Twenty seconds left.
A clumsy pass.
A loose puck.
A half-second of opportunity.
I’m there first.
My legs burn as I break away, but my mind stays quiet, steady. The goalie squares up, reading my angle, bracing for the hit he expects me to take.
But I don’t take it.
I wait.
One beat.
Two.
He flinches—just enough.
I shoot low glove.
The puck snaps into the net.
The arena explodes.
Behind me, I hear my teammates before I see them.
Nik hits me from behind, shouting something in Russian that I’m ninety percent sure is praise.
Max loops an arm around my chest and practically hangs off me.
Dom grabs my helmet and shakes me like a bobblehead.
Mikey yells, “That’s my captain!” even though I’m not the captain.
Connor trips over his own skates trying to join the pile.
And for the first time in a long time…
I feel like I belong.
The secondwe step into the locker room, someone blasts music loud enough to shake the ceiling tiles. Sweat, steam, and victory hang thick in the air.
I’m just trying to make it to my stall, but the guys swarm me before I even get close.
Max is the first one in my face.
“Holy hell, Cal, where didthatcome from?”
Dom slaps a hand onto my shoulder, grinning like a maniac.
“Seriously, who are you and what’d you do with Callaghan?”
Connor, of course, has to be Connor.
He slings an arm around my shoulders, grinning like he’s been waiting all night for this moment.
