"Your dad made his choice after trying a few different things and realizing none of them mattered the way firefighting did." Chief stands, walks to the wall where department photos hang—decades of firefighters in turnout gear. He taps one: Dad, grinning at the camera with soot on his face. "He didn't pick this job because it was safe or easy. He picked it because it was what he was meant to do."
"And if I'm meant to play hockey?"
"Then you play hockey." Chief turns back to face me. "But if you're using hockey as an excuse to avoid making a real choice about your life? That's when we have a problem."
A drill whines in the bay, distant and hollow.
"I have one more game," I say finally. "Championship game Monday. After that, I'll know about the NHL."
"And if they want you?" Chief asks.
"Then I go."
The words come out automatic, like I've rehearsed them a thousand times. Like there's no other possible answer. Except my chest tightens saying them. I know exactly why, and I'm not ready to admit it to Chief. Not ready to say her name out loud in this office where Dad's photo watches from the wall.
"And if they don't?" Chief presses.
Chief waits for an answer I don't have. If they don't want me, what then? Do I take the promotion and accept that this is my life? Do I stay in Ashwood Falls and build something here, or do I spend the rest of my life wondering what if?
"End of next week," Chief repeats. "That's the deadline. Figure out what you want, Ryder. Not what your dad wanted. Not what the town expects. What you want."
I nod, stand, head for the door.
"Ryder." Chief's voice stops me. "It's good having Sage back in town. She's doing well."
"She is."
"She also mentioned you've been sleeping better lately. Said it's because of someone." His smile is knowing. "Sometimes what we want isn't about the job at all."
The arena is packed for Game 4.
Bigger crowd than we've had all season. Win tonight and we clinch our spot in Monday's championship game. Lose and we're playing a must-win Game 5 just to get there. The scouts are in their usual seats—clipboards out, expressions neutral, watching everything.
Sage is sitting with Piper in the stands, both of them wearing Wolves jerseys. My sister catches my eye during warm-ups and gives me an enthusiastic double thumbs up that makes half the team crack up.
"Your sister is amazing," Jax says, skating past. "Also slightly unhinged. It's a great combination."
"Focus on the game."
"I am focused. Focused on how she called my slapshot 'adorably ineffective' this morning and I haven't recovered."
The music shifts to "Footloose" and the crowd roars. Time for the pre-game ritual.
The team lines up at center ice. I commit fully—always have, even when it's ridiculous. Especially when it's ridiculous. The synchronized arm waves, the running man on skates, the sprinkler that Jax somehow makes look athletic. Half the crowdis doing the moves from their seats, three hundred people waving their arms in perfect sync like this is a normal Friday night in Ashwood Falls.
I catch Piper's eye during my sprinkler move and wink. Her laugh carries across the ice even over the music.
Three hundred people clapping along, the team dropping to one knee with arms spread wide for the finale, and for just a second I forget about scouts and decisions and everything except this—my team, my town, this absurd tradition we've kept alive for three years.
The crowd goes wild. We skate back to the bench, and the playfulness vanishes as we huddle up. Game mode now.
The referee blows the whistle. Time to play.
The puck drops, and everything else falls away.
I'm not thinking about the scouts. Not thinking about the promotion deadline. Not thinking about Piper in the stands or Sage's knowing looks or Chief's questions about what I want.
I'm just playing.
