Page 14 of Never Pucking Ending

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Hodgkins, our goaltender darts down to block it from hitting the net.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One—

The puck slips past him.

The Penguins win 3-2, and the home crowd roars out their protests as Pittsburgh celebrates the victory.

And everything else falls away.

The handshakes.

The pats on the back.

The murmured words of congratulations to the opposing team.

O’Conner skates up to me at one point and grips my hand, apologizing. There’s a shine in his eyes, though, and I’m happy for him. He deserves the glory of this win. So, I shrug it off and pretend like it means nothing.

But the emptiness is back, along with it the ringing in my ears that swallows the world around me.

I blink it away and force myself to be present. To get through the defeat of the night. I look up toward the box where my father, stepmother, and stepsister are all still standing.

Nora and my dad are hugging.

Belle is staring straight at me.

Even though we’re far away, I can practically feel the sorrow there. It soaks into me like a warmth that pulls me just enough out of my head to get off the ice and peel off my helmet.

Dawson murmurs, “Sorry, Cap,” to me on the way to the locker room. I shake it off and ignore the other ‘sorry, Caps’ that I get as we strip, shower, and change.

That crushing defeat washes away in the hot spray of water and swirls down the drain. I have no time for pity or sympathy or sorrow.

I look at the team after I’m finally dressed, swiping a hand through my damp hair and say, “There’s always next time.”

Bodhi Hoffman grips my hand in a sturdy shake and gives me the same half hug that we used to exchange as opponents before he took on the coaching position for the Fireflies.

It’s familiar enough to ease what tension remains in my muscles. But nothing, and I mean nothing, relieves that pressure like seeing Belle leaning against the wall just outside of the locker room.

As soon as she sees me, she pushes off it.

I pull her in for a hug before she says a word, resting my chin on the top of her head. I inhale the scent of her shampoo and close my eyes for a moment, letting it be only us. I’m grateful that she doesn’t apologize for the loss. I’ve heard it too many times already.

Instead, she pulls back, reaches into her bag, and pulls something out. My brows pinch when a secretive smile tugs at her mouth as she drops something into my palm.