4 Seconds Left

Heavy legs drag me forward across the ice.
3-1, our favor against Billings
in the 3rd-4th-place game of the state tournament.
I stay high entering the offensive zone.
Cole takes a shot.
It is saved and shoots out to Thad.
He passes it up to me.
I catch it on my backhand,
pivoting around and firing it into the bottom corner.
I score! 4-1.
We take a seat on the bench
with 5:38 left on the clock
in the 3rd period.
As 4 minutes go by, Billings scores
bringing them within 2 goals.
Our line takes the ice
with 47 seconds left on the clock.
We were clearly going to win--
we just had to wait it out.
As the clock went down from ten,
I got the puck at center ice and began to take it in.
6…5…4
I shoot from the top of the circle
but as I turn my body, I see white. 
Their captain, Sodja,
is charging at me full speed.
There is nothing to do but sit there like a deer
in an open field, waiting to be shot.
He makes full speed impact,
my rotating body thrown flat,
I  spin into the boards.
My elbow hits first
taking all my weight
and speed combined in one impact.
I go limp, letting my screaming body sit there.
I try to move my legs to show I’m still conscious.
The bench erupts with anger as the buzzer sounds,
ending the game. 
Over my sobbing
I hear my dad yelling
some choice words at Sodja.
Then my coach comes over, propping me up.
“What hurts?” he asks.
Through tears and gasps, I manage to say, “Elbow.”
He hoists me up, escorting me to the dressing room.
Before I get to the door, their assistant captain skates over to me.
“You alright?” he asks, patting my shoulder and putting a hand out.
“I think so,” I say shaking his outstretched hand
and leaving the ice.