1-1.
Our fans were out there somewhere, because their cheers lifted over the distinct groans of the Dallas supporters. A quick nod in Coach’s direction, and a salute to Tucker was all I gave the moment. We still had too much work to do to think about celebrating now.
The second period turned ugly.
Dallas came out hunting for us. Finished checks a half second after the puck was gone, drove our guys into the boards whenever they could. Midway through, one of their forwards ran Hunter after a whistle.
That did it.
Grayson surprisingly, was there first. Gloves off. Tucker didn’t need an invitation to provide backup. Fists flew. It wasn’t pretty, but goddamn, it was satisfying. The crowd agreed, roaring their disapproval when the linesmen came to drag the guys off each other.
Five each.
On the penalty kill, Hunter stood tall. Glove saves. Pads sealing the ice. Dallas pressed, but they couldn’t break him.
We killed it off.
The momentum swung, then swung back. I skated the edge of it, fighting for a gap to take my chance. But the fuckers weren’t having it. They closed me down consistently, obviously acting on orders to keep the rookie humble.
Dallas scored again late in the second. Point shot through bodies. For a second I thought Hunter would go at Tucker, who was the one caught sleeping on that. But a few curses was all it amounted to, and then they were back.
2-1 Stars, and we looked to be unraveling at the seams.
On the bench, I peeled my helmet off and wiped sweat from my face. The cameras found me like they always did, and I flashed my million dollar grin with a wink for good measure.
Third period felt like a grind carved out of bone.
Every shift mattered. Every inch earned. I took a hit that rattled my teeth along the boards. Got back up. Next shift, I gave one right back.
With six minutes left, we tied it.
Mason forced a turnover at the red line. I picked it up in stride, cut across the middle, drew both defensemen. Slid the puck to Grayson streaking down the left.
He buried it.
2-2.
The Cotton Bowl shook even though our fans made up only a fraction of the crowd. It infected us all, and a new rush of belief swept through the team.
The rest of regulation passed in tight, breathless hockey. Chances at both ends. Hunter bailed us out twice. Their goalie did the same.
Horn.
Overtime.
Three on three changed the ice. Opened it up. Legs burned, and minds raced to try and figure out a way out of the stale mate.
First OT went back and forth, end to end. Chances that made my stomach lurch, and when they came to nothing, made me want to throw up.
I had one late. Broke free down the right side, cut through to center, and tried to tuck it short side. Goalie got a pad on it.
Dallas nearly ended it seconds later. A two on one. Hunter slid across and robbed them with his glove and a shriek that vibrated through my bones. He’d gone feral with adrenaline.
When the horn sounded again, my hands were shaking, but not from fear. I was pissed off more than anything. If I were going to sacrifice everything for this game, it wasn’t going to be to come in second best.
Second overtime meant everything felt magnified. Not a single person in the crowd was sitting down. The noise pressed down from every angle.
On the bench, Grayson leaned toward me. “Now or never.”
