But we’re still down 2–1.
When Max drops low to block a shot that looked like a guaranteed goal, I gasp. The puck smacks his stick with a sharp crack, ricocheting to Jaden, who clears it. My knees sag in relief.
“Girl, you’re sweating,” Iris teases as she steps beside me with a drink in hand.
“I might pass out,” I admit.
Iris snorts. “This sport does that to you.”
The buzzer signals the end of the second period, and I collapse into a seat. The suite shifts into anxious chatter—wives, girlfriends, and families dissecting plays with varying degrees of accuracy. Nolan toddles in front of the glass, smacking it gleefully. Caroline sleeps in her stroller like her dad isn’t playing the most exciting game in history.
The guys return from the locker room sooner than I expected. As always, the first thing Miles does is look up into the suite. The moment our eyes meet, he smiles, and I lift my hand to the glass.
Then the third period begins.
The next minutes feel like hours. Colorado presses hard, but so do we. Every hit reverberates through my bones. Every shot has me lifting off my seat.
Then—with just under seven minutes left—Cade wins a critical face-off. He flicks the puck cleanly back to Max at the blue line.
Max sends it across the ice to Beckett.
Beckett fires. The rebound bounces wide.
Cade crashes in and?—
SCORES.
The suite erupts. Iris screams and hugs everyone. Anna leaps up, grabbing my hands as we jump like idiots.
2–2.
One goal away from the Cup.
My pulse pounds so violently I can hear it. The final minute ticks away in excruciating slow motion. And then—with less than thirty seconds left, the Cranes push for one last chance.
Bash carries the puck deep, muscles past a defender, and dishes it to Cade—who’s immediately tripped. The puck rolls loose behind the net.
And then Max appears out of nowhere.
He scoops up the puck, swings around the net, spins off a defender, and shoots.
Time stops.
The red light flashes.
GOAL.
The arena explodes. The suite shakes. Everyone screams. The roar pours through the glass like a tidal wave, vibrating through my bones.
The buzzer sounds.
They won. They actually won.
The boys erupt on the ice—helmets tossed, gloves flying. Max is mobbed in a chaotic, beautiful pile of Cranes jerseys. Jaden grabs him. Cade shoves him playfully. Gunner lifts his stick in salute.
I press both my palms to the glass, tears streaming as emotion crashes over me. Pride. Joy. Awe.
I find Miles in the chaos, helmet tipped back, grinning so big his cheeks must hurt. He looks up at me again, and I smile back, so incredibly proud of him and the team. What a rush.
