Page 165 of Play Dirty

—and buried it in the back of the net, just over the goalie’s shoulder.

3-2.

Hats hit the ice. People screamed. His teammates mobbed him.

He didn’t even crack a smile.

By the final minutes the Barrage were desperate. Pressing hard. Throwing everything they had at the net, which included pulling the goalie.

Sebastian held.

The defense tightened.

And when the horn finally sounded — they’d done it.

Barely. But it counted.

The locker room was an explosion. Noise. Heat. Unspent adrenaline.

“NEVER A DOUBT!” Zack yelled gleefully, like there had been nothing but doubt.

Ares clapped Grayson on the shoulder hard enough to knock a lesser man over.

“About time,” he said.

Sebastian just shook his head, grinning.

I stayed back for a second, watching Grayson. Everyone else was celebrating, but he wasn’t. He just sat there, unlacing his skates, like it was just another night. Like putting three pucks in the net virtually unassisted hadn’t meant anything.

Like he hadn’t just tried to rewrite history with the blade of his hockey stick.

Staring at him, I could feel the weight of his guilt. But he’d channeled that guilt into something positive.

And that was something.

I slipped back down the hallway, before the showers got going. Outside, the arena was emptying fast.

I opened my tablet. Entered a few more notes, while my memory of the game was still fresh.

About fifteen minutes later, I saw him:

The man in the suit.

Same one. Same stillness. Same sharp, controlled presence that didn’t belong in a place like this.

He wasn’t celebrating, like the stragglers. Wasn’t smiling.

He was watching the result.

Like it had somehow disappointed him.

“Hey…”

Somewhere behind me, Sebastian’s hand touched my hip. Rather than turn around, I pointed without pointing.

“Who’s that?” I nodded upward.

He squinted.