With zero hesitation, Mats leans his whole body into the shot—a hard slap shot. The puck rockets through the air, past all the jostling players, and so close to the Hoover goalie. I see the back of the net bulge, and then the red light goes on.
There’s one millisecond of quiet as everyone releases the breath they’ve been holding, and then the place goes abso-fucking-lutely insane. Everyone is jumping and screaming in celebration. I’ve never heard the arena this loud.
I throw my arms around Becks, and we hug and jump for joy. Mats is swarmed by his teammates, so I only get a glimpse of his delighted face. But he’s still smiling once he’s back on the bench. Perfect. It’ll be easier to ask him to get back together when he’s in a good mood.
Oh my god, you called it again, Becks yells through the roar.
I raise both hands in victory signs. I am the fucking oracle of hockey.
The crowd stays on their feet for the rest of the game, chanting Mus-tangs, Mus-tangs, Mus-tangs at a deafening volume as Hoover desperately tries to manufacture a tying goal. They pull their goalie for the extra man, but our guys stay strong. Big Z seems to play almost the whole time, because he can win draws and maintain puck possession. As the clock winds down, the crowd chants, Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two… one!
The buzzer sounds, and Monarch has won their first playoff game.
I fucking love hockey, I declare. Because this sport has it all: the tension, the drama, and the game hero. And of course, Mats is named the first star of the game.
Becks takes off as the crowd filters out, and I wonder, now what? Should I message Mats and see if he wants to meet? Because otherwise, I’ll have to go down and stand with all the WAGs in the hallway outside the dressing room, which feels potentially awkward and embarrassing. What if he rejects me again, in front of everyone?
But then I remember how good it felt to see a relaxed Mats waiting for me after my game. Maybe he’d enjoy that too. I head straight for the hallway. It’s crowded with people, but my teammates, Caroline and Dani, call me over right away.
Nellie, hey. Are you back together with Mats? Caroline asks excitedly.
I notice Lana, in the midst of her sorority sisters, has turned to stare at me. Is she interested in the answer? Her new boyfriend didn’t figure into any of tonight’s scoring. Not that I’m keeping track, of course.
I hope so. It’s the truth, so I’m sticking with it.
His goal was so good, Caroline exclaims. And then the three of us discuss the game and our own upcoming playoffs.
Tonight is getting me in the playoff mood, Dani declares. I nod vigorously. All I want is to be cleared—not just to play, but to start getting psyched up. I’ve been so pessimistic about my future that I haven’t let myself feel the excitement.
We’ll find out who we play after tomorrow’s games, says Caroline. I’m not going to jinx anything, but there’s one team I really hope we get.
She means Lakeside, who we’ve beaten every game this year. But I agree, it’s best not to hope for that, and certainly not out loud.
The guys trickle out and they’re all so happy and excited. I long for that feeling too: the post-game euphoria. A win feels even bigger when you come back after being down two goals.
Finally, Mats appears. People keep stopping him for congratulations, so it’s taking an agonizing amount of time for him to make his way down the hall. As always, he looks gorgeous in his dark suit and grey wool coat. He’s so desirable that everyone must want him. I see Lana put her hand on his arm and say something to him.
My stomach plunges. Please, don’t let it be too late.
27
POST-GAME CELEBRATION
MATS
I MAKE MY WAY OUT OF THE DRESSING ROOM. OVERALL, I FEEL GREAT; SCORING A BIG GOAL IN A BIG game is any player’s dream. But underlying all that, I’m a little worried about Cleo. Is she here waiting for me?
The hallway is a lot more crowded than usual, since some players have extra family and friends here. People immediately start congratulating me on my goal, so it’s slow going.
There’s a familiar floral scent as Lana puts a hand on my arm.
Congratulations, Roy, she says with a brilliant smile.
Thanks, Lana. When I look at her now, all I feel is relief that we’re over. I know what I need in a relationship—the ease of being myself, of not contorting to fit someone else’s expectations. But I don’t resent Lana; she was part of my emotional journey. I genuinely wish her happiness.
Breaking contact, I move forward. Maybe, someday, we’ll become friends. But right now, I have more important things to do.
I search the crowd until I finally find Cleo, and then I wonder how I ever missed seeing her. She’s glowing, a bright beacon of light in the grey halls. Her smile tells me everything; that her day went well and she’s herself again. I close the distance between us, and Cleo pushes forward too. When we’re inches apart, she flings herself at me and throws her arms around my neck. Her hug dissolves my nervousness, and I pull her tight to me.
