Sunshine: LOL. See you at the game. I’ll be behind the glass
Beaming at my phone like a damn idiot, I tap out a quick response:
Bennett: See you soon, Sunshine
Then I hit the locker room and suit up to play hockey.
After stretching, taping, and the requisite speech from Keller, we’re filing through the tunnel in a wall of noise and testosterone. I’m focused and ready to go out there and win. Puck drop’s seconds away and I’m done losing.
The announcer’s voice booms, the crowd rises, and the only thing that matters in this moment is the puck. The faceoff goes our way and I’m back, chasing the play. Morrison fires on the net, but the goalie kicks out a rebound. I stand my ground, sticks chopping all around me. Number 45 shoves and I take a cross-check.
Control. Ride the wave.
I plant my skates and the goalie sprawls, trying to cover. The puck sneaks free in my direction and I keep my balance, jamming it into the net. The horn blares, arena lights flashing blue and white and I pump my fist in the air.
The fans erupt, but there’s only one person out there I care about.
I lift my eyes to the glass and there she is, beaming. My heart pounds as Morrison bumps gloves with me.
Weston skates over, knocking my shoulder. “Nice one, Benny.”
“Told you I was back.”
From there, everything snaps into place.
Shift, breath, execution.
Simple.
Easy.
By the end of the second period, Crushers lead 3-0.
In the first five minutes of the third, Callum gets screened and the puck squeaks through.
“Shit.” I shake my head as Detroit celebrates, tapping sticks on the ice.
I roll my shoulders and find Tori. Her fingers fiddle with her necklace, working the chain. The second I spot her, my gut unclenches and I’m calm.
The seconds tick by and we’re still up, 3-1. If we can hold them off, Crushers win. But it’s hockey, so I don’t get ahead of myself.
Detroit dumps the puck deep and two of their guys crash the crease. A forward swings at it and Callum dives, trying to smother the shot. A Detroit player lunges for the rebound and I slam my shoulder into his chest, knocking him away from my brother. The puck is loose for one second. Long enough for me to shovel it out and send it hard down the ice.
Away from our goal.
Safe.
The clock hits zero and the game’s over. Crushers win 3-1. The lights flash blue and white,CRUSHERS WINscrolling over the jumbotron.
But I don’t celebrate with the team. Not yet.
Instead, I take off my helmet and catch Tori’s gaze as the camera pans to her. My stomach clenches, pulse racing.
CRUSHERS WINfades on the screen, replaced with my message:
TORI – YOU’RE MY WIN. – BENNETT
She stands and locks eyes with me, a slow smile breaking over her face. In front of the entire arena, she mouthsI love youand presses her hand to the glass.
