The announcer’s voice is lost in the chaos, but I hear Twinkle’s holler and Daisy’s scream of victory behind me as I break through the pack. I glance up just long enough to see Finn in the front row, camera raised, eyes glued to me. His expression is intense—like he’s starving and I’m the only thing in focus through his lens.
Just behind him, my pack is a wall of motion and noise. Hunter stands with his arms crossed and a grin that tugs at my heart. Carson’s up on the seat, yelling as if we’ve already won. Graham’s gaze stays locked on me. Unshakable.
And then there’s Landon.
He’s not shouting. Not smiling. Just watching as though I’m the only player on the track. Like I’m the only thing in the world. My chest squeezes, and it’s not just the bruising. It’s him. It’s the fact that I see every emotion he won’t say out loud burning behind his eyes.
I don’t have time to think about it. Not when the other team closes in again and I have to throw my weight against blockers twice my size just to earn a few more points.
One. Two. Three points.
Twinkle’s voice rings from the sideline—“Call it, Jinx!”
I tap both hands to my hips. Once, twice.
The whistle blows. The jam ends.
I skate back, breath ragged, and Twinkle nudges me toward the bench with a knowing grin. “Tag out, babe. Hydrate before you pass out on me.”
I nod, grateful, and let her take the jammer star from my helmet. My legs are jelly as I slump onto the bench and grab a water bottle. The whole team is buzzing now—tired but excited. We’ve found our rhythm. It’s not perfect, but it’s ours.
Coach Crusher paces in front of us, barking praise andstrategy. Daisy’s bouncing in place. Knox is still bleeding a little from a split lip but grinning like a lunatic.
I look back toward the VIP section, bottle still in hand. Finn lowers his camera and winks. Hunter blows me a kiss. Graham meets my eyes, seeing straight through the exhaustion, and I can tell he wants nothing more than to carry me away from here so I can rest. Carson mouths something obscene that makes me laugh.
And Landon…Landon doesn’t look away.
My ribs might be on fire, but I’ve never felt stronger.
This is our game now.
And we’re not giving it up.
The next few jams blur into muscle memory and grit. Twinkle takes over for two brutal runs, then I’m back in. Over and over, we trade places like synced machines, reading each other’s cues, anticipating every block and opening. The other team is relentless—fast, heavy hitters with brutal shoulder checks—but we’ve been training for this. Bleeding for it.
Every time I go down, I get back up. My ribs hurt, but I keep skating. Keep scoring. Keep pushing.
Because we are not losing this.
By the last jam, the score is tight. Two points. One final round to close it out. Coach Crusher is yelling from the sidelines. Twinkle and I nod at each other, and then we’re off again.
I find the gap. Burst through it. My team peels back the blockers like they’re opening a door just for me. I duck low, explode forward, every muscle screaming in protest—but I don’t stop.
The crowd is on their feet.
My skates hit the straightaway, and I pass the last opponent with one final surge of speed. The whistle blows. Points tallied.
We win.
The scoreboard flips. Our team’s name lights up, and for a second, I coast on the track, my heart pounding in my chest.
Then the roar of the stadium hits me.
My team swarms me. Twinkle tackles me into a hug, both of us laughing and sobbing at the same time. Daisy’s shrieking, hoisting her arms in the air. Arms wrap around me, people shouting my name, hugging me, crying, spinning.
We did it.
We won Nationals.
