Page 30 of Offside Angle

Damian stares at me for another second, then nods once. “Good,” he says. “Then figure it out and get your head straight.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He just makes a sharp motion with his hand, shooing everyone toward the door. “Alright, that’s enough. Go shower, go eat, go sleep. We have Game 4 tomorrow and I don’t want to see any more of this bullshit until then.”

The team starts moving, some of them glancing between me and Santi as they grab their bags. Cole clearly wants to say something else, but a single warning look from Damian shuts that down. Shane, meanwhile, is wearing the smug satisfaction of someone convinced he’s solved the entire mystery.

I stay sitting on the bench for a second longer, staring at the floor.

When I finally glance up, Santi is still there, watching me. He doesn’t say anything. He just gives me one last small, knowing look before turning and walking out with the rest of them.

I let out a slow breath and drop my head into my hands.

Game 4 is somehow going our way.

We’re up by one goal in the final period, and the energy in the building has completely shifted. The Icehawks are pressing hard, desperate to tie it up, but we’re holding strong.

Elias and Cole have been on fire all night — creating chances, winning battles along the boards, and keeping the pressure high every time they step on the ice. They’re feeding off each other like they always do when things are clicking.

Viktor and I have been a wall in front of Roman. Every time Halifax tries to generate something dangerous, one of us is there to cut the lane, block the shot, or clear the puck out of our zone. Roman has been calm and sharp in net, and for once, Shane isn’t screaming corrections at him from the bench. The goalie is actually relaxed, leaning forward with his arms on his knees, just watching the play unfold like he trusts what he’s seeing.

Up in the stands, I can hear my parents. My dad’s voice is loud even over the crowd, yelling encouragement every time we touch the puck. My mom is right beside him, clapping and cheering in her own elegant way. It makes me smile every time I glance up there between shifts.

I wish Lena was here too. She would’ve loved this. I make a mental note to call her the second we get back to the locker room, win or lose.

With less than two minutes left, Halifax comes alive.

They throw everything at us. The pace picks up, hits get heavier, and they start taking more risks, desperate to cut the lead before the final buzzer.

Their top line cycles the puck hard in our zone. One of their forwards wins a battle along the boards and fires a quick pass toward the slot. Their center gets a step on Jace and rips a one-timer toward the net. Roman is screened, and for a split second I’m sure the puck is getting through.

Jace throws himself across the crease at the last possible moment, blocking the shot with his body. The puck bounces loose right in front of the net, and their winger jumps on it, trying to stuff it in.

I dive across the crease, stick out, and sweep the puck away just before it crosses the line. It ricochets off the boards and clears all the way down the ice. The crowd groans. Our bench explodes.

With seconds left on the clock, Halifax pulls their goalie for the extra attacker, but we manage to hold them off. Every clearance and blocked shot stretches the final seconds into something endless.

When the buzzer finally sounds, the score is 3–2.

We won.

The relief is massive. My legs are barely holding me up as I skate toward Roman and tap his pads while the rest of the team piles on. Jace is still on the ice, breathing hard and staring around in stunned disbelief that we actually pulled it off.

Up in the stands, I can hear my dad losing his mind.

I glance toward the bench and see Damian nodding once, that rare proud look on his face.

We’re going home.

Series tied 2-2.

After the handshakes and the loud, chaotic celebration in the locker room, we finally head out of the rink. I step into the cool night air and spot her. Lena is waiting just outside the players’ exit, wearing one of my old hoodies with a huge smile on her face, completely at ease among the crowd.

I stop for a second, surprised. She told me she couldn’t make it because of her big client this weekend, but here she is, clearly having waited for me.

“Hey, pretty girl,” I say, walking straight up to her and scooping her into a hug without hesitation.

She laughs as her feet leave the ground, arms wrapping around my neck. “Hey, stinky,” she giggles, kissing me quickly. “You won.”

“Yeah,” I murmur against her lips. “We did.”