Coach’s glare shot daggers from behind his bench—a storm brewing in those eyes told me he expected more from us. It was time to dig deep and turn this around.
I focused on winning every puck battle possible; frustration simmered under my skin like boiling water waiting to overflow. We pushed hard against their defense again until finally—finally—I found myself tangled up in the corner with two opposing players vying for possession of the puck.
With all my strength, I fought them off and emerged victorious, sliding it back to Weston stationed at the point with one slick no-look backhand pass. He didn’t hesitate; his shot thundered past their goalie before he could react—the net rippling behind him signaled our tie game.
The crowd erupted with mixed emotions—some cheering for us while others were clearly infuriated by what had just unfolded.
We entered the third period tied but feeling like warriors ready to seize victory at any cost. Tensions flared immediately; scrums erupted after every whistle like firecrackers going off all around me. This was hockey at its finest—the chaos felt familiar, invigorating.
Then came that moment: Ryker took a cheap shot from one of their forwards while skating near our bench. Fury ignited inside me faster than anything else ever could—it clouded judgment but fueled instinctive aggression.
“Not today,” I growled under my breath as adrenaline surged through my body like gasoline igniting in an engine.
Without thinking about consequences or penalties looming over me, I charged across the ice toward Ryker’s attacker and leveled him with an open-ice hit that sent him sprawling onto his back.
Cheers erupted from our side while boos rained down from theirs as I turned away—momentarily feeling invincible despite knowing I'd likely end up in the penalty box for roughing any second now.
Sure enough, moments later found me sitting alone in that box watching our team battle on without me—a mix of regret and exhilaration swirling inside until we got another chance on offense just moments later when they scored again.
Back on ice once more after what felt like an eternity trapped within those four walls (just long enough for Coach to give me ‘that look’), determination pulsed within me anew—I needed to finish this game strong.
A pass slid across to me near center ice; instinct kicked in as anticipation tingled along my spine—I made a clean deke through traffic toward goal with only seconds remaining before snapping that puck bar down past their unsuspecting goalie!
The arena exploded around us—our teammates mobbed me while their fans booed viciously; but nothing compared to Coach’s approving nod—a silent acknowledgment of dominance without fluff or empty words—something that spoke louder than any victory bell ever could.
As I skated back to the bench, adrenaline still coursing through my veins, the roar of the crowd faded into a dull thrum. I couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness that settled in my chest. I wanted to turn and find her in the stands, to see her face light up when I scored. Mina should’ve been here, cheering with that infectious enthusiasm of hers.
The memory of her laugh echoed in my mind—a sweet sound that wrapped around me like a warm blanket after a long game. I imagined her wearing one of my hoodies, her hair falling messily over her shoulders as she bounced on her toes, waiting for the next play. It was absurd how much I craved that image, how much I craved her.
“Nice shot!” Weston’s voice broke through my thoughts as he slapped me on the back.
“Thanks,” I muttered, but it felt hollow. The guys celebrated around me—high-fives and laughter—but all I could think about was how different it would’ve been with Mina by my side.
A part of me felt restless, ready to finish this game and race back to where she belonged: with me.
Chapter 23
Mina
The second I stepped through the front door, the smell of popcorn and something sweet—maybe cookies?—hit me square in the face like a warm, edible hug. Laughter floated from the living room, mixing with the low hum of the game recap playing on a massive TV. My heart did this weird hiccup thing. This was it: my first real WAG night. Like… actually being one of the girlfriends. Of a hockey player. Of Nikolai.
Oh boy.
Before I could second-guess my life choices, Paige spotted me from across the room. “Mina!” she practically shouted, waving me over with the kind of enthusiasm reserved for puppy videos and Taylor Swift concerts.
“Hi!” I said, trying to mirror her energy while ignoring the fact that my palms were sweating. Casual, Mina. Totally normal to walk into a room full of effortlessly cool women and pretend like you don’t feel like the understudy in someone else’s life.
She gave me a quick hug and pulled me into the room like I belonged there. “Everyone, this is Mina—Nikolai’s girl!” Her voice went up half an octave on his name, and I had to resist the urge to look over my shoulder like she couldn’t possibly be talking about me.
A few of the girls looked up from their snacks, offering smiles and friendly nods. I gave a little wave, the kind you do when you’re not sure whether to be cool or charming, so you just settle somewhere awkwardly in the middle.
“Grab some food,” one of them said, gesturing toward the snack table like it was a sacred offering. And honestly? With that spread? She wasn’t wrong.
I made my way over, loading up a plate with popcorn and one (okay, three) brownies. All around me, conversation buzzed—stories about ridiculous game-day rituals, jokes about boyfriends who couldn’t find their socks, and a truly chaotic tale involving a pet iguana and someone’s skate bag.
Paige flopped down next to me on the couch, tucking her legs under herself with the ease of someone totally in her element. She passed me a soda and gave me a playful nudge. “So… ready to see your man in action?”
My cheeks warmed immediately. “Kind of nervous, actually,” I admitted, fingers tightening around the can. “Is that normal?"
