Busy, I wrote.Game’s rough.
He didn’t answer right away. Good. I shoved the phone away and went back to work.
Second period blurred into motion and noise and bodies colliding. I strapped Mason’s knee after a spill into the boards,my fingers flying while he bounced on his heel like a kid waiting to be released.
“I’m fine,” he insisted.
“Everyone’s fine until they’re not.” I smoothed the tape, pressed once, then slapped his ass. “Go.”
Landon hopped the boards midway through the period, rookie nerves written all over him. His first shift was messy, then hungry. He crashed the net on his second, creating enough trouble for Shawn to bury one clean.
Two all.
My phone buzzed again. I didn’t look.
Colorado answered back with a power play goal that sucked the air from our bench. I felt it like a physical thing, a sag in the shoulders around me. Grayson slammed his stick against the boards once. That was all.
Third period started mean. Hits came harder. Whistles stretched longer. I checked a cut on Tucker’s cheek, dabbed it clean, slapped a bandage on.
“Luckily scars are in this season,” I said.
He chuckled. “You flirting with me, Hopper?”
The phone vibrated. Again.
I ignored it and watched Landon skate like he had something to prove. He did. A turnover near center ice sent him flying down the wing, Mason drawing coverage just enough. Landon shot. The puck clipped iron and went in anyway.
My screams got swept up with everyone else’s as the Surge fans lost their shit.
Three to two, Surge.
Colorado pushed. The boards rattled with every hit. Late in the period, a dump-in turned ugly, bodies piling up near the corner. A dull thud echoed through the bowl, puck slamming into glass. A whistle followed, muffled but unmistakable.
My shoulders went rigid before I could stop them. It had been a long game, and I was dead on my feet. I exhaled through my nose and forced myself to calm the fuck down.
Mason sealed it with an empty-netter that sent the bench into something close to disbelief. Four to two. Surge.
I finally checked my phone when we got back to the locker room. Everyone vibrated with adrenaline.
“You’d swear that was a final,” Grayson laughed, dropping his helmet and stick where he stood.
Theo:I miss you.
The words sat there, bright and simple. Just as I made to answer, McAvoy’s voice cut through the room.
“Wrap it up, let’s go. We’re wheels up tonight.”
I locked my phone and set it face-down on the bench.
“Okay,” I called, clapping once. “Line up. Quick checks. I got a roast in the oven.”
They came to me one by one. Ankles. Wrists. Ribs. A lot of ice, a lot of tape, not much time. Sweat and exhaustion hung thick, the room loud with post-game noise and relief.
Grayson offered me a fist bump when it was his turn in line. “You killed it tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah. Drink more water,” I shot back.
By the time I boarded the plane, my legs felt like concrete and my head buzzed with everything I hadn’t let myself think about yet. Denver felt too far from home. Theo felt farther.
