This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This was supposed to be my chance to prove I could co-captain this team the way they deserved. Instead of a hotshot goalie, all they were getting was a hot mess in pads.
“Nice snag,” Shawn muttered, clapping my helmet as he skated by. “Keep it up.”
“We’ve got this,” I rasped, not believing we had anything.
The ref dropped the puck again. Time bled off the clock, but it felt like an eternity.
The Ducks’ pressure was relentless. They circled like sharks, and every time I glanced up, Holly was there. Watching. Writing. What, I couldn’t guess. It would’ve been easier if she just sat there and yelled like the rest of them.
My lungs ached. Sweat trickled down under my collar.
They fired again. I caught it, threw it out, scrambled back to my feet. The sound of the crowd rose and fell like a storm. The burn blazed in my veins, making null whatever tiredness I was feeling. No time for that.
Theo crashed into their forward, and cleared the crease. “Callahan, you’re overthinking,” he said as he pivoted back. “Stop playing like you’re someone else. Play like you. Just… play.”
I wanted to snap back, but the words jammed in my throat.
Because he was right. Iwasplaying like someone else. Like the guy everyone wanted me to be. Like Grayson’s unflappable co-captain. The future of the Surge.
Except, I wasn’t exactly that guy either.
Another rush in attack. My vision tunneled. The Ducks’ winger wound up for a shot, and I lunged nothing close to pretty or technical, but my glove snapped shut around the puck.
The horn blew for the period.
“Chin up, Buttercup!”
Mason’s voice cut through the grumbling on the bench, and I looked up from my water bottle. Third period, score tied. The Ducks were buzzing like hornets, and I was one mental misstep away from giving it all away.
He crouched in front of me, helmet off, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.
“You’re not here,” he said, low enough that only I could hear. “You’re thinking about everything but this ice. Stop it.”
I blinked at him. “I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.” Mason’s eyes burned like a matchhead. “You’re too in your head. I need you to forget everything. This is your net. These are your guys. You didn’t get here on luck. You earned it. So act like it.”
He shoved my shoulder pad, not hard, but enough to jolt me. “Stop trying to be Grayson. Be Hunter. Just play your game, man.”
Before I could answer, the buzzer blared. Time to take the ice. Mason yanked his helmet back on, gave me a look that saidfix it,and vaulted over the boards.
I stood, chest heaving, and skated back to my crease. The crowd was a living thing now, pulsing with noise. The Ducks lined up at center ice like they already owned the next twenty minutes.
Be Hunter.Mason’s words thudded in my head.
Last season, I was the one talking him down and through a killer series. How the tables have turned. But if he thinks I deserve to be here, then...
I crouched lower, flexed my glove, and let the chatter of the arena fade. No Holly scribbling. No teammates doubting. No management. Just me. Just the ice.
The puck dropped.
The Ducks’ center snapped it back, their winger flying down theboards like a missile. Theo cut him off, stick-on-stick, and I tracked the puck as it slid behind the net.
“Watch the slot!” I yelled, my voice stronger now. My own voice, not the guy I thought I had to be. It felt fucking good coursing through me, reminding me, and the stiffness in my body dissolved.
The puck popped out. I slid square, glove flashing.Whap!Snatched it midair. The crowd ate it up, their chants sliding under my skin like a drug.
“Now we’re talking,” Theo laughed as he pivoted back.
