***
THE GAME IS tied 5-5 with one minute left.
The viewer count on Becker's laptop has climbed to something obscene—150,000 people watching us play backyard hockey in a blizzard. The donation counter keeps climbing, numbers changing so fast it's hard to track: $187,000… $189,000… $192,000…
Steve is losing his mind: "Folks, we're witnessing history here! In the middle of a historic blizzard, these absolute mad lads are playing hockey for homeless animals! This is the most Chicago thing I have ever seen in my thirty years of broadcasting!"
I'm back on the ice, legs screaming, lungs burning, face so numb I'm not sure I still have one. But the adrenaline is pumping through my veins like rocket fuel, and I've never felt more alive.
The puck is loose, sliding across the ice, heading in my general direction.
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no.
Everyone's skating toward it, both teams converging like it's the most important thing in the universe, and I'm just standing here, watching it slide closer.
I should move. I should do something. I should—
It's right there. Right in front of me.
Instinct takes over. Or panic. Probably panic. I swing my stick, trying to pass it to someone, anyone who actually knows what they're doing.
But my blade catches the puck at a weird angle, and instead of passing, I shoot.
The puck flies off my stick, wobbly and pathetic, sliding across the ice at the speed of a leisurely stroll.
The firefighter goalie moves to block it, but Petrov's right there, massive and immovable, accidentally-on-purpose blocking the goalie's view.
The puck slides.
And slides.
And slides.
Right between the goalie's legs.
Right into the net.
For a second, nobody moves. Everyone's just staring. Then the garage explodes.
"GOAL!" Steve screams into his microphone. "DEVON SCORES! THE WINNING GOAL!"
Hendrix is losing his mind. "WHAT THE PUUUUCK! WHAT THE PUUUUCK!"
And then I'm being mobbed.
Bodies crash into me from all directions—teammates, opponents, doesn't matter—everyone's piling on. I'm being crushed, lifted, spun around, and I'm laughing and crying and I can't breathe and I don't care.
"YOU DID IT!" Becker's screaming directly in my ear.
"I DIDN'T MEAN TO!" I scream back.
After about forever and a half, the pile slowly disperses, people stepping back, and through the crowd of bodies and falling snow, I see Ace.
He's skating toward me, and the way he's looking at me makes everything else fade away. The noise, the cold, the people, all of it just… gone.
It's just him.
