First period, I steal the puck at center ice, rocket down the boards, and fire a wrist shot that goes top shelf past their goalie. Three hundred people jump to their feet, screaming. My first goal of the night.
Second period, I set up two perfect passes—one to Tyler who buries it, one to Jax who actually manages not to miss for once. We're up 3-1 and the other team is getting frustrated.
Third period, everything clicks.
I'm everywhere at once—stealing pucks, blocking shots, setting up plays. The other team can't keep up. With five minutes left, I score again off a rebound. Hat trick. The crowd loses it, throwing hats onto the ice in celebration.
I look up into the stands and see them—Piper and Sage, both on their feet, both screaming. Sage has her arm around Piper,and they're laughing at something, and the image hits me like a body check.
My sister. My girl. My town.
Everything that matters, right there in that moment.
With two minutes left, I get the puck one more time. The play develops perfectly—Tyler screens the goalie, Ben clears the lane, and I fire a shot that catches the corner of the net so clean the goalie doesn't even move.
Three goals. Two assists. Complete domination.
The final buzzer sounds. We win 6-2.
The team mobs me at center ice, everyone yelling and laughing and celebrating. Jax nearly tackles me into the boards with his enthusiasm. Tyler ruffles my hair like I'm five. Even Coach is grinning from the bench.
Best game of my season. Maybe best game of my life.
And all I can think about is how Piper looked in the stands, cheering for me.
The locker room is chaos.
Music blasting, everyone changing and rehashing plays, still riding the high of the win. I'm slower than usual getting out of my gear, letting the noise wash over me.
"Lockwood." Preston appears in the doorway, suit perfectly pressed despite the locker room steam. His grin is wide enough to split his face. "Scouts want a word."
My stomach drops. "Now?"
"Now." He's practically bouncing on his toes. "Both teams. Together. This is good, kid. This is really good."
I follow him into the hallway, still in my base layer and hockey pants. The scouts are waiting—four of them this time, representing both teams. I recognize Dawson and Cooper from before, plus two new faces in expensive suits taking notes.
"Hell of a game tonight," Dawson says. "That's the player we've been waiting to see."
"Impressive turnaround from last week," Cooper adds, making notes on his tablet. "Exactly the maturity we were looking for."
Preston's already on his phone before the scouts turn the corner, fingers flying across the screen.
"We'll have something official after the championship game Monday," one of the new scouts says. "But unofficially? You should start thinking about which coast, east or west, you prefer."
The four of them leave, and Preston claps me on the shoulder hard enough to bruise. "This is it, kid. Both teams are serious. I'll start working the details, but we're looking at flying you out for meetings right after the championship. Your dream is about to come true."
He walks away already on his phone, and I stand in the empty hallway in my hockey gear. My phone's lighting up with congratulations texts. I stare at them without reading.
The NHL. Everything I've worked for since I was six years old, holding a stick too big for my hands.
So why does my chest feel hollow?
The post-game celebration moves to Moosehead Lodge.
The team's already claimed the back corner by the time I arrive, pitchers of cheap beer covering the table and a plate of nachos that looks like it's been sitting under a heat lamp since last Tuesday.
Sage holds court at a corner table, telling the entire team embarrassing stories about my childhood. Piper is beside her, laughing so hard at whatever my sister just said that she's got tears in her eyes.
