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Nathan
As I skate into our defense zone, my heart races with eager anticipation. The chill of the New York Mavericks Arena air slices through my jersey, but it’s nothing compared to the thrill coursing through my veins, knowing the scoreboard has our teams tied. The crowd roars in excitement, cheering for the home team as loudly as they can in the hopes that it’s enough to motivate their players. These final minutes have been one of the most intense hockey games of this season yet.
My eyes narrow just as my focus sharpens on my opponent. Every muscle in my body tenses, ready to respond with precision and speed. When one of the Mavericks’ forwards makes a swift pass to his teammate on the wing, I pivot on my skates without hesitation and lunge forward to intercept the puck. Using my stick to poke-check, I disrupt their momentum, sending the puck bouncing away to my team’s captain. Jack seizes the opportunity and races down the ice, leaving the Mavericks’ left wing scrambling to regain control.
But to my chagrin, Jack’s shadow is on him before he’s able to breach the Mavericks’ defense line. Jack curses as he has no choice but to relinquish his claim on the puck, striking it in my direction.
The second I receive it, I see a large blue and white blur heading towards me like a bull seeing red for the first time. I brace myself as he delivers a thunderous blow to my side, sending me crashing into the boards. The impact rattles my bones, but I refuse to succumb to the pain. With sheer determination, I fight through the dizziness and scramble back to my feet, my eyes locked on the puck just a few strides away. Adrenaline courses through my veins as I push my body to its limit, willing myself forward. Despite the ache in my ribs, I dig deep and find an extra burst of speed. My focused mind shuts out the surrounding chaos as I reach the puck first, snatching it from my rival’s grasp.
It’s a small victory, but one that my team needs to win this match.
As the last ten seconds of the game tick away, my heart pounds in my chest. I know that this is our last chance to win this game. I dig my skates into the ice, ready to do whatever it takes to make that happen.
“Wilder!” Jack yells by the net, and I quickly react, striking the puck with all my might.
With precision and determination, I send it flying towards him. Time seems to slow down as I watch the puck soar through the air. I can already picture the glory of that game-winning goal. The sound of skates scraping against the ice and the crowd’s anxious cheers fade into the background as my focus narrows solely on that puck. Jack—with his incredible skill and experience—gracefully positions himself, ready to receive the pass. My heart skips a beat as the puck connects with his stick, taking full control. In one swift motion, he slams it into the backof the net, past the Mavericks’ goalie, and secures the winning goal.
“YES!” I holler in tandem with the sound of the final buzzer.
We won!
We won against the New York Mavericks!
Holy shit!
I skate over to Jack, who’s already surrounded by the rest of the team.
“Who’s going stop us?!” he shouts in excitement, pulling his helmet off. “Who?!” he continues to yell as the opposing team, along with their fans, sneers at us, pissed by their loss on their own home turf, no less.
When Jack sees me, he grabs onto my shoulders and presses his forehead against mine, gripping me by my visor.
“We’re unbeatable, brother! We’re it! This is our time! Our time! Say it!”
“It’s our time!” I shout, just as elated.
“Louder!”
“It’s our time!” I roar, punching my chest.
“You better believe it!”
Jack then lets me go when he sees Caleb skating towards us, his brother’s expression looking like someone just ran over his dog with a truck.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “Those fuckers… they just got past me—”
“Hey, stop,” Jack orders his baby brother, pulling Caleb by the collar of his jersey. “You did good. You hear me, Caleb? Any other goalie couldn’t pull off what you did tonight. They would have let these motherfuckers score every time. I promise you that. You did good, Cal. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
Caleb’s eyes brighten at his brother’s praise, his approval meaning more to him than our win.
“Well, let’s celebrate, motherfuckers!” Caleb shouts, putting his arm over his brother.
But as the two start skating out of the rink, the Mavericks’ center, Bellamy Van Rhyne—the man who scored almost every goal—stops them.
He takes off his visor, extends his hand over to Jack, and says, “Good game, Donovan.”
Jack, being the sportsman that he is, shakes his hand.
“Thanks. You didn’t do so bad yourself. Got a few pucks over my brother here.”
