My stomach flips before my brain catches up.
“Join us for a family-friendly evening featuring games, prizes, and a lucky lady's chance to win a date with a Nashville Outlaw during our special dating-game segment!”
The crowd cheers. Loud. Enthusiastic.
Someone yells something unhinged that absolutely involves my face.
Dex cups his hands around his mouth. “I’m available!”
Coach points at him without looking. “You are not.”
“For charity,” Dex says.
“For silence,” Coach replies.
I keep my expression neutral as the camera swings down the bench.
It pauses.
On me.
Just a beat too long.
I can take a hit on the ice and pop right back up.
It’s the stage that makes me uneasy.
The horn sounds. Play resumes.
Faceoff in our zone. I lean in, calm. Their center overthinks it.
The puck drops. I win it clean.
We break out smoothly. No panic. No drama. Effort equals outcome.
Dex calls for the puck like he’s entitled to it by birthright. I send it anyway. He toe-drags, almost loses it, recovers, spins, and somehow keeps it alive long enough to dump it deep.
It’s a mess.
But it’s organized.
The puck comes back to the point. Mason fires low and hard through traffic, exactly where the goalie can’t see it.
He scores!
The arena explodes.
Mason lifts one arm like he’s mildly acknowledging success.
Dex skates by screaming, “That was also my goal!”
“You didn’t touch it,” Mason says.
“Spiritually,” Dex insists.
Final minutes. One-goal lead.
Coach pulls us in at the bench. “Smart. No hero plays.”
