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I blush, rolling my eyes. “So sappy.”
He smiles wide. “Yep. But you love it. And I love you.”
His kiss feels like a promise that lets me know he really does, and always will.
EPILOGUE
HUNTER
My chest clenches as the puck shoots past Aaron again, bringing the score of the Frozen Four Championship game to an unreal 9-8.
We’re losing by one in one of the most incredible shoot-outs in college hockey history.
Aaron and Minneapolis’ goalie are playing well, but both offenses are absolutely on fire. I don’t think the Hot Shots have ever played a better game, not this year and not even in any previous year I’ve been on the team.
The Minneapolis Beavers are playing every bit as good as we are.
There hasn’t been a single time this game that either team has been up more than one score. It’s been goal after goal, back and forth, for the entire three periods. And we’ve only got three minutes left.
Three minutes to score one goal to tie things up and put us in overtime—or to score two goals and finish the job, bringing home the Championship one more time before my career with the Ridley Hot Shots comes to an end.
It’s me who at least ties things up, firing a one-timer off a pass from Lars that whooshes past Minneapolis’ goalie.
We don’t take any time to celebrate. We’re keyed into the moment. I take the puck-drop against Minneapolis’ center. Minneapolis wins control of the puck.
Minneapolis’ passing is on point. They get the puck to our goal and pepper Aaron with shots. He blocks every one of them, contorting his body with superhuman speed and dexterity to block some of the fastest slapshots I’ve ever seen.
With only a minute left, Lars manages to intercept a pass, and we’re flying back up to Minneapolis’ goal.
Lars passes to Liam, who passes to me, and I deke past a Minneapolis defender. I’ve got a decent shot on goal, but I notice that Walsh has an even cleaner shot.
I deftly pass to Walsh.
He’ll be here next year. I won’t. Neither will Liam. Walsh will be the team leader. The guy who will feel the heavy weight of the success or failure of the team on his shoulders.
This last shot of the game, the one moment that may decide whether or not we bring home the trophy, should be his to take.
Walsh is a defenseman, so we catch Minneapolis unawares when instead of passing to another offensive player, he takes the shot himself—and it slams into the back of the goalie’s net.
10-9, us.
The thirty seconds left after the last puck drop aren’t enough for Minneapolis to score again, and the greatest, most tense game of my life ends with a 10-9 score.
The Frozen Four Championship is coming home to Ridley one more time.
The crowd erupts, and everyone skates to Walsh. I shake his helmet in celebration while Shane leaps onto his shoulders. Even Lars is in high spirits, slapping Walsh’s back, yelling with delight, and exchanging hugs with the rest of the guys.
Back in the locker room, everyone is going crazy. This is the first time Aaron, Shane, and Lars have ever won a national championship. To me and Liam, it’s the most perfect way imaginable to end our college hockey careers.
And to Walsh, I hope his winning goal was the confirmation he needed that he’s ready to lead the Hot Shots into a new era. Maybe even a better era than anything that came before it.
I walk up to him after we’ve stripped off our pads and wrap him up in a big bearhug.
“Keep playing like that next year, Captain, and you might be going to places,” I say with a grin.
His cheeks flush red. “Captain?”
Liam steps up, clasping him on the shoulder. “Next year, duh. Who else?”
