Page 58

His expression changes, only slightly. “Yeah.”

“Then hit the net next time. We want to win.”

I give him a shove toward the circle, and his grin returns. Two shifts later, Sawyer ties the game. Campbell digs the puck free behind the net and sends it into the slot. Sawyer gets one touch on it before Toronto’s defense closes, snapping it over the goalie’s pad.

Red light.

The Birdcage detonates all over again.

Sawyer throws both arms up and turns toward us as we pour over the boards. He hits the glass in front of the family section, and I see Dad celebrating behind him.

Eva is on her feet beside Lucy, cheering as if she’s been coming to games her entire life.

Toronto takes the lead again early in the second after we get caught changing. Owen stops the first shot and the rebound, but the third goes in before we can clear the crease.

Two–one.

When I reach the bench, Coach leans toward us. “Stop chasing the hit. Make the smart play.”

His gaze moves from me to Tripp. I nod, while Tripp looks back to the ice. On our next shift, he leaves the zone before we have possession.

I try to get his attention. “Mercer, stay low!”

But he keeps moving. The puck takes a bad bounce off the wall, and suddenly Toronto is coming back at us three-on-two.

Ty forces the puck carrier outside. I take away the pass through the middle, but Toronto’s winger holds on to it just long enough for a seam to open. He fires from the circle. Owen gets a glove on it, but the puck drops into the crease.

I turn, sweep it away before anyone can reach the rebound, and send it hard enough around the boards to clear the zone.

Thirty seconds later, the whistle finally stops play. I skate directly toward Tripp.

“You leave early like that again, we get burned.”

“I saw an opening.”

“We didn’t have the puck.”

His jaw tightens. For the first time tonight, the teasing edge disappears completely.

“You worry about your position,” he says. “I’ll worry about mine.”

“We’re on the same ice. Your position becomes mine when I have to cover it.”

Campbell skates between us before either of us can say anything else. “Are you two finished?”

“I am,” Tripp says.

“I wasn’t the one⁠—”

Campbell points at me. “Finished?”

I grit my teeth. “Yeah.”

Tripp moves toward the faceoff circle.

The next time our line goes out, Tripp doesn’t fly the zone. Instead, he stays low, helps Campbell win the puck along the boards, and sends it back to me at the point. I take the shot.

It hits a leg in front and drops into the slot. Sawyer gets his stick on it, but Toronto’s goalie kicks the puck away and straight to Tripp, who buries it before the goalie can reset.