Four minutes in, Hunter feeds me a pass in the slot, and I don’t hesitate; I react. I one-time it toward the net before I even register what I’m doing. The puck rockets off my stick, and I watch it fly past the goalie’s glove. It hits the back of the net, and the red light flashes behind him.
The horn blares, and the crowd loses its fucking mind. I do too.
I spin toward the stands before my teammates even reach me, searching for her face in the chaos. Kendall is on her feetwith her hands pressed to her mouth, tears already streaming down her cheeks. Our eyes lock, and she’s blowing kisses to me, laughing and crying at the same time.
I point my stick at her and mouth the words,I love you.
She mouths it back.
The Jumbotron flashes:
PATTERSON CROSS—92 GOALS—TIES ALL-TIME LEAGUE RECORD WITH NICK BANKS.
Nick Banks was twenty-five years old when he made the record, and they’d told him he’d never do it too. A decade and a half later, the title is now mine.
My teammates surround me to celebrate, and I let them, but I keep stealing glances at the stands. Kendall is wiping her face with the sleeve of my jersey. Nick is standing and clapping, pointing at me and nodding like he’s passing something down. I see my mom and dad, with his arm around Addison.
Then there’s Jameson, grinning and pumping his fist, chanting, “Cross! Cross! Cross!” with the crowd.
“That’s one,” Callan yells in my ear while he’s got me in a headlock. “Just one more, and it’s yours, and then we’re tied. Let’s do this.”
The Kodiaks push back hard, but we match them hit for hit because we didn’t come this far to lose it now. The game is 2 to 1, and the whole building knows what’s possible. The energy crackles through the arena like lightning strikes during a storm. Every time I touch the puck, I swear I can hear the fucking crowd hold its breath.
When there are eight minutes left, Callan steals the puck at center ice. I’m already moving, already breaking toward the net, because I know my teammates, and I know what’s coming. Hepasses to me, and suddenly, it’s the goalie and me with nothing but ice between us.
One-on-one—myfavorite.
The crowd rises, and the noise is so loud that I feel it in my bones, in my teeth, vibrating through my skull. I move left, then right, and the goalie bites, committing too early because he’s scared—which he motherfucking should be. The puck soars over his glove, and I watch it sail into the back of the net like it’s returning home.
The horn blares.
PATTERSON CROSS—93 GOALS—ALL-TIME LEAGUE SCORING RECORD.
I broke it. After so many people told me it couldn’t be done, I did it. And the only person I look for in the stands is Kendall. She’s crying, holding heart hands. I return them back to her.
The arena erupts, bringing me back to reality. The game isn’t over yet.
We’re tied 2 to 2 with eight minutes left, and even though I broke the all-time record, we haven’t won anything. We can’t start celebrating. If we lose this game, I go home with a number one next to my name, but nothing else.
The personal record matters, sure, but what happens next means more because I didn’t get here alone. Every damn goal I’ve ever scored came off a pass from someone else, a screen from a teammate, or a save from our goalie that kept us in the game. If we don’t make it to the playoffs, I won’t get to celebrate this huge accomplishment with the guys who made it possible.
I skate back to the bench, and Callan grabs my helmet.
“One more, Patty. One more and we go to the playoffs.”
“Then we get one more.” I say it like it’s no big deal, but it’s huge.
The minutes tick down, and both teams are desperate. Bodies crash into boards, sticks slash, but our goalie makes save after save.
“Joseph Killian, goalie for the Angels, saves the day!” the announcer says.
The Kodiaks get a power play with three minutes left, and I’m on the ice for the penalty kill. I’m blocking shots even though my ribs are screaming, but I’ll deal with the pain tomorrow. Right now, the only thing that matters is keeping that puck out of our damn net.
We kill it off with two minutes left. One minute. Thirty seconds.
The buzzer sounds, and the game is still tied. We’re going into overtime.
It’s sudden death, which means the team that makes the next goal wins. This is it.
