Page 78 of Crease Collision

That was close. All instinct. I’ll have to tell Kai about it later.

The puck drops again. St. Louis pushes back hard, their defensemen pinching deep. We clear it, but only as far as their trailing forward. He knocks a one-timer at me. I move with the shot, already tracking glove-side, but it clips Carson’s stick and changes direction. By the time I twist around, the goal horn is blaring.

St. Louis is up 1–0.

“Vad fan!” I slam my stick on the ice. I’m not angry. But… damn.

I turn to my net, grab my water bottle, and squirt some into my mouth. While I’m drinking, I spot a guy in the crowd wearing a Condors hat. He has dark hair and a build like Kai’s. Adrenaline shoots through me before my brain catches up. Only a phantom, but it clears my head.

During the break in play, the arena’s sound system blasts a song. For a second, I’m not here. I’m sixteen, watching Gunnar execute one of his trademark one-timers in a tournament game. He was always so damn good.

Wish you were here tonight, brorsan.

The next shift is all survival. After some heated play, Kendrick soars into the Sting’s zone. The crowd jumps to its feet as he races through center ice, dekes once, and buries the puck. Just like that, we’re tied.

Our bench goes wild. Now it’s a hockey game.

When the horn sounds, ending the period, we’ve pulled ahead 2–1.

We skate off without saying much. There’s plenty of energy in the locker room, but we maintain our focus. Everyone knows St. Louis will come out with all guns blazing in the second.

Sure enough, they throw everything they have at us. A sniper comes in alone on a breakaway, fakes a backhand, then snaps the puck glove-side. I rob him clean. Later, on a two-on-one, I stack my pads and kick the puck into the corner while the crowd groans.

By the third, we’re running on adrenaline. For ten minutes, both teams skate around doing their best to get in each other’s way. Then Marco intercepts a pass at their blue line and goes in alone, wiring the puck top shelf. 3–1.

Some of the life drains out of the building, but I stay focused. I’ve seen teams score two goals in less than a minute, so we aren’t out of the woods. But the saves feel automatic now. Blocker. Pad. Glove. Freeze.

When the final horn sounds, the weight sliding off my shoulders is almost physical. We did it.

Carson gets to me first and taps my helmet. “Hell of a game, Olly!”

Before I shower, I unlock my phone to tell Kai about my incredible save.

OSKAR: You won’t believe this. I kicked a puck out of the crease, and someone hit a rebound. I stuck out my glove before I could even turn my head.

Too arrogant? Delete.

OSKAR: Would you believe I caught a shot with my glove before I could even turn my head to look?

Still arrogant. Delete.

I want to share it with him, not make him think I’m bragging. I’ll tell him on the phone.

Everyone is too tired to go out after the game, and I breathe a sigh of relief. In the morning, before we fly home, we have a photo shoot at the Gateway Arch. It’s part of a Follow the Fury initiative the team is running.

I hurry through my routine and get into bed. There are messages from Kai on my phone.

KAI: My head is killing me, so I might fall asleep before you call. Sorry if I do.

KAI: I’m so fucking proud of you! Woo hoo! That game was a real gong show, and you stood on your head.

KAI: Come home so I can give you a hug.

KAI: I’ll even suck your dick.

KAI: A few times.

He’d sent the texts before we left the arena, but I saved them because one of the defensemen was in the seat next to me.