your mom know you’re with me?”
Lucy huffs. “Yes.”
“Then let’s walk somewhere. I don’t feel like having cameras watch us eat eggs.”
“You think there won’t be any out there?” Even as Lucy asks the question, she leads the way out of the hotel. “We’re in downtown Montreal in the middle of the IHT and you’re Captain Canada.”
Sophie flips up the hood on her generic winter jacket. “I’m not wearing a single maple leaf. I’m undercover.”
Lucy snorts and then looks annoyed for finding Sophie funny. “Whatever.”
They avoid the little cafes and restaurants and even the bakeries. They wander until Sophie finds a small Russian bistro.
“Seriously?” Lucy’s words drip with skepticism. “Russian?”
And, well, Sophie hadn’t really thought this one through. She shrugs. “No one would think to look for me here, eh?” Sophie opens the door and ushers Lucy in through first. She orders a variety of things for them to try and then finds a small table near the back for them to sit at. “I know this isn’t what you had planned for this morning, but it sounded like you had questions, and I won’t be able to answer them at the Friends & Family skate.”
“Cameras?” Lucy guesses.
“They’re everywhere. I’ll skate with you, but I figured the questions you have aren’t ones I’ll answer while someone’s recording me.”
“No, this is cool. Even if you ordered pastries with cottage cheese in them.”
Sophie had been skeptical the first time Dima took her out for vatrushki, but she enjoyed them. If Lucy doesn’t like them, there’s more for her. “I ordered other kinds too.”
Lucy flashes a small smile, but it vanishes as she leans back in her seat. “So, the cameras never go away?”
“They haven’t for me.”
“There are books about you. I’ve never read them because Dad would flip his shit if he found out. But you went on a date and it’s like this whole big deal.”
“It wasn’t a date. I went to dinner with a couple friends.”
“Whenever Dad talks about the price of hockey he talks about bruises and broken bones. But it’s different for you.”
For us, Sophie hears. “I mean there is that. Hockey’s a sport full of injuries, and there are players who’ll hit you extra hard, because you’re a girl and they don’t think you belong on the ice with them.”
Lucy brushes her bangs out of her eyes. “Dad says I should fight back and they’ll stop.”
“What do you think?”
“I think you broke Uncle Tony’s nose and it only made him louder the next time you played him.” She stares Sophie down, challenging, daring her to lie.
And Sophie won’t, not about something this important. She wants more girls to play hockey, to push the boundaries of what they think is possible. But she wants them to know what they’re getting into. “Losing your temper encourages them and ignoring them challenges them to try harder. It’s a no-win situation.”
“Well, that’s fucking depressing.”
Sophie thinks back to the note she tore up in her hotel room. She takes a deep breath and leans in so she can lower her voice. “You have to love this sport in order to make it. Sometimes, you have to love it more than yourself. It isn’t healthy, but I don’t know how to do anything else.”
“The price of hockey?” Lucy asks.
“Yeah. The price of hockey.”
*
“Is your focus on the game or on who might be watching in the stands?”
It’s Sophie’s first question following their pregame skate. She was expecting it, but she still feels a flicker of anger. She had a hat trick in her previous game. Tonight, she plays for a place in the finals, and the media’s still lingering on her dinner.
The reporter’s smile sharpens as if he knows he’s made her uncomfortable. “Your family, obviously. Your grandmother is a Montreal native, isn’t she?”
Sophie’s smile stretches into fake territory. “I did grow up a Montreal fan. It’s meant a lot playing here in this city.”
A reporter from the Mammoths pushes her way to the front. “You looked up to Gabriel Ducasse when you were younger. What is it like playing with him?”
“It’s an honor, for sure.”
There’s a beat of silence as the reporters wait for more. Sophie rocks back on her heels, willing to wait them out. She’s never the chattiest, but if the asshole from TNSN hadn’t started her scrum off on the note he did, she’d be more forthcoming. As it is, she’s had media training almost since she started skating. She can make this next thirty minutes a waste of everyone’s time.
*
Dima finds her during warmups. She’s stickhandling near the penalty boxes when he skates up to her with his own puck. Behind them, the fans slam the glass and shout some things Sophie decides to tune out.
“Sorry,” Dima offers.
“I knew what I was doing. Alina still in town?”
“And Alexander. This isn’t Winter Games but still big deal.”
Sophie scoops the puck up and tosses it into the air so she can catch it. She taps Dima’s skates with her stick. “You guys better bring it. I’m feeling motivated tonight.”
“Always.”
Sophie joins her teammates. Alstead opens his mouth but before he can say anything, Rawlings hip-checks him. “You fucking ready?” he demands.
Alstead grins and knocks their helmets together. They shout in each other’s faces, and Sophie slips through to stand next to Turner. “They’re going to be all over me. It’ll open up space for you and Rawlings. I’ll find you. It’s your job to shoot.”
Turner nods to the penalty boxes. “Ivanov didn’t get in your head?”
“His team’s bringing their best game which means we need to bring ours.”
“No more riding your coattails?”
“This is Team Canada. You were picked because you’re fucking good at hockey. All I’m saying is prove it.” It’s what she has to do every time she steps on the ice.
“You’re nicer than Lex.”
“Sure,” Sophie says and cuts in front of him for the next shot at their drill.
*
Sophie loses the opening faceoff and scrambles back on defense to make up for it. She pokes the puck off Gazinsky’s stick, and Turner scoops it up. Two powerful strides and he has a jump on everyone but Kuzy who drops down to help his goalie. Kuzy goes to one knee to block Turner’s shot, but Turner shoots wide. Sophie’s momentum carries her to the puck, and she steadies it before she passes it back up to Turner. With both Kuzy and the goalie off guard, he’s able to put the puck in the back of the net.
She crashes into Turner before he can even celly. She grabs the back of his neck and shakes him like a puppy. “Fucking told you so!” She leans in so no cameras can catch the shape of her words. “You deserve to be here.”
“Oh fuck,” he says, a little dazed. Then he pulls out of her grip. “Did you just I told you so-ed my goal?”
Kevlar laughs as he pushes them together in a three-way hug. “You shouldn’t have doubted her.”
“I—!” Turner’s outraged protest is swallowed by their teammates and the noise of the crowd.
*
It doesn’t take long for Russia to even up the score. No, not Russia. Dima. He snakes through their neutral zone coverage as if it isn’t even there, blows by McClure, and puts the puck past Gabrielle.
Sophie’s smoothed the scowl off her face by the time she’s sent out for the center ice faceoff. Irritation bubbles under her skin. They were sloppy. They should know better than to cede momentum in a game this big. Torbinski bumps her shoulder and grins. “Smile. Thought you like Russia?”
“I like beating Russia.” She glances at the scoreboard. “You’re putting up a challenge this time. It’s a nice change.”
Torbinski’s smile is sharp as if he knows what she’s trying to do. She skates past him to reach her position for the faceoff. Gazinsky blows her a kiss and the stadium howls in outrage. Sophie wins the faceoff.
*
It’s 1-1 after the first period. Coach doesn’t come down to the dressing room with them, and Sophie can’t help the way her gaze drifts to the doors as if maybe now he’ll walk through them.
“It’s a good sign.” Gabrielle doesn’t speak loudly but everyone quiets to hear her. “When things are going well, he doesn’t like to interfere. If there was something big to work on, he’d have his whiteboard out.”
Coach Butler always has something for them to work on. Even when he’s so pissed at them he can’t speak, he still storms into the room so they know he isn’t happy. She glances at the doors again.
Rawlings catches her at it. “Don’t tell me you need a pep talk.”
She glares at him, not as hostile as she would’ve been at the beginning of the tournament. “We’re better than this.”
“How?” he challenges.
“We’re spending too much time looking for the perfect shot. We might be on home ice, but it doesn’t mean every goal has to make the highlight reel. We need to shoot more and crash the net. We’re letting the Russians clear us out of the crease which means Belenov has eyes on every puck that comes his way.”
“Okay. Shoot more.” He looks over at Turner. “You taking notes?”
“Fuck off,” Turner says, automatic. He scooches closer to Sophie. “What else?”
She details three concrete changes they can make during the second period. By the end of intermission, she feels settled, ready for the next twenty minutes. She glances at Rawlings, suspicious and annoyed because she should probably say thank you.
He grins and rubs her helmet. “See? You don’t even need a coach. Sophie Fournier can do it all.”
*
Rawlings shoulders Gazinksy off him and makes a beautiful pass to Sophie. She taps the puck into the empty side of the net. Belenov’s still squared up to Rawlings on the far side, and she points to Rawlings. He barrels into her, and she laughs as he knocks her, gently, against the boards.
“I guess even Sophie Fournier needs an assist every once in a while.” Rawlings’s mouth drops, and she laughs again before she pats his helmet. “Fucking beauty of an assist. You’ve been holding back on me.”
The rest of their line crashes into them before Rawlings finds his voice again.
*
It’s 3-1 after the second period.
Then 4-1. Sophie returns the favor and passes to Rawlings for the empty netter which seals the win for them.
It’s an international game which means handshakes once the buzzer sounds. Sophie knows how to win gracefully so she leads her team through the line, shaking hands and offering a word or two of praise to each player. She doesn’t rub the loss in Torbinski’s face, no matter how tempted she is.
Once she reaches the end of the line, she turns so each of her teammates has to give her a fist bump. She gives out helmet taps and smiles and the occasional hug. Then they lift their sticks in a salute to the crowd which stands and cheers for them. They’ll have one more chance to play here, in the finals now. Next time Sophie’s on this ice, her family will be in the stands.
She skates a lazy circuit of the rink. Rawlings is the one waiting for her by the benches when she makes it. “Media’s going to be a bitch tonight.”
“When isn’t it?” she counters.
“I could smuggle you out. You can go find your boyfriend and suck his dick. Maybe he’ll forget to be mad we knocked Russia out.”
She’s pretty sure he’s joking. Enough that she doesn’t punch him. “Is that how you get over losses?”
He shrugs. “Mostly just trying to see if you’d blush over the word dick.”
“Real mature.”
He grins and punches her shoulder. “I think you’re starting to like me, Cap.”
“Good thing we only have one game left. I’d hate to do any permanent damage to myself.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Sweden vs US game is the closer of the two semifinals. It’s 4-6 with two minutes left. When Sweden pulls Strindberg, Elsa manages to score, completing her hat trick. It isn’t enough, and Sweden loses 5-6.
Canada will face the United States in the finals.
The team watches in the hotel, on a big screen someone set up in one of the meeting rooms. She wondered why they didn’t go in person, but she’s glad they didn’t. She slips away to find something to drink. The lobby has a cooler full of water. There are ice cubes and lemon slices floating on top.
She pours herself a cup. Sweden losing means she won’t have to play Elsa in the finals. It means they won’t compete for a trophy. The United States winning means she’ll face Butler. She takes a sip of her water. There’s enough lemon for it to taste wrong. She makes a face but finishes the cup so she isn’t wasteful.
When she returns to the meeting room, her teammates are more or less in a circle. There’s a space for her between Mads and Kevlar.
“We’re talking weaknesses.” Ducasse doesn’t ask her where she went. “Steady’s up first with the rundown on Rowan.”
“He’ll eat up anything down low,” Alstead says. “He moves post-to-post better than anyone in the League. Make him commit to a shot then go high.”
“He likes to challenge,” Rawlings adds. “Draw him out and then pull a move or drop a pass back to the trailing player.”
More of the west coast guys share their tips on how to beat Rowan. They briefly touch on Hyde in case he’s tapped for the start.
“My turn?” Turner looks around the room and then nods to himself. “I do have a whole line’s worth of teammates to cover. Kensy can score from anywhere but especially places you don’t expect. When no one thinks he can score, he has more space, and more space means he’s more dangerous. If you overplay him, you leave Lex open, and she’ll make you pay.”
