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The arena explodes.

We’re up 2-1.

And instead of switching to defense like a normal team would, we keep pushing.

We keep attacking.

The plan is simple: keep the Icehawks away from Roman. Don’t give them room to breathe. Don’t let them set up. We swarm them every time they touch the puck.

The clock ticks down.

With only a few seconds left, Halifax finally breaks free.

Their center picks up the puck in the neutral zone and explodes toward our end, catching everyone flat-footed for half a beat. Shane is screaming something from the bench, Damian’s voice cuts through the noise, and suddenly every black jersey on the ice is chasing the same man.

I’m closest.

I dig in and go after him, pushing hard enough that my lungs burn, but he’s already got speed and the gap refuses to close fast enough.

Ahead of me, Roman barely moves.

He stays square in the crease, tracking the puck like none of the chaos behind the play exists. The center crosses the blue line, cuts toward the middle, and lets the shot go.

Roman catches it clean.

And before Halifax can even think about the rebound, the horn screams through the arena.

For half a heartbeat, nobody moves.

Then the place fucking explodes.

2–1.

We won.

I skate toward Roman, stick raised, the rest of the team piling on. Cole is screaming. Elias is laughing. Even the rookies are losing their minds.

The music is blaring through the arena as both teams line up for the traditional post-game handshakes. I slap gloves with the Icehawks one by one, keeping my head down and focused on getting through it quickly.

The second we’re back in the locker room, the music is blasting even louder. Everyone piles on Roman, who’s still in his goalie gear and looking slightly overwhelmed but smiling anyway. The rookies are getting mobbed — Jace is grinning so wide it looks like his face might split, and Nico is yelling something about his first playoff win while getting noogies from Cole and Tyler.

I’m laughing as I fist bump Jace, who’s riding the high of his goal earlier. “Fucking nice one tonight, kid,” I tell him.

He’s about to reply when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.

Santi is hanging back at the edge of the celebration with his camera up, documenting the absolute disaster around him like he isn’t at least partly responsible for the fact that my brain has been useless all day.

He catches Jace getting crushed in a hug, Roman disappearing under half the team, Cole screaming something directly into somebody’s ear. Every time I look over, he’s got that same infuriating little smile on his face, like he’s collecting evidence of all of us losing our minds for his own personal amusement.

Then his camera lowers.

Our eyes meet across the ice.

And the bastard winks at me.

I shake my head and turn back to the rest of the guys before he can get another reaction out of me.

Cole is already trying to get everyone to chant something ridiculous. Elias is laughing and clapping people on the back. Damian is standing off to the side with his arms crossed, watching it all with that rare, almost-smile on his face.