“Again,” Grayson shouted.
We cycled. Theo’s replacement had been doing fine to hold his own all season. Nothing special, but enough to help Tucker with the last line of defense. Tonight though, Caleb finally started moving like he was getting paid.
I sailed up the ice with two defenders on my ass, and he smashed both of them to shit then got back in time to clear my pass to the point.
“Cash Money!” I saluted him, and he responded with a stiff nod. He hated the nickname, which made it even more fun to use.
My shot rebounded into chaos. Grayson crashed the net and buried it.
2–1.
I lifted my stick toward the rafters without thinking. “For Shawn!”
“Shawn, Shawn, Shawn,” came the echoes from on and off the ice. If there were time for it, I might’ve spared a second to get emotional about it.
By the end of the first, Utah had started jawing. Little slashes, extra shoves, anything to bait us.
But we didn’t bite.
In the locker room, we all buzzed with adrenaline. Grayson stood in the middle, helmet still on.
“In the words of our coach, I’m gonna remind you boys to leave it all out there. Shawn’s watching from the hospital, but you know he’d be doing the same if he were here.”
“It’s win, or win,” Coach piped up. First period had taken it out of him and it showed, but he wasn’t bowing yet.
So neither did we.
Second period came fast and hard.
Utah tied it again on a power play, a one-timer from the circle that Hunter never saw through traffic.
2–2.
I slammed my stick once against the boards and pushed off for the next shift. That was when I saw Nicole again. She was on her feet, clapping and shouting as if she was singlehandedly trying to keep the energy up. James stayed seated, arms crossed, expression carved from stone.
Something feral curled low in my gut.
“What a dick,” I muttered, and skated past.
Next shift, I stole the puck clean in the neutral zone and turned on the jets. Not selfish like my old style of play, but calculated. I drove wide and forced their defenseman to commit, then threaded a pass through his legs to Grayson cutting middle.
He faked the shot, pulled their goalie out of position, and slid it across to Mason.
Goal.
3–2.
The arena shook again, with our fans so loud I stopped hearing it. All I had in my head was my own heartbeat as it drummed to the rhythm of my skates.
“Holy shit,” Mason laughed as we lined up again. “Did you see that?”
“Looks like you’re almost good enough for the first team, Calder.” I jabbed him in the ribs right as the whistle blew, then shot off for the next play.
Utah pushed hard after that. Heavy forechecks, and bodies flying. Hunter stood on his head for a solid five minutes.
Then we got a break.
I blocked a shot with my shin, felt the sting all the way up my leg, but the puck squirted loose.
