Wade.
They draw it out, trying to make it ugly, trying to make it personal, trying to wedge it under my skin.
I let it hit the mask and slide off.
I tell myself one thing, over and over:See it.Stop it.Reset.
Cally takes another hit along the boards—late enough that my entire body surges forward.I’m halfway out of my stance before I force myself back down, back into structure, back into being the thing my team needs.
My jaw clenches.My vision narrows.
If they touch him again ...fuck, there’s nothing I can do.
The puck kicks loose near the red line.
And Cally ...Cally turns.
It happens fast, like he flips a switch in his head from survive to punish them.
He steals it with a move that looks like arrogance and is actually just math—stick lift, pivot, acceleration.One second the Cobras think they’re setting up pressure, the next he’s past them, cutting through open ice as if it belongs to him.
He’s gone.
Skating in alone.
And the whole arena rises.
As if they’re about to watch my execution from the other end of the rink, like they’re already picturing the highlight replay of him getting stuffed, him getting humbled, him getting taught a lesson for daring to be good.
I hold my breath without meaning to, eyes locked on him.
He closes in, hands soft on the stick, shoulders loose, like he’s out for a Sunday skate.The goalie squares up, confident, probably thinking Cally will go glove side because that’s what the scouting report says.
Cally shifts his hips at the last second.
Goes five-hole.
The puck snaps through.
Back of the net.
And for one beat—one gorgeous beat—the building doesn’t know what to do with itself.
Their goal horn stays dead.Their crowd freezes in disbelief, then erupts into boos so loud it sounds like weather.
Cally doesn’t celebrate like a normal person.Of course he doesn’t.He glides past the net, turns his head, and points his stick at me.
Me.
Not the bench.Not the crowd.
Me.
It’s as if he’s saying,That one’s yours, babe.
Something in my ribs tightens.Something bright and feral and intimate, like he just reached across a full sheet of ice and grabbed me by the collar.
I can’t answer him.My face is trapped behind the mask.My mouth is trapped behind discipline.
