By the time the clock hits three minutes, I’ve stopped making any sound at all. I’m not sure I’m even breathing. Gasps and relieved exhales are my only source of air.
With two minutes left, Miles gets slammed into the boards on the far side of the rink. The crack of it carries across the ice.
I only free my bottom lip from my teeth when he gets up and shakes it off. But my heart is still in my throat when the face-off is called and the ref points to the circle directly in front of us.
Miles skates into position.
He’s right there. Close enough that I can read the 43 on his sleeve, see the set of his shoulders, the tick in his jaw before he dips his chin.
Then he turns his head. His eyes lock on mine instantly, as if he knew exactly where to find me.
He winks.
I laugh, startled, and feel that familiar flip in my chest. I press my hand to the glass.
I don’t know if they’re going to win, but I’m certain of one thing.Him.
I’ve never been more sure of anything.
The building is so loud the noise feels physical, pressing against my chest and pounding at my temples. But all I hear are my own thoughts. Winning. Andher.
Game 7 and we’re up by two. Fifty-eight seconds, and the Stanley Cup is ours.
I’ve been playing hockey since I was four years old. Twenty-five years, and it comes down to less than a minute.
Coach calls a timeout, and we crowd the bench. I look around at my teammates—Fox with his hands on his knees, Volk squirting water into his mouth behind us, Helm, for once in his life, not saying a word. Logan catches my eye and can’t hold back his grin.
There’s nobody I’d rather be standing on this ice with.
I think I say something. Maybe it’sdon’t let up, orstay focused, orwe’re bringing this home. I can’t be sure.
The huddle breaks, and I let myself steal one more look into the stands.
I find her in three seconds flat. She’s on her feet with the rest of the crowd, wearing my jersey and the WAG jacket she helped design this year, KING stretched across her shoulders. Her gaze catches mine and does what it’s done all night: grounds me. Fills in the places that would still be empty without her.
Her whole face breaks into a smile. Not the one she saves just for me. She’s way too excited for anything close to coy, but I love it all the same.
I’ve lost count of how many she’s given me this past year. Somewhere in the millions, I’d guess.
She mouthsyou’ve got this, thenI love you.
I know both are true. I know that if the next fifty-eight seconds go to shit, she’ll still be looking at me the same way.
I tap my stick four times on the ice and skate back into position outside the circle.
I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. Except her. Tonight, I might just get both.
We win the draw. Knolls flicks it back to me, and I take my time. Both sides are playing it safe, burning the clock, nobody doing anything stupid. We need to keep possession. Not turn it over. Not give them a chance to score.
Thirty-one.
They bring the puck into our zone, but we defend the net like our lives are on the line, not the Stanley Cup. It’s practically the same thing.
Fourteen.
Fox intercepts a pass at the blue line and holds it?—
Ten seconds, and they stop pushing. They know it’s over. We know it’s over. The whole building knows it’s over.
