“Yes, sir.” I can’t hide my smile as I stride forward and slip past him, my heart and happiness somehow finding a new high.
CHAPTER 23
MATT
Ican do this. I can do this.
The second period is about to start, and I’m fucking terrified, but I push my fear aside, replaying Shay’s words in my head a thousand times over. I swear to God, hearing her list out the asinine comments people have left her and comparing them to the ones I’ve read rewired something in my brain. It’s like she plugged my mind back in with a brand-new update, and it’s clearer and faster than before.
In my bones, I can feel I’m ready to conquer this. The guys and I had a quick huddle before the ref blew his whistle to set up. They have my back and support me the whole way, and I’m going to do the same.
They have to score two goals to tie it and three to win. I’ll do everything in my power to keep the Wild at two, and as long as we stay out of the penalty box, we should be just fine. This series as a whole has been fairly clean—a few tripping and roughing penalties, and that’s about it.
We can do this.Together.
My nerves are high as the period is underway, but after a few blocks and saves, they’re gone, and I’ve settled into myself, thankfully. And when I start to feel a little shaky, I glance overto the bench and find her fiery hair peeking out of the tunnel. I can’t always find her stare, but seeing her there calms me.
Kos manages to score on a breakaway, and shortly after that, Costy tips a shot from the blue line. The chances of us coming back and winning get a whole lot higher.
The rest of the second period does nothing to the score, but the momentum is shifting. I can feel it; my team can feel it. It hums in the air, fueling our fans to cheer with abandon.
I don’t need a pep talk during the second intermission. Instead, I sit in the locker room with the guys like I usually do. But instead of isolating myself and running plays through my mind, I join in on conversations with them.
Kos walks over to me and shakes my shoulder. “You’re a hell of a goalie out there tonight, Big Mac.”
The rest of my guys cheer and holler in response, rippling through the room, until my eyes start to burn from the overpowering love. I nod in thanks, not willing to open my mouth because I think my voice will crack from the welling emotion.
Burnsy ends up pantsing Donnelley, who puts him in a quick headlock, like a younger brother, and a lightness finds everyone, laughter bouncing around the room.
We’ve gotten this far because we’re not just a team; we’re a goddamn family. We have fun, and we laugh, but we’re also there for one another in the moments that matter the most.
Time slips by, and before I know it, we’re heading back out to the ice for the third period. It’s a tied game. For the Wild, it’s make it or break it. If we win, the series is over, and we’re victorious. If we lose, we go to game seven. But I believe in this group, and I don’t think the Wild will be walking away with a win tonight.
Walking down the tunnel, I see the red of her hair in my peripheral vision before I look up, and as I pass by, I lift myglove, and she bumps my fist with hers. In her stare, I can see it all, including her belief in me, through and through. I can see us winning, confetti falling from the sky.
I can also see us ten years down the line, hopefully with a little skater on the ice beside us. I see us traveling together, an unstoppable duo making history not only in the franchise, but the league. As long as she’s with me, I have faith that it’s where I’m meant to be.
We take the ice for possibly the last time this season, and as I’m carving up my crease, skating side to side, an odd sense of emotion hits me. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve done this over the years, but I can tell you I’ve never done it in the Stanley Cup finals with the win truly in reach, with my girlfriend on the sideline as a badass coach. Couldn’t have written this better if I tried.
The clock runs down to the start of the third period, the puck hits the ice, and I’m ready.
Let’s do this.
The Wild are hungry, not backing down, but they’re also desperate, and it’s forcing them to take unnecessary risks that they typically avoid. Their goalie manages to hold us off from scoring during the first ten minutes, and I keep the Wild at bay. It’s clean hockey—no penalties, no fights, just skill.
The crowd is watching with bated breath, the time ticking away like a bomb waiting to explode. We still need to get one on the board and take the lead. Obviously, keeping them from scoring is just as important because the game can always go into overtime.
Playoff hockey will go as many periods as necessary. It won’t go into a shortened overtime, then a shootout if a winner isn’t decided. Playoffs are full overtime periods, twenty minutes, with an intermission in between.
There’s still eight minutes left, and we’re starting to push them harder, forcing errors and finding new openings. But their damn goalie is the sole reason they’re even still in this game. He’s a brick fucking wall.
Burnsy takes an awkward pass, and it bounces weird off of his stick. Owen Knox takes the chance, grabbing the puck and ripping his way down the ice toward me. I drop into position, and my heart starts to pound, racing faster and faster, but I can’t look over at Shay right now.
So, instead, I do something I’ve never done before, but it just might work. Parting my lips, I stay homed in on Knox and the puck while I start to sing the chorus of “Hollaback Girl.” My voice pitches and falls as my muscles adjust to Knox’s body language, ready to react to anything.
He stretches his stick to the side, pulling the puck wide. He might shoot it from there, but I doubt it. I remember seeing Andy’s notes about his backhand being his go-to. My body is ready to react to either shot, and instead of trying to get in the perfect position for one, I wait, wait, wait.
Skating close, he pulls his stick in, letting the puck glide across the ice, where he’s going to try to tip it with the back of his stick above my shoulder. But it’s too late. By the time he tries to flick it toward me, I’m already in the way, catching it in my glove with ease.
