Page 149 of Offside Angle

The goalie gets enough of it with the blocker.

The rebound kicks loose.

Cole crashes the crease before anybody else can react, but one of Vancouver’s defensemen gets his stick underneath the puck and sweeps it away an instant before Cole can finish.

The whole arena exhales around me.

After that, the minutes start stretching.

Vancouver gets a chance that dies against Shane’s pad. Viktor sends a point shot through traffic that catches the post with a crack loud enough to reach me behind the glass. Another Reapers rush gets broken up at the blue line, and Vancouver answers with one of their own that Matteo forces wide before it can become anything.

Nobody can finish.

The longer it goes, the tighter everything feels.

Then Luca gets the puck.

The play isn’t pretty enough to look dangerous at first. Vancouver loses control along the wall, recovers it, and throws a quick pass into the high slot before the Reapers can reset. Luca steps into it immediately.

One timer.

The puck hits the back of the net clean.

For a moment, everything around me seems to disappear.

Then the building erupts.

The roar hits hard enough to shake the glass while Vancouver’s bench empties onto the ice. Gloves go flying, sticks are thrown into the air, and players crash into Luca from every direction until he disappears beneath them.

I should be shooting.

Instead, I lower the camera.

Matteo has stopped near the faceoff circle.

He isn’t throwing his stick or arguing with anyone. He just stands there with one hand loose around the shaft, staring toward the net while his chest rises and falls beneath his jersey. The blood at the corner of his mouth has dried dark against his skin, and from where I’m standing he looks less angry than stunned.

They were that close.

One goal.

One save.

One bounce somewhere else.

Around him, the rest of the Reapers begin moving toward the bench, but Matteo stays where he is for another few seconds as Vancouver celebrates behind him.

I don’t take a single picture.

Eventually Luca breaks away from the pile and skates past on his way toward the bench. He slows near Matteo, but there’s no grin this time and no chirp meant to start another fight.

He just says something as he passes.

I can’t hear it through the glass, but I can read the words easily enough.

“See you in Ravensburg, Rivera.”

Matteo closes his eyes.