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A collective roar filled the room, each of us letting out our pent-up energy in one unified shout. We stormed out onto the ice, a phalanx of focus and raw determination.
The first period went by in a blur. Both teams were on fire, each trying to set the tone for the match. There were moments when I felt like we were playing a game of pinball, the puck ricocheting from one end of the rink to the other with frenzied speed.
The crowd was electric, riding their own turbulent sea of cheers and boos. Every missed shot, every save, and every body check added fuel to a fire already blazing high.
We ended the first period 2-2, and both teams took a much-needed breather as we headed back to the locker room.
"Listen," Pete looked us over while we guzzled down water and caught our breath. "We need to tighten up our defense. They're getting too many easy looks. And for the love of God, can someone please get a body on their number 27?"
A couple of nods and a few muttered swears were his answer.
We returned to the ice, the tension ratcheting up another notch. The second period was just as intense, but this time, we managed to pull ahead with a beauty of a shot from Jensen. It gave us a 3-2 lead.
"You're a goddamn sniper, Jensen!" I hollered as we fist-bumped on the ice, his grin almost splitting his face in two.
But our lead was short-lived. Our opponents came back with a vengeance, tying the game with less than a minute to go in the period. Our collective groan nearly raised the roof.
We skated into the locker room for the second intermission with the upcoming final period weighing heavy.
"Twenty minutes, guys," Pete's voice was steady, eyes locked onto each of ours. "Twenty minutes to leave it all on the ice. Don't hold back. This is it."
We took the ice for the final period. The clock seemed to tick away at double speed, each second a drop in the rapidly emptying hourglass of our playoff run.
And then it happened.
With less than two minutes on the clock, the puck squirted out from a melee of sticks and bodies in front of their net. Eddie caught it on his blade and then he let it rip.
The puck sailed through the air, a blur of flying rubber, hitting the back of the net with a satisfying "thwack."
The roar that erupted from our bench and from the stands was deafening. The team piled on Eddie, slapping his back and the top of his head. We managed to hold them off for the remaining seconds, and the final buzzer giving us the sweet taste of victory.
We had won. We were going to the championship.
Chapter18
Pete
Everything looks its best first thing in the morning—even Hoss. My eyes flicked open, and I watched as the first daylight streamed in and fell across his handsome face. It created the perfect blend of shadows and sharp definition.
He was still asleep, his face turned slightly to the side, and his mouth slightly open. For a guy who spent years facing off against hulking defensemen and getting slammed into the boards, he looked incredibly innocent while sleeping.
I shifted closer to him, taking care not to wake him just yet. The bed sheets were a tangled mess at our feet, a testament to the restless anticipation we'd both felt the night before. The championship game was just two days away, and neither of us could entirely escape the mounting pressure. But in the quiet morning moment, all of that seemed miles away.
His arm was thrown over my waist in a loose, comfortable grip as if, even in sleep, he was trying to keep me anchored next to him. I let my fingers lightly trace patterns on his forearm, marveling at the contrast of his rough, calloused skin against the smooth sheets.
Finally, I leaned in, gently pressing my lips to his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the daylight before focusing on me. A sleepy, contented smile spread across his face.”
Morning," he rasped, his voice still thick with sleep.
"Morning, handsome," I returned, my voice softer than usual. It was like we were tiptoeing around the moment's serenity, afraid to break the spell.
Hoss yawned and stretched, the sheets slipping down to reveal his smooth, muscular torso—a few scars from on-ice injuries ached to tell their stories. He pulled me close again, our bodies falling into a familiar alignment that had already become second nature.
"Sleep well?" I asked though the peaceful look he'd woken with had already given away the answer.
"Always do when I'm next to you," he replied, his words muffled as he nuzzled my neck.
A warm flush spread through me, starting from my head and trickling down to the tips of my toes. His words, so simple yet so intimate, had a way of making even the most turbulent world stand still.
