Steel on ice. Boards rattling. The crowd a low, hungry roar.
Normally, when I’m out here, everything fades. It’s clean angles, sticks, bodies. Read the rush, kill it dead. But tonight, she’s still in my head. Lulu in my lap, breathless and breaking, whispering she’s wanted meforever.
It should fuck me up. Instead, it’s jet fuel.
First period, their winger tears down the left side, fast and cocky. I match him stride for stride, shoulder dropping just as he tries to cut inside. Impact slams through me when I hit him clean, his body crashing against the glass. The puck jars loose, and Chase is there in a flash, scooping it up and flying out of the zone while the crowd roars.
Second period, we’re killing a penalty. Their forward winds up for a bomb from the circle, and I drop low, take it square off the shin. Pain explodes, bone ringing, but the puck ricochets harmlessly into the corner, and Ryan clears it down the ice. I grit my teeth and stay in the play. No way I’m letting them set up again.
Third period, tie game, five minutes left. They’re swarming our zone, bodies clogging the crease. One of their guys sneaks open on the back door, stick cocked for a sure goal. I pivot hard, lunging across the slot, and sweep my stick out just in time to knock the puck away.
Ryan scoops up the loose puck and takes off, and I push up ice behind him, legs burning, just enough to give him an option. He threads the puck back, tape-to-tape, and I hammer a one-timer from the blue line. The shot screams through traffic, tips off a stick, and buries top shelf.
The horn blares and the glass rattles. I slam into the glass, teammates crashing around me, the sound deafening.
And the thought rips through me, clear as anything:maybe she’s my lucky charm.
Superstitious bullshit, maybe, but hockey guys cling to it anyway. Same socks, same pre-game meal, same tape job. If Lulu’s what’s got me sharper and faster than I’ve ever been, I’ll take it.
“Somebody’sspicytonight,” Chase yells, grinning as he slaps my back.
Eli smacks my helmet. “Whatever you’re eating, keep eating it.”
Your sister. Your sister is what I’ve been eating.
They think it’s a hot streak. They don’t know it’s her.
Coach Benson claps my shoulder as I drop to the bench. “That’s the edge we need, Miller. Keep it.”
Yeah. Edge. Lucky charm. Whatever you want to call it, I’ll take her in my head every damn night.
***
The locker room hums with after-game chaos. Showers hissing, reporters barking questions in the hall, boys chirping each other as if we didn’t just grind out a one-goal win on the road.
Chase struts by in nothing but a towel, a maniacal grin in place. “Miller with the missile! Didn’t know you had a cannon hiding back there.”
“Ohh, finally noticed, baby?” I ask, tugging on a T-shirt.
“Don’t be shy,” Jake adds, hair dripping as he leans around his stall. “Couple more clappers like that and I’ll let you take my spot on the power play.”
Ryan barks a laugh. “Yeah, right. He’d be gassed in thirty seconds.”
“I’d last longer than you,” I shoot back, grinning when the boys howl.
Eli’s across the room, smiling at something on his phone, totally oblivious. Relief mixes with guilt in my gut. If he knew what was going on with his sister…fuck. I force the thought down, grab my bag, and keep my head low.
The boys are already making plans. Dinner. Beer. Maybe finding a dancefloor.
“You in, Pooks?” Chase asks.
“Pass. I’m wiped.”
“Old man energy,” Eli chirps, earning a round of laughter.
I flip him off, but it’s half-hearted. Truth is, I’m buzzing. Wired. And it’s not from the game.
Back at the hotel, I stretch out on the bed. Place my phone on the nightstand and stare at the ceiling, while it sits theretaunting me. I check it twice, three times, fighting the urge to text her.Don’t. Don’t be that guy.
