Page 151 of Offside Angle

Santi is waiting in the same place he always is, camera hanging at his side as the line starts moving toward the tunnel.

When I reach him, I don’t say anything. I just stop and lean in until my forehead rests against his.

His skin is warm, and underneath the smells of the rink—ice, rubber, sweat, whatever industrial cleaner they use back here—I catch the familiar trace of his cologne. It gives my brain something normal to hold on to for a second.

The rest of the team keeps moving around us. Cole passes close enough to land a heavy hand between my shoulder blades, Viktor follows with one firm pat, and Jace gives my arm a quick squeeze before hurrying after the others. Nobody comments on me standing forehead-to-forehead with Santi in the middle of the tunnel.

Progress.

Or terror.

Probably terror.

Santi stays close when he speaks, giving me the same words he always does before I step onto the ice.

“Give them hell, cariño.”

I nod once against him before pulling away, and when I fall back into line with the others, some of that restless current under my skin has finally found somewhere useful to go.

Then my skates hit the ice and the building nearly knocks the rest of it out of me.

The noise is fucking enormous.

There’s red and black everywhere I look, people already on their feet, signs pressed against the glass and thousands of voices blending into one continuous roar that comes up through the boards and vibrates straight through my legs. They’re screaming before the anthem is even finished, and when we start moving through warmups, every lap around our end seems to turn the volume higher.

I’ve played in this building hundreds of times.

It has never sounded like this.

By the time I take my first real stride after puck drop, the nerves have burned down into something much easier to use.

The opening faceoff turns ugly immediately.

Elias lines up across from Vanguard’s center, and the moment the puck drops they crash into each other hard enough that neither seems particularly interested in pretending this is only about possession. Elias manages to pull it back to me, but one of their forwards is already coming before I’ve properly settled it.

Fine.

Hello to you too.

I absorb the contact, roll away from him and chip the puck up the wall to Cole before he can pin me. The crowd reacts like we’ve already scored.

Apparently they’re going to be like this all night.

Good.

The next few shifts make it obvious nobody came here interested in easing into the game. Every battle along the boards ends with somebody getting introduced to the glass, sticks are tied up before passes can develop, and nobody gives away an inch of the middle without making the other team pay for it.

One of their wingers tries to come through my side with speed, and I close on him before he can turn it into anything. I ride him hard into the boards, the impact rattling through both arms, and he comes away pissed enough to swing his stick into mine after the puck is already gone.

I look at him.

He looks at me.

The referee looks directly at both of us and apparently decides he has better things to do.

Works for me.

Three minutes in, Viktor keeps a clearing attempt alive at the blue line and sends the puck down the wall to Tyler. Tyler takes it behind the net with a Vanguard defenseman on him, protects it long enough to pull the coverage lower, then finds Elias cutting through the slot.