The crowd was on their feet. Screaming. Begging.
Tess caught Grant's eye from the bench. I saw it happen. Saw her shake her head slightly. Saw Grant's face go still.
Grant looked like he might shatter. But he didn't pull me. Didn't make the call.
Then it happened.
I got the puck at the red line, saw open ice, and drove hard. Their defenseman panicked, reached out, and hooked my hands. We both went down in a tangle of limbs.
The ref's arm shot up immediately.
Penalty shot.
The arena went absolutely feral. The noise was a physical thing, pressing against my chest, making it hard to breathe.
I lay on the ice for a second, heart pounding, leg screaming, and felt the weight of what was about to happen settle over me like a shroud.
This was it. Everything I'd worked for. Everything I'd survived. All of it coming down to one shot.
I got to my feet slowly. Skated to center ice. The crowd noise was deafening but I couldn't hear any of it. Just my own breathing. My own heartbeat. The scrape of my blades on ice.
The ref placed the puck on the dot. I stared at the goalie, and he stared back, and the entire arena held its breath.
My hands started shaking.
Not now. Please not fucking now.
I looked at the bench.
Grant's eyes found mine across the ice, and I saw him recognize it immediately. Saw him see the panic written all over my face.
He touched his chest once. Right over his heart.
I've got you.
Then he mouthed two words: “Eyes on me.”
I locked my gaze on him and forced myself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Feeling my skates on the ice. Feeling the stick in my hands. Feeling the cold air in my lungs.
The panic was still there. My hands were still trembling. But I had tools now. I had anchors. I had Grant standing on that bench believing I could do this even when I wasn't sure I could believe it myself.
I thought about the last time I'd been here. The playoff miss. The post. The sound that had haunted me for two years.
Then I thought about Grant telling me the anxiety didn't make me weak. Thought about my family accepting me. Thought about Rook standing beside me in the locker room. Thought about everything I'd survived to get to this moment.
I wasn't that scared kid anymore. I was someone who'd chosen truth over fear. Who'd fought for what mattered. Who'd learned that being brave didn't mean not being afraid—it meant doing it anyway.
My breathing steadied. My hands stopped shaking. The panic receded to background noise.
Next shift. That's all you control.
I pushed off.
Slow approach. Reading the goalie. He was cheating glove side, expecting the move I'd tried last time. The move that had haunted me.
So I didn't give it to him.
I sold the shot, pulled the puck to my backhand, and slid it five-hole as he committed.
