Twenty seconds later, the whistle blows when Canada ices the puck. They’re dead tired, two of their players leaning over, resting their sticks above their knees as they attempt to catch their breath.
If there was ever a chance to win this game, it’s now.
We line up for a faceoff on the goalie’s right side. I take my spot on the hashmarks and place my stick next to the Canadian winger’s, anxiously waiting for the ref to drop the puck.
Just before she does, I look over at my tired opponent. “Hope you can keep up.”
Her helmet turns toward mine just as the puck leaves the ref’s hands. I throw a shoulder into the Canadian winger and push off of her, finding my place in front of the net.
There’s a battle in the corner between Liv and one of their defense. Our center is there for support, so I stay where I am, keeping my feet moving in case of a loose puck.
Liv secures the puck on her stick and uses her backhand to pass the puck to our center, who immediately drives the net.
The lone Canadian defense doesn’t know what to do. I watch as she moves her attention between me and my center. After years of playing at the highest level, I know she’ll stick with me to take away the pass and leave the shot to her goalie.
My center takes a hard, low shot and I fight like hell for my position in front of the net.
The puck bounces off the goalie’s pad, landing right next to her in the crease.
With every ounce of strength I can muster, I push off ofCanada’s defense. She’s putting up one hell of a fight, trying everything she can to keep me away from the puck.
I feel her stick push against my back and dive toward the puck that’s still sitting in the blue paint.
Everything moves in slow motion as I’m mid-air. The goalie looks over her shoulder at the puck, then proceeds to move her stick behind her, but it’s too late.
My stick connects with the puck before she can get there and I watch as the puck slides across the goal line.
Holy. Fuck.
It went in.
There’s no time to react. I’m immediately dogpiled by my teammates, their screams piercing my ear drums.
This is the greatest fucking day of my life.
Twenty-some bodies land on top of me but I don’t feel any pain. All I feel is exhilaration. Joy. Bliss.
There is not a good enough word to describe what this feels like.
One by one my teammates detach their bodies from the pile. Everyone but me and the other players on the ice are still wearing our helmets and gloves. Tossing them to the ice, I find Liv.
She throws her arms around me, tears streaming down her face.
“We did it, Char. We actually fucking did it.”
We’re both an absolute mess of tears and happiness, holding each other tight. When we finally break apart, I take turns hugging my teammates and coaches.
My eyes search the stands for my brother and Luke, but it’s absolute chaos, both on and off the ice.
I follow my team to center ice where we shake hands with Team Canada. The rivalry between our two teams is unmatched by anyone else in this sport. As much animosity as we might have toward each other during the game, there is so much respect between us too.
It’s impossible not to respect a team with so much talent and gold medals under their belt. Doesn’t mean I have to like them though.
I shake hands with one of my PWHL teammates who’s on Team Canada and give her a quick hug before making my way through the rest of the line.
The medal ceremony is about to begin, but my attention is on the fans. I thought Connor and Luke were sitting where Luke normally does, just off to the side of the bench, but I don’t see either of them there.
I’m about to give up when my eyes catch on movement behind our bench.
