Chicago answered hard. Their top line pinned us deep, working the puck low-to-high. A quick seam pass, one-timer. I slid across and caught it with my glove, flash save. The crowd gasped. My heartbeat steadied.
“Nice snag,” Theo laughed as he skated by.
“About time you cleared the slot,” I shot back.
Midway through the second, Chicago tied it. Bad bounce off a shin pad, puck slid under me before I could seal the post. My mask thunked against the crossbar as I stood. 1–1. The crowd groaned, and I could see it all slipping away. That hope the guys tried to give me.
Because what if I wasn’t cut out to be number one?
Seven years with the Surge and it never occurred to them to put me up here ‘til now. Until they had no other choice. That’s all I was. A last ditch replacement who couldn’t cut it any other time.
I skated a tight circle in the crease, breathing through my nose.Reset. Reset.
Mason skated past, tapping my pads. “Shake it off. Next one’s ours.”
He was right. Two shifts later, Griff worked a forecheck, Mason came late up the slot, ripped one top corner. 2–1, Surge. Mason pointed at me as he celebrated. Promise kept.
Chicago pressed harder in the third. They cycled, crashed, threw pucks from everywhere. I slid, sprawled, fought through screens. One glove save off a point-blank rebound had me flat on my stomach, puck pinned under me.
The whistle blew, bringing the crowd to their feet.
Theo skated over, breathing hard. “Show-off.”
“Just trying to keep you employed,” I said, starting to actually enjoy myself.
With five minutes left, Chicago pulled their goalie for an extra attacker. My crease turned into a minefield. Puck zipped cross-ice, deflected, came back again. I dove, stick extended, tipped it just wide. The crowd’s roar swelled.
“Thirty seconds!” McAvoy barked from the bench.
The Blackhawks set up one last play. Point shot, double screen. I tracked it with laser focus, dropped, pad save, the rebound kicking out. Theo cleared it, Mason flipped it high. Horn sounded. Game.
2–1 Surge.
I stayed on my knees a second, head down, the noise of the arena washing over me. My gloves shook, but not from nerves this time. From adrenaline.
Theo skated by, smacking my helmet. “Not bad, Kelly-Ann. You might keep this job, after all.”
I got to my feet, grinning, and just in time to be engulfed by Mason. “The Surge is back, baby! What did I tell you? Didn’t I tell you?”
I tugged off my mask, hair plastered to my forehead. “You did.”
He clapped my shoulder. “First game as lead, first win as lead. Remember this one.”
We lined up for the handshake, then headed off. In the tunnel, sweat dripping and my pads heavy, I could still hear the crowd chanting my name.Callahan. Callahan.
I barely had time to peel off my chest protector before Holly materialized in the tunnel, like she’d been waiting to pounce. She didn’t even let me hit the locker room. Just, “Follow me,” and she was off, heels sharp against the concrete.
Now I was sitting on a rickety chair in a space that smelled like fresh paint and old coffee. The walls were a pale gray, no windows, one beat-up filing cabinet jammed into the corner. A broom leaned against it. This wasn’t an office. It was a closet someone had bullied into being an office.
I glanced at her as she perched on the edge of her desk. “Why did you drag me in here?”
“Fewer distractions,” she said without looking up, flipping through a folder.
I snorted. “Right. Because this room’s so ambient and relaxing.”
Her skirt hit just above her knees, a dark pencil cut that moved when she shifted her weight. She leaned forward to scribble something, and the fabric rode up her thighs a fraction. I dragged my eyes away, jaw tight. So much for no distractions.
She set the folder down. “First of all—good game.”
