Grayson scooped it and yelled, “Go!”
So I went.
Breakaway.
The crowd rose as one, but it was only one set of eyes I felt burning into me from the stands. One pair of hands clasped together, and one mouth rambling a prayer nobody else would hear in the chaos.
I could’ve taken the shot. It was clean and easy. Old habits screamed at me to shoot.
But that was what they all thought I’d do. So instead, I waited until the last possible second and dropped it back between my legs to Grayson, who’d kept pace the entire length of the ice.
He roofed it.
4–2.
I didn’t even celebrate. Just skated straight to the bench, heart hammering.
Coach grabbed my helmet with both hands. “That’s it. That’s what I’m talking about, my boy!”
That was almost better than the assist and Grayson’s goal combined. His boy.
My high didn’t last too long, because Utah scored late in the second. A weird bounce off the end boards that looked like black magic.
4–3.
The crowd groaned loudly, booing their winger until he turned around and flipped them off. Everything tightened again.
During the intermission, Grayson sat beside me, elbows on knees.
“He’d be losing his mind right now,” he said, voice rough.
I swallowed a gulp of water. “I know.”
“He’d also tell us not to turtle.”
“He’d say worse than that,” I replied with a breathless laugh.
Third period we were back at it and ready for war. Not that it mattered much. Utah tied it five minutes in. A deflection off a skate that we all felt in our bones.
4–4.
The crowd went quiet in that collective inhale before panic. Something had to shift, and fast.
I pushed off the bench hard.
“Next shift,” I said to Grayson. “We end this once and for all.”
We didn’t score right away, but we tilted the ice. Shot after shot. Relentless pressure. It was do or die, quite literally. If we lost this game, we could kiss the playoffs goodbye.
Then Utah took a penalty. Hooking, right in front of the ref.
Power play.
On the ice, Grayson tapped his stick. “Same look?”
I nodded.
We set up. I carried high, sold the shot, and drew the defender. Slid it down low. Grayson jammed it to Mason, who kicked it back to me.
