The puck crossed the line.
The red light exploded.
The building detonated.
We won.
The sound was unreal—a wall of noise that hit me like a physical force. My teammates spilled over the boards, screaming, and I turned toward the bench without thinking.
The team mobbed me first—bodies crashing into mine, helmets thumping, voices screaming and yelling. Rook grabbed my shoulders, shouting something I couldn't hear over the noise. Finn was crying and laughing at the same time. Mercer just shook his head like he'd known all along this would happen.
But I was looking past them. Looking toward the bench.
Grant was standing there, face breaking open with relief and pride and something so raw it made my chest ache.
I pushed through my teammates, skating toward center ice. He met me there—stepped onto the ice without hesitation, right in the middle of the rink, in front of twenty thousand people and every camera in the building.
We stood there for a second. Just looking at each other. The crowd noise was deafening but all I could hear was my own heartbeat.
Then I grabbed him by the jacket and kissed him.
His hands came up to frame my face, and for a second, the world narrowed down to just us. Just this. The truth we'd been hiding finally out in the open where it belonged.
When I pulled back, the arena had gone from screaming to something else—a different kind of noise. Shock mixed with support mixed with disbelief.
My teammates were surrounding us now, creating a wall. Rook's hand on my shoulder. Mace standing close. Finn grinning like an idiot.
The cameras were everywhere. Flashing. Recording. Capturing this moment that we could never take back.
I turned to Grant, who was still holding my face like I might disappear. “I love you,” I said. Not whispered. Not explained. Just truth.
His eyes went bright. “I love you too.”
The team celebration continued around us—guys mobbing each other, shouting, the pure chaos of a playoff win. But the weight of what I’d just done settled over everything.
June was in the tunnel, frozen, phone pressed to her ear. Paul was somewhere in the press box, probably losing his mind.
But this was my moment. My choice.
I skated over to where the ice-level reporters were gathering, microphones already extended. Grant stayed at center ice with the team, watching.
The crowd noise died down slightly as people realized I was about to speak. One of the broadcast crews shoved a microphone toward me.
I took a breath and looked directly at the camera.
“Yeah, Grant Sutherland and I are together,” I said clearly. Firmly. “We're in a relationship. That's real. That's true.” I paused. “But we're not taking questions tonight. This is about the team. About the win. About making it to the next round.” Another pause. “We're asking for privacy while we figure out what comes next. That's all I'm saying.”
“Jace, when did the relationship?—”
“I said no questions.” I met the reporter's eyes. “Respect that.”
I skated back to center ice where Grant was waiting. He took my hand—right there, in front of everyone—and squeezed.
The crowd's reaction was mixed. Some sections cheering. Some quiet. Some probably shocked into silence.
But my teammates were there. Surrounding us. Rook stepped forward and raised both hands, gesturing for the crowd to make noise. And they did—the supportive sections getting louder, drowning out the rest.
Cameras kept flashing. Reporters kept trying to shout questions. But we ignored them.
