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Church barely manages to keep me from the ice.
Their helmets go flying and blows are traded. The other players circle around, watching. The crowd around us is amped up, louder still when Knox gets Dawes on his back.
“Fuck,” Church mutters.
I can barely hear him.
The refs tear Knox away, breaking up the fight. There’s blood coming out of his nose, staining his teeth, and he spits onto the ice.
Knox goes straight to the penalty box. His teammates tag after him, returning his stick, helmet, gloves. He leans forward in the smaller box, the attendant closing the door, and shakes out his hair.
Fucking idiot.
The refs come back with a five-minute penalty for both players. Except there’s only three minutes left on the clock. The door opens, and Knox and Dawes leave the rink. They head to the locker rooms to do whatever the fuck they want until the game is over.
I let out a breath. “That sucked.”
The game restarts. At one minute remaining, I tag back in with Church and Scofield. I ignore the muscle fatigue, the ache in my jaw, the way I’d love nothing more than to flop on the ice, and do my damn job.
With twenty-four seconds left, Church scores.
I can barely believe it.
We’re ahead by one, and the celebration comes hard and fast. We restart and somehow hold off the Guardians. They pull their goalie, and we work double time with the extra offensive player.
Until Joel gets the puck and sends it flying back toward their net.
The horn blows right as it bounces off the post, only inches away from a freaking goalie goal.
But then the realization hits me.
We did it.
We’re moving on to the next round.
* * *
“Mom.” I kiss her cheek. “Thanks for coming.”
“Congratulations, honey.” She cups my face. “We’re so proud of you.”
I shake Dad’s hand. Knox is nowhere to be found, although his parents are chatting with Miles and Willow off to the side. I greet Vicky and Richard, accepting their congratulations, and move on to my friends.
“Where’s Melody?” I ask Greyson.
Violet shifts beside him, biting her lip.
I narrow my eyes.
He glances at Aspen, under Steele’s arm.
I round on her, even when Steele gives me a warning look.
“Aspen?” I question. “Where is Melody?”
She hesitates, then, “Um, she got a phone call, and then she… I don’t know, I didn’t see her actually leave. I think it was a call from that private number.”
For fuck’s sake.
