He swings fast, and I take it. I slip the second and answer with short shots, controlled and measured.
We go down together and fuck that ice hits hard. Both teams pile in, whistles scream around us, and we are separated.
Reznik is breathing hard, eyes locked on mine, his look isn’t hatred, it’s a challenge.
Good.
In the box, Aleks sits beside me. “You didn’t have to.”
“Yes, I did,” I answer.
It’s simple, we don’t let each other take it alone if we can help it, never have.
I glance up toward the Fairfax box and see Lucy pressed to the glass with wide-eyed concern, and I give her a thumbs-up.
Anna is standing behind her, shaking her head, and I scan the glass to find Hildy is seated, hand over her stomach, and I can’t figure out what she’s thinking.
“Don’t do that, Faulker,” Aleks warns.
“Do what?” I ask.
“It will fuck with your game.”
“You don’t know?—”
“I know you’re worried she thinks you lose your temper, then you play lighter. She knows this is your job, so get that out of your head, now.” He turns and smirks, just briefly, then looks up at Sofie, who is fanning herself. “Might want to go harder.”
Back on the ice, Reznik lines up across from me and nods once. I nod back. Respect.
The horn sounds, and I hate the sound of it, especially when we’re tied 2-2.
“We are number one in the league. We do not tie teams below us, especially at home.” Coach D yells. “Stone, Koa, Faulker, you’re our three, now go finish this.”
I glance at Bass, Evan, who would normally be out there in a 3-on-3, and Kilovac, because when she does put in a D man, he’s the one who goes.
“Faulker,” she snaps. “Go.”
Skating out, I look at Koa and Stone, and Stone chuckles. “Don’t overthink it, man, let’s just do this.”
The puck drops, Koa wins the draw clean, Stone circles wide left, dragging their defenseman with him. I cut right, slow at first, then accelerate through the neutral zone.
Reznik shadows me immediately.
Three-on-three is chess at high speed. I forgot how much I loved it.
We cycle once. Stone to Koa. Koa returns to Stone. They’re baiting the stretch. I hang back deliberately, not driving yet.
Reznik glides near me, watching, waiting.
“Finish it,” Stone mutters as he wheels behind the net.
He slips it to Koa at the half wall. Koa draws the defender hard, fakes high, then slides it back to me at the blue line.
Space. Too much space. But I don’t hesitate. I fake a slap shot. Reznik lunges. Checkmate.
I pull it inside, cut through the top of the circle, drive center ice, eyes on the goalie who squares up, but I see it.
I pull it across my body one more time, forcing the goalie to shift. Backhand. Quick and low.
