Unfortunately, the Stars team brings the score to a tie in the first two minutes.
A collective groan rolls through our section, but our Stripes boys don’t fold. They push harder, faster, swarming the goal again and again. There are missed shots, close calls, moments when the puck skids wide by mere inches, but no one gives up. The energy stays sharp, electric.
Baptiste is now hurtling toward the goal, weaving through traffic, cutting across the ice while another teammate sends the puck his way. Everything slows down for a split second—him lifting his stick, the puck flying, the goalie dropping—
The red light flashes, and the horn booms, piercing through the tension.
Goal.
Baptiste scores, breaking the tie, and the arena explodes into cheers and shouts.
“Eye of the Tiger” blasts through the speakers, and I burst out laughing when I realize it’s Baptiste’s goal song. I remember hearing it at the first game, but to be honest, I wasn’t really watchingthe ice. But now I am—Baptiste on a high after a win is hard to ignore.
He skates across the ice, slapping hands with his teammates, shimmying with a touch of extra swagger, before turning to hype the crowd, pumping his arms as the volume crescendoes.
He reminds me so much of Dean Winchester fromSupernaturalright now—confident, cocky, and completely in his element. It sends tingles all across my body. I always had the biggest crush on Dean. That blooper video where Jensen Ackles sings this song on top of the Impala will forever live rent-free in my head.
Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m on my feet—yelling, clapping, my heart pounding right along with everyone else’s.
Baptiste’s gaze sweeps the stands and locks on mine. The noise of the arena dulls, the lights blurring at the edges, until it’s just him out there on the ice, and me frozen in place.
His smile widens further, kickstarting that annoying flutter again
Yeah, maybe hockey isn’tthatboring, after all.
The girls and I are meeting the guys back at the hotel after the game, and I drive back alone since I took my car to the arena—well, “drive” is a big word since I spend most of my time stuck in traffic. After inching at a slug’s pace for the better part of an hour, I finally make it to the hotel. The first thing I notice when I give my keys to the valet is the black sedan parked in front of the hotel. Isquint, peering closer, but all the windows are tinted, and I can’t see anything inside.
Suddenly, the car starts and drives off in a hurry.
Victor.
I recognize it as one of his intimidation techniques. I’ve seen him do it in the past—have even been on the receiving end once or twice. But I’m not scared. He’s just trying to shake me up, make sure I’m not tempted to go after him.
The problem is, it only piques my interest even more.
Probation, Harper. Big picture, I tell myself, shaking it off as I hustle toward the entrance.
“Hey!” Hayley says, climbing out of a car at the same time. “Look at us. We’re synced!” Beth, Aria, Grace, and Marissa follow suit, still chatting about the game.
“Let’s go,” Marissa adds. “The guys are already here.”
We pile inside and find them in a back room behind the lobby, sprawled on couches with snacks scattered across the low coffee table. The girls immediately gravitate toward their husbands and fiancés, hugging or kissing them, and Baptiste saunters toward me.
“Hey,” I say. “Good game. Congrats on your win.”
“Thanks.” He grins, eyes flicking over my face like he’s checking for something. “Glad you came. Did you havefun?” he asks, dragging the word out.
I roll my eyes. “You sound like Marissa. But yeah, I did. It’s less boring from the glass seats.”
“I’m not going to sayI told you so,but…”
“Fine,” I concede. “You were right. I’m actually kind of excited to write my article now. And nice goal song, by the way.”
His eyes gleam as a smile stretches across his face. “Thanks. Oh—I have something for you,” he says, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out a puck. “My scoring puck from tonight. Tie-breaking too. It’s a priceless piece of historic memorabilia.”
I chuckle, turning it over in my hands. “I’m sure it is. But don’t you want to hold on to it? Might be the only goal you score in this tournament.”
His mouth opens into a perfect O shape. “Ouch! Always going for the burn. And if you’d paid more attention, you’d remember I scored in the first game too—and I kept that puck. You know, in casethatwas the only one.”
