We grind.
Coach barks from the bench.
“Again! Again!”
I pivot, call for the puck, fire it back to the point. Shot goes wide. Rebound pops loose.
The goalie covers.
Whistle.
I skate past our bench, Dex chirping something that earns a shove from Mason.
“Focus,” I mutter.
Dex grins. “Always, Cap.”
Liar.
Next shift, we push harder.
This game feels like it’s waiting for something to crack.
Bryce takes a pass and snaps it on net. The goalie blocks it. Puck squirts free.
I crash.
Stick down.
Shot.
Saved again.
The crowd groans in unison.
I skate back, chest heaving, jaw tight behind my mouthguard.
Tie games do that.
They sit in your bones.
Across the ice, their center lines up and smirks.
I don’t smirk back.
I just nod.
Faceoff.
We battle.
Time bleeds off the clock.
Two minutes left.
Everything sharpens.
This is where leaders show.
