Every pass, every dodge, every glint of his stick against the ice sent another wave of adrenaline through me. And when he set up a clean play that led to a near goal, I screamed his name again, louder this time, like the sound alone could bridge the distance between us.
The first period blurred past me in flashes—Nick barreling down the ice, Nick slamming an opponent into the boards, Nick backchecking with a speed that made the crowd gasp. I was on edge, hands balled in my lap, body leaning forward like I could will the puck wherever he wanted it to go.
Then came the moment.
Less than two minutes on the clock. Nick took the puck deep in their zone, pivoted hard, faked left, and burned past two defenders like they were standing still. My breath caught. It was all instinct and fire now.
“Come on!” I yelled, rising to my feet as he neared the crease.
He wound up—and the shot flew.
Time stretched thin.
And then the net rippled.
A beat of silence.
Then chaos.
The buzzer blared, and the crowd roared to life, an explosion of sound and light. The fans leapt up around me, but I didn’t hear them. I only saw Nick turning toward the glass, toward me. His helmet lifted just enough for me to see the smirk I knew too well, his gaze locked on mine like it was just us here—just us, always.
I pressed my hand to the glass, breathless. And for the first time in a long, long time… I wasn’t afraid of being seen. I wanted the whole world to look.
I shot to my feet, heart thundering as I pumped my fist in the air. “Nick!” I screamed, my voice tearing through the noise, wild with adrenaline.
The second I saw him raise his stick in victory—shoulders broad, head tipped back like a king who just claimed his crown—something electric sparked in my chest.
God, he was beautiful like this. Untouchable. Unstoppable. Mine.
And in that moment? Nothing else mattered. Not Gary. Not Jake. Not the eyes watching me from every row. Every doubt, every fear, every whispered warning dissolved like smoke in the wind.
All I saw was him.
All I felt was us.
I pressed my palms to the glass, the chill biting into my skin as the whole arena vibrated with anticipation. The air crackled, every fan holding their breath like I was, watching the power play line up.
And then came Nick. Eyes locked on the puck like it was prey. Body coiled. Every muscle ready to strike.
The puck shot across the ice, fast and sharp—and for a split second, everything in the world paused. My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
Nick intercepted clean. The sound of his stick meeting the puck rang out like a promise. He pivoted so fast my breath caught in my throat—and that look in his eyes? That wild, focused fire? It was everything.
“Come on,” I whispered, fingers flattening against the glass like I could somehow push him faster.
He tore down the ice, weaving around defenders like they didn’t exist. Power. Grace. Violence wrapped in beauty.
Then came the shot.
It flew—fast, clean, unstoppable.
And when it hit the net?
The crowd exploded.
Screams, chants, bodies rising in unison—but I couldn’t hear any of it over the pounding of my heart.
“Maddox! Maddox! Maddox!” they roared.
