“Keep it tight! Don’t let ‘em breathe!” I barked, feeling the surge of adrenaline, every nerve on high alert.
We moved like a single organism, three on two against their defense. Mason cut across the zone, drawing a defender, and I spotted the opening. “Mason! Left wing!” I called, and he launched a shot that barely scraped past the goalie’s glove. “YES!” I yelled, punching the air.
But Florida wasn’t going to let this slide quietly. Their center came back like a bullet, body low, stick slicing. I barely had time to react. He wound up a shot from the blue line. The puck whistled like a missile toward me. My reflexes fired, glove snapping over the top, sending it spinning into the corner. The stadium roared, and I caught a glimpse of Holly’s eyes—bright, fiery, her lips pressed in that line I knew meant she was biting back a smile.
Minutes later, Florida was back on my radar, sweat running down my temple, my legs burning from the relentless skating. They had us hemmed in. I could see the fear in some of the younger guys, and I yelled again, sharp, cutting, “Eyes up! Read the play!”
“Don’t overthink it!” Theo shouted, spinning, clearing the puck to Shawn, who skated it down the wing. I tracked every movement, every angle, my body humming with energy, every nerve screaming in coordination.
Then, in a blink, they were breaking toward our net, two fast, one wide, a perfect setup. My stomach twisted. This was it. The moment the Surge either held or fell. The Panthers’ forward wound up for a shot from an impossible angle.
I dropped low, gloves ready. He fired.
I moved before thinking, catching the puck on my chest, feeling the vibration roll through me. The crowd screamed, and my knees buckled slightly as I dove to push it clear. The puck slid along the ice, skittering just past the goal line. I grabbed it and held it tight, breath rasping. My pulse was high, every muscle trembling, every thought focused.
Across the ice, Grayson shot me a nod. Mason and Tucker took it from there, moving in perfect synch, weaving between defensemen. Mason found a gap, snapping the puck in low.
“YES!”
Grayson followed with a slick spin, tipping it past the goalie. The Surge were within one.
I exhaled, finally allowing myself a split second to glance toward the stands. Holly was standing now, fists clenched on the railing, eyes bright and fixed on me. My mom leaned slightly forward, nodding toward me, the faintest smile on her lips. My brothers were sitting a little straighter, their jaws tight, watching, waiting.
I shook off the moment, forcing myself back to the ice. The puck dropped again, and Florida surged with ferocity. I was aware of the stick slaps, the heavy skates gliding, the chatter between our lines.
“Line shift!” I barked. Tucker glanced at me, nodded, pivoted, and slid a pass to Grayson, who shot wide. Damn.
The next twenty minutes were a blur of motion, pain, adrenaline, and fire. I shouted instructions, calling plays, anticipating passes before they happened. Every shot was a heart in my throat, every save a surge of relief and triumph. I could feel the energy from Holly in the stands, radiating toward me like a tether, every glance, every tiny nod igniting me further.
“Watch the rebound!” I called as a forward tore through the crease. I dropped low, skimming across the ice, gloves snapping over the puck as he tried to jam it past me. I shoved it into the corner, barely a breath before Mason slid in to control, sending it back up the ice.
We were down by one, and the clock was bleeding out. ThePanthers were relentless, desperate. I could see their desperation matching ours. My legs burned with exhaustion, my chest heaving under the pads, but there was no letting up. Not now.
I spotted Grayson weaving through two defensemen, shot after shot, his sticks a blur, Mason trailing with that perfect line.
I called, “Now! Mason!” He flicked it just past the defenseman’s stick, Grayson’s blade met it—goal.
The crowd erupted, and I could finally allow a fraction of my exhilaration to show.
I skated to the crease, glove high, letting the adrenaline pulse through me. Theo skated over, giving me a hard slap on the back. “You feel that, Callahan? Feels like we’re in this.”
The seconds ticked down, and we held firm. Every shot, every pass, every movement was a testament to all the work, all the pain, all the stakes. And then the final whistle blew.
Victory.
I skated toward the boards, my helmet off, sweat dripping down, muscles screaming but exhilaration coursing like fire through me. Holly was already standing, waving, eyes glinting, and I caught her gaze. Her hand lifted slightly as if to say,well done. My mom waved at me, a soft, quiet smile that said more than words ever could. My brothers were high-fiving each other, shouting, caught up in the win.
I felt the magnetic pull toward Holly, the need to close that last stretch of distance, to get her close and let her know—we made it, we survived, we did it together.
I leapt. No hesitation. I jumped the wall separating the ice from the stands, skates clattering against the edge, and in one fluid motion, grabbed her into my arms. The world blurred, every sound, every cheer, every flash of cameras fading until there was only her, her heartbeat against mine.
My lips crushed against hers, fierce, claiming, the culmination of months, years of tension, trust, and untamed feeling. She wrapped herarms around me, and I held her tight, grounding her as much as she grounded me. The roar of the crowd became a distant hum. The flash of cameras, the screaming fans, the electric charge in the air. Everything coalesced into this singular, perfect moment.
I broke away just slightly to catch her eyes, to see the fire mixed with ‘What the fuck are you doing kissing me in front of everyone like this?’ but I didn’t care. And after a second, neither did she.
Holly wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me in for another kiss, wolf whistles and deafening applause rising up around us.
I whispered just loud enough for her to hear over the stadium’s uproar, “We did it. We finally have a real shot at the cup.”
