SEBASTIAN
We’re competingfor the Cup.We’re competing for the Cup. And I’m dating Indie Bloom.
Is this real life?
“All right, men, listen up.” Coach Fry claps his hands as he strides into the center of the locker room, his expression serious. “This is it. What we’ve been working toward all year. Hell, since last year when I took over. We’re only four wins away from claiming the Cup and making this city proud.”
Every man in the room sits up taller. Chests puff out, chins rise. Coach surveys it all with dark brown eyes that catch everything. We’re lucky he took over as head coach after everything happened with Lexi’s dad. Mike Fry is ten times the coach and man Coach Cross was.
“I know how much you all want this. You’re hungry to prove to the rest of the world what I already know. You’re champions. Warriors. Brothers. I’m proud as hell to call myself your coach, and I know you’ll do whatever it takes to win tonight and for the next three games.” Fry runs a hand over his tight fade as he makes eye contact with every single one of us in turn. “Yourfamilies are watching tonight. The world is watching tonight. Let’s show them what the Rogues are made of, shall we?”
A cheer rises up as everyone shouts a variation of, “Yes, Coach!”
My heart thunders in my chest, joining the cacophony, even while my mind is calm and quiet.
My familyishere watching tonight. Indie’s in the family box with Lola and the rest of the ladies. I wish my parents could have made it, but they’re hosting a massive watch party at their house with all the extended family.
Coach Fry claps a few of the guys on the back before leaving us to finish getting ready. But his speech had the desired effect. He electrified the atmosphere in the locker room and stoked the hungry fires in our bellies.
“You’re a wall,” Maddox says, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’re impenetrable. No one will make it past you tonight.”
“They won’t,” I agree. Mentally, I run through hundreds of possible plays and saves. I block shot after shot in my mind, visualizing the outcome I want for tonight’s game.
We’re going to win this. For us, for Coach Fry, for the people who have sacrificed everything to support us.
I’m going to win this for the woman I love.
“Let’s go to battle, boys,” Maddox says as the clock ticks down the time until puck drop. “Time to kick some Shark ass!”
Sweat dripsdown my face as I stop another shot attempt. My muscles burn, but I could do this all night if I needed to. Because we’re fifteen minutes away from taking the first game of the series.
The crowd cheers as I slap the puck to Ryder, who works with our other defenseman, Javier, to get the puck out of the defensive zone and over the center line. Florida fights like hell to keep us on the defensive, but Maddox, Griffin, and Logan swoop in and move the puck down the ice, through the neutral zone, and into the offensive zone.
It’s pure synergistic beauty, and I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.
We’re not only playing like we have something to prove. We’re playing like we were made to do this together. Like this team—this line—was divinely appointed.
Maddox and Griffin pass the puck back and forth while Logan positions himself in a coverage gap. Florida’s defensemen are so focused on the game of keep-away Madds and Griffin are playing with them, they don’t notice they’ve left Logan wide open until Griff chips the puck through the gap without even looking and straight to Logan. He draws his stick back and lets it fly.
Time slows, the barn goes silent, then when the puck hits the net with a sharpthwack, the crowd roars loud enough to almost drown out the buzzer. While the guys celebrate down by Florida’s net, my eyes wander up to the family box.
I can just make out Indie and the ladies screaming, hugging, and jumping around. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever seen.
“Did you see that beauty of a shot, Bashy-cakes?” Griffin shouts before barreling into me in celebration. “Slick as hell.”
“Now we just need a few more.” I slap Griffin on the back, and he throws his head back, laughing, before skating back to center ice for the face-off.
“Yeah. A few more. You got it, boss.”
We don’t manage to sink a few, but we do score one more goal, winning the game three to one. The arena is so loud, myears ring while I shower and get dressed before talking to the press with Coach Fry, Maddox, and a couple of the other guys.
“Is thereanything you think your team could improve on for game two?” a reporter from a local paper asks Coach Fry. “I’m sure the Sharks will play like they have something to prove.”
Coach Fry nods. “They’re not the only ones. This is the biggest game in hockey. We all have something to prove. My guys played a solid game tonight, and I’m proud as hell of them. There are always things we can improve upon as a team, but as of right now, it’s just tweaking and tightening.”
Reporters raise their hands, shouting and jockeying for attention. Coach points at someone from one of the larger sports networks.
“Are you worried about external distractions during this series?” The reporter directs the question to Coach, but his eyes stray to me, and I stiffen.
