“I'm not proposing.”
“Not with that attitude, you're not.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Relax. This is going to work. Olivia says Natalie has been miserable without you. She's just waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass.”
“Eloquent.”
“I learned from the best.”
Coach Mercer appears in the doorway, and the locker room falls silent.
“Alright, listen up. This is an exhibition, but I don't want to see anyone treating it like a vacation. Play smart and hard. Don't do anything stupid that gets you injured before the real season starts.” His eyes find mine. “Ward, you're on a minutes restriction. I pull you when I pull you, no arguments.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Good. Now get out there and remind everyone why we're the defending champions.”
The tunnel to the ice is dark and cold. I've walked this path hundreds of times, but tonight it feels different. Tonight, everything is on the line. The roar of the crowd hits me as we step onto the ice for warmups. Fifteen thousand fans in their seats, waving signs and cheering and creating a wall of sound that vibrates through my chest.
The Jumbotron displays player stats and welcome messages, the usual pre-game production that I normally tune out.
Tonight, every flash of that giant screen makes my palms sweat.
I scan the bench area during warmups and find her almost immediately. Natalie is standing with the trainers. She's deliberately not looking at me, her attention fixed on something fascinating on her clipboard.
I swallow excess saliva in my mouth.
Soon she'll have to look at me.
The game starts, and I force myself to focus. First shift, I'm on the ice for about ninety seconds. Testing my knee and finding my legs. The pace is faster than practice, and my body takes a moment to adjust.
A pass from Cole. I redirect it to Nova. He takes a shot that the goalie saves. The whistle blows. Shift change.
I skate to the bench, and my eyes find Natalie again. She's tracking the play on the ice.
The first period passes in a blur. I play four shifts, each one feeling stronger than the last. My knee holds, and my timing is coming back. By the second period, I'm starting to feel like myself again.
The Jumbotron flashes with a Kiss Cam segment, and my stomach drops. I search for Natalie in the crowd of medical staff, terrified that the camera will find her before I'm ready. But it lands on a young couple in section 114 who kiss enthusiastically while their friends cheer.
Another shift. It’s a solid defensive play. New Jersey Blades are fast, but we're faster; our chemistry from last season's championship run is still intact. The score is tied 2-2 heading into the third period, and Coach is pushing us to find another gear.
“Ward, you're up,” he barks. “Don't fuck it up.”
I hop over the boards and join the rush. Cole has the puck in the neutral zone, and he's looking for options. I crash the net, positioning myself in front of the goalie, using my body to create chaos.
The puck comes to Nova on the half-wall. He fakes a shot and passes to Theo at the point. Theo one-times it toward the net, and I get my stick on it, redirecting the puck past the goalie's blocker.
The red light goes on.
The arena erupts.
My teammates swarm me, slapping my helmet and shouting congratulations. First goal since the injury. I pull away and skate towards the medical area. My heart is pounding so hard I can barely breathe. This is it. This is the moment. No turning back now.
I stop at the glass in front of Natalie and point to the Jumbotron.
For a horrible second, nothing happens. The screen shows a replay of my goal, and I think something has gone wrong. The production team forgot, or the message isn't coming, I'm standing here like an idiot, pointing at nothing.
Then the replay ends, and new words appear on the screen.
NATALIE CROSS
