Sticks hit the ice, gloves grab my shoulders, someone yells my name through a laugh. I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until it leaves me in a sharp exhale that has my lungs burning.
We did it. Again.
I tap Paige’s goalie pads first, hard and deliberate. “Hell of a game,” I beam, because that’s what a team captain says to her players. My voice is steady because it always is; I don’t let it crack even a little.
Inside, something is pulling at my chest. Two wins. Two Olympic prelims. The crest on my jersey feels heavier the closer we get.
I lead the handshake line with the officials and turn back to my team, lifting my stick once toward the stands. The crowd is a blur of flags, number 13 signs, and noise. Even kids are sporting my number, number 13, painted on their faces. People are crying, strangers are screaming like they’re the ones down here on the ice. Like this matters to them as much as it does to us.
And it does. This isn’t just a game. It’s pride, hope, and something to believe in all at once.
My team and I skate off the ice together, and I make sure nobody lags. I count heads, watch shoulders, read body language, even during the celebration.
Blades clink and clatter against the rubber as we step through the bench door. My legs are burning, my lungs feel raw, and I welcome every part of it.
In the tunnel, the noise fades into the laughter of my team as it bounces off the concrete walls. Someone bumps into my shoulder, and I turn to see Rissa. “Two and oh, Cappy.” Her grin tells me she can’t believe we did it again.
Fuck the nickname, but I can’t even yell about it with the pride I have rushing through my insides.
My throat feels tight as we push into the locker room because I remember mornings before sunrise, empty rinks, years where we didn’t get this far, teammates that aren’t here but should be. I think about Aunt Keisha and the nurses at the care center watching from home.
And I think about how badly I wanted this. For my aunt, my mom, and me. For my teammates and my coach, who have worked so hard to get us here. And for the millions of fans watching the games all over the world.
I hang back for a second, just inside the doorway. I look at my team, flushed, loud, and alive with the high of the win still hanging on them. Something warm and overwhelming spreads through me. Satisfaction, maybe? Or relief. Or the terrifying realization that we’ve almost qualified for the quarterfinals.
My stomach twists at the thought of the teams already packing their bags, their tournaments over. That could have been us. One bad bounce, one mistake, and we’d be the ones walking out in silence.
“Enjoy it,” I tell them, pushing myself from the doorway and making my way into the locker room. “Then we reset.”
They cheer, high-fives all around as I walk toward the bench. And this time, when I smile, I don’t hide it.
“Hello?” I hear confusion in Violet’s voice as she answers the phone.
“We won. We won the second preliminary game, and I had to call and tell you.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I can’t tell if I made a mistake by calling or if she doesn’t know how to reply.
“That’s awesome!” The excitement in her voice has me letting out a long, slow breath. “How do you feel? How many more games?”
My smile widens, and I start talking more than I ever would with anyone who isn’t my Aunt Keisha.
“I feel amazing.” I fidget with my jet-black braid that’s dangling over my shoulder. “The crowd was so loud in the arena that my head couldn’t handle it. And the team was hyped after the game. I had to stand back and just breathe for a minute.”
“That’s pretty intense.” I can hear the smile in her voice, which kicks mine up another notch.
“Yeah. We have two more preliminary games, and then the quarterfinals if we make it that far.”
“So, like twenty more games. Got it.”
I laugh. “Sure feels that way, but no.”
I dock my phone by the wheel, needing my hands free, and wait for Paige and Rissa to reach the car. I managed to get to my car early enough to call Violet before we head back to the hotel, and I don’t want to let my mind wander toward the reasons why.
“Are you heading out to celebrate?” The Bluetooth kicks on, and her voice fills the car speakers.
“We can’t get too crazy. We have another game tomorrow morning at eleven.”
“Ah, no tequila shots for you,” she teases. “I don’t think I’d be able to carry you up to your room and tuck you in.”
