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“Defense! Defense!” The stands are a riot of sound, a storm I harness with each calculated move.
“Thirty seconds!” Time dwindles, as precious as the lead we cling to. My lungs burn, and my legs push past exhaustion, but there’s no stopping—not when victory is a breath away.
“Stay on him!” I shadow my mark, a mirror to his desperation. He pivots and shoots—the puck ricocheting off the post with a clang that nearly stops my heart.
“Clear it!” I dive, stick outstretched, and the puck skids away, safe for now.
“Ten … nine…” The countdown begins, and an electric charge fills the arena with it.
“Eight … seven…” I glance at the clock, time ticking down in slow motion.
“Six … five…” My gaze snatches a glimpse of the stands, searching without meaning to, imagining her among the sea of faces.
“Four … three…”
“Two … one!” The buzzer sounds a final, triumphant note.
We’ve done it. We won!
“Great game, Morton. Proud of you,” Coach clasps my shoulder, but the words barely register.
The noise of celebration fades as I step off the ice, riding a high of pure adrenaline, and head to the locker room. My eyes dart to where Amanda stands. Our gazes meet, and a sudden lightness strikes my senses as my body thrums with energy. She smiles, that same promising smile from before, and damn if I don’t feel it in my bones.
I hold my finger up to indicate I won’t be long and make my way to the locker room. My heart’s still doing victory laps, pumped full of game-night adrenaline, but there’s this tug, this pull toward something—or someone—else.
“Killed it out there, Morton,” Andrew slaps my back and grins.
“Thanks, man.” I force a smile. I can’t let them see how much I’m itching to get out of here, to find her.
“Celebratory drinks at Barton’s?” the younger D-man Alex’s hopeful voice cuts through. He’s younger by a year and has yet to come into his own. But he’ll get there.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I lie, the words sliding off my tongue like a well-practiced play. But tonight, there’s only one place I want to be. And that’s with Amanda.
After Coach’s speech and a quick shower, I make my way to the hallway, desperate to see the girl who showed up for me. The noise from the arena has settled some, but the energy remains. The high from the game clings to my skin like a soaked jersey, reminding me of every second on the ice. A different kind of heat is building now, coiling tight in my chest as I scan the hall for her.
“Blake! Over here!” A kid, no more than ten, thrusts out a marker and a cap for an autograph. The innocence in his wide eyes grounds me and reminds me why I play this game.
“Sure thing, buddy.” I scribble my name, ruffle his hair, and then I’m moving again—the clock’s ticking down, and I can’t afford to lose precious seconds.
It doesn’t take long to find her standing by the exit. She’s ditched the hat, letting her long hair spill soft waves over her Wildcat jersey. Her arms are crossed, and even from here, I can tell she’s tapping her foot anxiously. The sight of her hits me harder than any bodycheck ever could.
“Blake!” Her voice reaches me before I do her. It’s a mix of exasperation and curiosity that has me moving faster to be with her.
“Hey,” I say, breathless like I’ve just finished a sprint, not a casual stroll through the crowd.
“Hi.” She bites her lip. I must be riding the high because it’s all I can do not to close the gap and kiss the uncertainty away.
“Nice shirt.” I reach out, fingers brushing the hem of the jersey I gave her. It suits her better than I’d ever imagined.
“Thought you might like that.” Her eyes shimmied in the light but held confidence as if sending me a private message. One I’ve yet to decode.
“Oh, I do.”A little too much.An image of her sprawled out on my bed wearing nothing but my jersey flashes before me. I want nothing more than to make that a reality.
And those types of thoughts will get me nothing but trouble.
“Let’s get out of here.” I don’t wait for her nod; I just take her hand and lead her away from the noise and expectations. Away from everything except us.
“Where are we going?” The question is soft, almost lost in the shuffle of our feet against the pavement.
