“Stormhaven . . . ARE YOU READY?!”
The crowd roars so loudly that the rafters feel as though they shake.
“The puck drops in seconds, so get loud and stay loud. LET’S GO CYCLONES!”
After the national anthem, we line up for the face-off, and I force myself to focus on the game, as that is what matters. It’s our first real test as Cyclones.
The puck drops, and I’m immediately in motion, skating hard toward the Ridgebacks’ end of the ice—Levi on my left.
“Lane!” Tate shouts from behind the bench, calling a play.
I cut right, setting up for the pass. One of our defensemen feeds it to me, and I’m moving toward Riven’s net. Jagger checks me from the side, trying to separate me from the puck, but I was expecting his move. I lean into the check and manage to slide the puck to Levi, who’s in perfect position.
Levi takes the shot, but it sails wide.
“Again!” Tate yells, and we reset.
We get another chance a few minutes later. This time, I’m the one receiving the pass from Levi. I can feel the weight of the moment. The crowd is on its feet, and I can hear Leila screaming something unintelligible.
I feint left, then shift back right.
Riven’s quick, though, and he moves with me, his pads slamming together as he seals the gap between him and the post.My shot goes in hard, but the puck catches the edge of his pad and deflects wide, sailing past the net and into the boards.
“Fuck,” I mutter, but I’m already heading back to the bench for the next shift.
The period continues, back and forth, both teams showing why they belong in this league.
Jagger gets the puck into our zone and races down the ice. Levi’s on defense, and he angles for a check.
When they collide, they both hit the ice hard, their fists already flying.
“Come on!” Levi roars, landing a solid punch to Jagger’s jaw.
Jagger retaliates, catching Levi across the cheekbone.
The crowd erupts—it’s the moment they were waiting for. Whistles blow and the refs move in.
“That’s five minutes!” the ref yells, separating them.
Both Levi and Jagger grin as they skate toward the penalty box. They’ll spend the next five minutes apart, then continue with the game like nothing happened.
I jump back on the ice when a fresh shift is called, quickly getting a solid pass off to one of our forwards, who gets checked but manages to maintain possession. We cycle the puck around Riven’s zone, looking for an opening.
Finally a gap opens, and I’m in position. The puck comes to me, and I shoot.
Riven moves, but he’s a fraction of a second too slow.
The arena explodes when the puck slides into the goal. The Cyclones’ horn blasts and I’m mobbed by my teammates, everyone pounding my back.
This is my moment, my first goal as a Cyclone.
I look toward the stands to see Leila jumping up and down and Abby clapping, a smile on her face that reaches her eyes. Fuck, I’ve missed seeing her in the crowd at my games. This moment feels like one we were robbed of years ago. Anger atwhat Anastasia did simmers low in my chest, but we’re up by one, so I block out all the distracting thoughts and focus on the momentum shifting in our favor.
By the end of the second period, we’re up four to one, but the Ridgebacks are pushing back hard, and Tate pulls me aside during the intermission.
“You’re playing well tonight,” he says, and there’s something in his eyes I need to ignore. “Keep it up out there. You’re making the right plays.”
“Thanks, Coach,” I say.
