Chapter 9: Away Game

The Harbor Kings' fans booed me before I had even stepped on the ice.

They booed my name when the announcer read it out.

They booed the number 31 on the back of my jersey, and BRESCIA stitched across it in white.

I stood in the tunnel with my stick in my hands and my father beside me.

Nine thousand people were telling me I was a joke.

"Do you hear that?" my father said.

"Hard not to."

"Good. Let them keep thinking it."

He tapped my shoulder pad twice and walked to the bench.

Vasko had put a giant screen above the Kings' goal.

It played the clip from the open skate on a loop.

In it I stood in the middle of the ice, flapping my arms.

Every time I fell, the crowd cheered.

Lev leaned against the boards with his phone in his glove, and he was the only one not laughing.

He was watching my hands.

The puck dropped.

For the first ten minutes, we skated in circles.

Paolo had been cleared to sit on the bench in a brace, shouting.

My father had put me on a line with two third-string wingers who had never played in front of a full house.

The Kings scored first.

It was a bad goal off a bad change, and the crowd hit the roof.

I took the next face-off and lost it on purpose.

The enforcer with the purple bruise on his cheek came across the red line with his eyes on me.

He had been waiting since opening night.

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