The crack of impact echoes through the arena. Misha goes down hard, his head snapping back against the ice despite his helmet. The ref's whistle screams. Players back away slowly.
Misha isn't moving.
"Medic!" Jake yells, already skating toward our goalie.
My stomach drops.
People in the arena hold their breath as the team doctor and two medics rush onto the ice, followed by Ivy. A research jacket has replaced the oversized hoodie. She drops to her knees beside Misha, already pulling out equipment.
"Misha." Her voice is calm and authoritative. "Can you hear me?"
He groans, trying to sit up.
"Don't move yet," she says, checking his pupils with a penlight. "Follow the light with just your eyes, not your head."
From the bench, I watch her work.
She asks questions in clear, simple language, testing his balance and checking for signs of destruction. This is the Dr. Ivy Chandler who is going to change how teams handle brain injuries. This is the woman I can’t stop thinking about.
And she's breathtaking.
"Can you stand?" she asks Misha.
"Da." His Russian accent is thick, but he's coherent.
The medics help him to his feet slowly. They skate toward the tunnel together. As they pass the bench, her eyes meet mine for half a second.
Something passes between us. Recognition. Maybe concern.
"Damn," Marcus mutters beside me. "That looked bad."
"She's got him," I hear myself say.
"Yeah." He glances at me with an unreadable expression. "She's good at what she does."
"The best," I say with feeling.
His eyes narrow, but the ref signals for play to resume, and the moment passes.
Our backup goalie takes over. Harbor City capitalizes late, tying it up before the horn. We head into the third period knotted at two–two.
The third is a grind. Shot for shot. Hit for hit. Nobody gives an inch.
Regulation ends tied.
Overtime is sudden death.
Three minutes in, I draw two defenders and dish the puck to Jake just as the lane opens.
He buries it.
The horn blasts. The crowd detonates.
Game over.
The locker room is electric—players shouting, replaying the goal, pounding sticks against the floor. I should be riding the high. Two goals, an assist, and the play that sealed the win.
But my mind is focused on how Ivy was completely in her element, doing exactly what she was meant to do.
