Page 382 of Power Play

I sat and breathed through the pressure beneath my ribs. Three organizations had scouts in the building. Milwaukee sat two rows above the Frost bench, Pittsburgh had a pair of representatives near center ice, and Washington’s people remained against the glass near the tunnel. They watched every shift, every change, and every second I spent on the ice without the puck.

I knew where they were. I saw when they leaned toward each other and when somebody wrote something down. Their attention didn’t make me nervous.

Charm’s empty seat did.

I hated myself for looking. I’d told her to stay away and made the boundary clear enough that Rider threatened to drag her out on a sled if she broke it. She was respecting the one thing I’d asked from her, and some weak, wounded part of me still wished she were there to see this.

Charm understood what today meant before anyone else did. Before the scouts confirmed they were coming and before Chris started using words like offers, she looked at me as though the dream was already mine. She listened while I talked about teams and cities, asked questions about development programs she didn’t understand, and memorized the names of organizations because they mattered to me. When we’d discussed all three possibilities, Milwaukee had been the one we agreed could give me the best balance between hockey and the people I loved.

She should’ve been watching the best game I’d ever played.

Wanting that changed nothing. Missing her didn’t mean I’d made the wrong choice. It meant the part of me that loved her hadn’t caught up to the man who finally walked away.

The whistle blew, and I climbed over the boards.

Minnesota scored again early in the second. We answered before the period ended when Hollis won the puck behind their net and sent it toward Keller at the point. Keller fired through traffic, and Archer redirected it beneath the goalie’s arm before anyone closed the lane.

The score held at two to two until Minnesota took the lead in the third on a power play after Keller ignored Waters and introduced his fist to somebody’s mouth.

With seven minutes remaining, the entire stadium rose.

Minnesota collapsed around its net, trying to suffocate the game and survive the clock. Hollis and I cycled the puck behind the goal until their defense shifted low. He sent it up the wall toward Archer, who carried it high before snapping it back to Keller at the point.

Keller shot through traffic. The puck struck two bodies and dropped near my skate. I turned and fired, watching it slide between the goalie’s pad and the post.

The score was tied again.

Gray skated halfway out of his crease, screaming as though he’d scored it himself. Hollis struck my helmet with both gloves while a Minnesota defenseman shoved us away from the net.

I looked toward the Frost section again. My family had lost whatever remained of their minds. Bliss had both arms around Cade’s neck. Aura screamed beside Easton while he slammed his palm against the glass. Briggs pounded both fists above his head, and Rider laughed while trying to prevent him from climbing over the seats.

Charm still wasn’t there.

The hurt slipped into the open space inside me, and I carried it back onto the ice.

With forty-one seconds left, Hollis stole the puck inside Minnesota’s zone and sent it toward me just as their defenseman reached into the lane. I beat him to it, dragged the puck between his skates, and cut toward the net before he recovered.

The goalie committed to the near post.

I sent the shot far side.

The puck struck the inside of the pipe and crossed the line. For one suspended second, Frost Lake stopped with it before the arena detonated.

Hollis hit me from behind before I completed the turn. Archer came from the other side, knocking us into the boards as the Frost bench emptied over the wall. Bodies crashed around me, and gloves struck my helmet and shoulders while thousands of people screamed my name into the frozen night.

“El Cuchillo!”

“Decker!”

“Zero seven!”

I fought my way upright, my chest heaving beneath my pads. My eyes moved toward the stands for the third time even though I didn’t want them to.

Everyone I loved was there except the one person I wished had seen the shot.

The admission entered without permission, brutal in its simplicity. Of all the people watching, Charm was the person I wanted to see what I’d become tonight. Scouts could record the goal. Reporters could ask how I found the opening. My teammates could celebrate until their voices disappeared, and my boys could pound the glass hard enough to get thrown out of the arena.

None of them had watched me believe in this dream before it became real the way she had.