Blazer Drive by Sigmund Brouwer

He—”
    Luke pulled on my sleeve again. We were skating almost visor to visor.
    â€œThere’s one person in the league who’s smart enough, strong enough and fast enough to carry our line with a center who can’t skate: You. I’m begging you man, just get me through this.”
    I shook off his grip. He was asking me to do something that wasn’t good for the team. I thought of drugs again and wondered if he was into something bad.
    â€œLuke, whatever it is, you need to get help.”
    He spun me so that I had to look into his face. Behind his visor, I could see traces of dried blood around his nose. His eyes were filled with tears.
    â€œI am getting help,” he said. “You’re the only one who knows. Just get me through the season. In the summer, I’ll get better.”
    I started to say no. He saw it coming.
    â€œI saved your life, man. I didn’t want to throw that at you. But I saved your life.”
    â€œFine,” I said. I was half mad at the situation, half mad at him. “I’ll do it. On one condition, though: We do it my way.”

Chapter Twenty-Four
    My way was simple. If Luke wanted the line to play for him, he’d have to play for the line. I told him if he hung on to the puck for more than three seconds, the deal was off.
    Our line started one minute and thirty-two seconds into the game. Still 0–0. The face-off was just over our blue line, on the left side. Luke played at center. Gordie Penn played at right wing. I was along the boards at left wing.
    The ref dropped the puck. Luke picked it clean in midair, slapping it waist high toward me. I knocked it down with my glove. The Chiefs’ forward slammed me, but I spun away, digging for the puck with one hand on my stick.
    Gordie cut toward the middle. I flicked it ahead to him.
    Luke skated hard right, covering Gordie’s position.
    Gordie made a move on their center, and then he backhanded a pass over to Luke.
    I was busting up the ice. Luke saw me, and as the puck touched his stick, he fired it back toward me.
    Perfect pass. I took the puck in just over their blue line, and then I faded toward the boards, drawing their defenseman. As the defenseman made his move and opened a gap between his skates, I shoveled the puck toward Gordie, who still covered center ice.
    Gordie batted it to Luke, who was already around the other defenseman. Luke was alone on the goalie, cutting in from the farside. All he needed to do was pick up some speed, and he could cut back to center.
    It wasn’t happening. Luke was half bent, obviously in pain. He found the strength to straighten. He brought his stick back to fire a slap shot.
    The goalie set himself. Because of Luke’s position, all the goalie had to do was stand still. No way could Luke score.
    Luke continued the smooth flow of his shot. Somehow, just before impact, he snapped his wrist at a near impossible angle and flicked the puck toward Gordie.
    Gordie?
    He was waiting directly in front of the net. The goalie had moved so far to the side that all Gordie had to do was keep his stick on the ice and redirect the puck into the wide-open net.
    The red light behind the net flashed.
    We’d scored.
    I looked over at Luke to see if he had enjoyed the bang-bang-bang passing display.
    But Luke was on the ice, curled into a ball.
    From as far away as I was, I could see the blood running out from under his helmet onto the ice.

Chapter Twenty-Five
    I wore a cowboy hat as I stepped into the hospital room. Luke was in a bed on the far side, sitting with his back against pillows. The blinds were open, and afternoon sunshine threw lines of shadow on his face and across the top of his bald head.
    â€œHey, Cowboy,” he said, “ever notice how loud your boots are? I heard you a mile away.”
    â€œNice pajamas,” I said. “Green is definitely your color.”
    â€œThanks,” he said. “It’s a real pain, trying to keep