Callahan clears one guy with a brutal cross-check to the ribs. Kozlov ties up the other and shoves him backward just as he swings at the rebound.
Deacon drops to his knees and smothers the puck under his glove.
The game grinds like that for the next two periods. Hits, blocks, scrums in front of the net.
Dash nearly starts a fight halfway through the second when one of their defensemen takes a cheap shot at Theo,very off-brand for him,and Callahan drags him away before it escalates.
LA finally slips one past Deacon late in the third, tying the game, 1-1.
We’re back on D, Stone, Smith, and Giulietti forward, Deacon still in the goal. Stone cycles the puck deep with less than a minute left. Giulietti works it loose behind the net. Quick pass to the slot. Giulietti steps into it and fires.
2–1.
LA pulls their goalie, Kyle Dingy, in the final thirty seconds, so we now have six attackers coming at us.
Aleks and I plant ourselves in front of Deacon like a wall.
Shots hammer toward the net from every angle. One clangs off my shin pad. Another smashes into Aleks’s stick. Deacon stops the last one as the horn sounds.
Game ends.
Brooklyn Bears 2, LA Lancers 1.
My phone buzzes in my locker before I even finish unlacing my skates.
Hildy.
I tap the screen, and a video loads.
Lucy is standing in the suite, practically vibrating, her hair half wild from jumping around and the sleeves of her jersey shoved up unevenly. She looksexhausted and completely wired at the same time.
“She’s fucking adorable.” Hank chuckles from over my shoulder.
“My daddy is the best number nine on the whole team!”
“She’s not wrong,” Aleks chuckles.
Behind her, Hildy is laughing, clearly trying to hold the phone steady, Scotti is clapping, and Erin leans into the frame and gives two thumbs up.
“Just saying, she’d look good on me.” Callahan snickers.
Lucy squints at the screen, in concentration. “That guy tried to do a goal,” she announces very seriously and throws both arms out wide. “But Daddy said nu uh, no way.”
“Denied.” Hildy laughs.
Lucy leans even closer to the camera, eyes heavy but determined. “Daddy stops them.” She pauses, thinking very hard. Then nods once, as if she has solved an international problem. “And German should be able to play in that game.” Another pause. “Especially my Daddy, Lenzin Faulker, number nine.”
The video cuts off, and Hildy’s laughter with it.
I close out the video and read the next text,
Hildy:
We headed home before the celebration ended. You did amazing. See you after Icehouse. Love you.
I used to live for this. The music, laughter, fans who knew they could count on us showing up after a win, the bunnies, but now I’d rather be home.
Aleks and I head straight to the bar, and Mick is already setting two chilled shots of Beluga Gold Line on the bar.
