When he reached the net, he switched to his backhand, and in the split second before he took the shot, Ilya realized what he was doing. Shane had left the puck where it was, faking the backhand shot and forcing the goalie to move. Then, lightning-fast, Shane fired a forehand wrist shot over the goalie’s shoulder. And then, Shane winked at the camera. Winked. And Ilya knew it was meant for him. “That’s my move!” Ilya said. The blanket he’d been wrapped in fell to the floor as he stood, one hand waving at the television, the other cradling his ice cream bowl protectively to his chest. “He did my
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