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We’re in a tie, and the last thing I need right now is going into overtime.
I wanna put this thing to bed.
I skate around Ace. As much as I’m hurting right now, I’ll never let him see that.
“I bet that didn’t tickle,” he hollers as I get back into the play.
“Your Mama hits harder.” I shrug.
He fucking laughs, the asshole.
One eye is on the puck, and the other is on him trying to block me again.
The thing is, I’ve always been fast. I move swiftly for a well-built guy.
I’ve always enjoyed dodging and weaving on the ice, gliding toward the goal with the puck at the end of my stick. Maybe it was all the ice skating lessons mom had me do as a kid, but it’s paying off now.
So I dodge and weave once more.
My fancy footwork overtakes me as I move around Ace up the center. Ty passes me the shot, and I dodge another defenseman.
This is it… the exact moment when I feel the burn through my lungs, and the fire in my heart. My arm reaches back to take the shot, when there must be less than a minute on the clock… It all seems to happen in slow motion, taking an eternity to see where the puck is going to land. The goalie dives to the left, as the puck sails into the back of the net on the right with a thud.
I hold my side where I’m hurting as my team erupts and skates toward me, exactly as the final siren rings out through the stadium.
We fucking won. I could throw my stick up in the air, I’m so elated. I don’t see much in those moments, just half the crowd going wild, the players bench going nuts, and Coach Carter is actually hugging the assistant coach, Ted.
As my teammates pile on top of me, my mind’s eye opens up again.
And I see her. She’s smiling. Wearing my jersey and her little flag waving.
I know then that I need to go see her the second I’m back in Seattle. Even waiting until tomorrow seems like a long fucking time, as well as an impossibility.
When the guys finally get off of me and we bump with the New York players, I catch up with Ace.
“You fucking played hard,” I tell him. “That last hit… fuck me, that hurt.”
He’s clearly disappointed, but seems to appreciate my show of sportsmanship as I slap him on the back with my glove. I like to show I’m not a complete ass, even to my rival.
I can’t even imagine how shitty they must be feeling right now.
But we have to celebrate. And celebrate, we do.
Tyler shakes up a bottle of champagne back in the locker room and sprays it over all the players, including the coaches.
Nobody cares. We’re all on cloud nine.
We’re in the finals… The fucking finals.
As Coach Carter gives us a speech about how well we came back, there’s only one place I want to be.
I can’t help it.
I’ve said no way, would never go there again so many times I’ve lost count.
But that was all before I saw her. All before I wanted to make her mine.
And making her mine again suddenly seems like the most important thing in the world. Even with the Stanley Cup within our grasp now.
