It doesn’t feel out of reach. It feels possible.
I look at the clock. Ten minutes left.
If Calgary pulls their goalie late, if I can get one more clean look...
I could make history.
And give Juliette the night of her life. Or possibly end her life. One of the two.
The thought makes me laugh despite the pressure suddenly sitting on my chest, despite everything.
Dex looks over. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Just thinking I really want to score again.”
“Then let’s get you the puck.”
The final tenminutes feel like an hour. Calgary’s pressing hard, throwing everything forward. They pull their goalie with three minutes left, down by two.
Barrett taps my shoulder. “Rodriguez. Out there.”
My heart hammers against my ribs, mostly from the anticipation of it all.
“Protect the lead,” Barrett says. “But if you get a chance at the empty net, take it.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
The faceoff’s in our zone. Calgary wins it and immediately sets up, six attackers cycling the puck, probing for an opening. Luca makes a save and the puck slides to the corner.
Brody gets there first, absorbing a hit to chip it along the boards to Dex.
Dex looks up. Sees me at center ice. Sees the empty net at the other end of the rink.
Time slows down. I can hear individual voices in the crowd, can feel every scratch on the ice under my skates.
He makes the pass.
The puck hits my stick at the red line then it’s just me and 100 feet of open ice and an empty net that looks as big as a garage door.
I could dump it in easy. Just flip it down there and let physics do the work.
But that’s not how you score your fifth goal. That’s not how youmake history.
I skate in closer, building speed, and snap a wrist shot from their blue line.
The puck slides across the ice, straight and true. Their players on the bench can only watch. Their fans groan in unison.
The puck crosses the goal line and hits the back of the net with a satisfying thunk.
Five goals.
The arena erupts. Even the Calgary fans are on their feet because they just witnessed history, even if it’s against their team. Our bench empties onto the ice. My teammates mob me at center ice, a tangle of bodies and sticks and gloves pounding my helmet.
“FIVE GOALS!” someone’s screaming in my ear. “FIVE FUCKING GOALS!”
“Rodriguez just made history!”
“Holy shit, man! Holy shit!”
