The puck careened past Tyler, nothing more than a blur as it tipped his catching glove and hit the back of the net with a soft whoosh. He clenched his jaw and skated out of the way as the puck was retrieved, trying to ignore the sound of booing echoing around the arena.

Trying to ignore the fact that this was the second soft goal he'd allowed in the last ten minutes.

Tyler tilted his mask back on his head and reached for the water bottle. He squeezed it, shooting several droplets in the air, then focused his gaze on their descent to the ice.

But his focus was off, had been off since he arrived at the arena two hours prior to the game. Now they were halfway through the second period, and Springfield was up by two. The only person to blame was himself. It didn't matter that their D had broken down several times, not when those last two goals had been soft.

Would have stopped them, if his fucking head had been in the game--but it wasn't. It had been obvious even to Coach Richards, who had made a comment when Tyler was in the back hallway, bouncing balls off the wall to exercise his eyes.

Fuck. No more. He had to stop thinking about what had happened with Jenny earlier. It had been a mistake. A bad idea of epic proportions. An error in judgment on his part. Probably on her part, too, if the way she had acted during the drive to the arena meant anything. Casual, aloof, keeping her distance. Acting like she'd never met him before.

Yeah, nothing more than a mistake.

He shot a stream of water into his mouth, swished it around and spat it out, then took a long swallow before placing the bottle on the back of the net. He dropped his mask into place and bent his legs, getting into position before the puck dropped.

Travis Bankard won the face-off, shooting the puck back to Zach. Play moved into Springfield's zone, back and forth, hard and aggressive as Travis closed in on the net. He took a shot but it went wide. Zach and Aaron Malone skated toward the puck but one of Springfield's players reached it first and passed it out of the zone. And fuck, it was the perfect set-up for a two-on-one as they skated toward Tyler, picking up speed and edging away from the Bombers trying to catch them.

He got into position, his legs loose, his stick ready as he followed the play with his eyes. Focus, focus. Closer, faster, any second now…

The guy pulled back with his stick, ready to shoot. Tyler crouched low, in position, his body anticipating the shot and moving to the right. Fuck! He read the play wrong, scrambled to move back to the center of the net as the guy passed the puck instead of shooting. And here it came, too far to the left, he wasn't going to be able to get back in position in time—

Aaron lunged out of nowhere, his body outstretched as he dove in front of the puck. The slab of vulcanized rubber hit him high on the right arm, the thud echoing back to Tyler. The puck went wide, bouncing off the ice.

Aaron pushed up to his knees, a grimace of pain crossing his face. He tried to stand, stumbled and went back down on one knee as he grabbed his arm. Tyler moved forward, waiting for the whistle to blow, waiting for the play to stop.

Only the whistle didn't blow. Play kept going as another player from Springfield neared the net. Tyler's gaze moved from Aaron to the two players converging on him. No. No fucking way, not this time.

He bent his knees, his body relaxed, his eyes focused on the puck and only the puck. He watched as it shot through the air, spinning, gaining speed as it hurled toward him. High, glove side. Wide, but not wide enough.

He drew it in close to his chest, holding on to it until the damn fucking whistle finally blew.

He tossed the puck to the side and moved out of the crease, his eyes on Aaron as he struggled to get to his feet. Tyler was several feet away when the other man finally stood, Travis and Zach hovering on either side of him in case he needed help. Aaron nodded, silently conveying his thanks along with the fact that he was alright, then looked over his shoulder at Tyler.

"You can thank me later. Drinks at Mystic's should cover it. Nice save, by the way."

Tyler grunted, unable to stop the quick smile. Yeah, Aaron had saved his ass on that shot, and he'd have one hell of a bruise to show for it. Tyler would gladly buy the man a few drinks later.

He just wished to hell it was someplace other than Mystic's, since Jason tended to go there after the games as well. And if Jason went, that would mean Jenny would be there, too.

Tyler skated back to the net, his gaze scanning the crowd behind the players' bench. It wasn't a sold-out crowd, not by a long shot—it never was, even when the Bombers were playing well. This season definitely wasn't one of their better ones, and tonight wasn't looking good, either. With the number of empty seats, it should be easy enough to spot Jenny.

But she wasn't there.

Tyler frowned, his gaze scanning the seats and the steps leading up to the concourse. Maybe she left to get something to eat or drink. Or maybe to use the facilities.

And maybe he should stop worrying about it and get his fucking head fully in the game.

He adjusted his helmet and got back into position seconds before the face-off. Time to get focused, time to do his job.