Without even acknowledging the goal.
We held on. Barely. Winnipeg pulled their goalie with two minutes left, and the final minutes were chaos—bodies everywhere, desperation plays, blocked shots. Without thinking, without hesitating, I threw myself in front of a one-timer that would have tied it. The puck slammed into my shin pad hard enough to make my eyes water.
But it stayed out.
The final horn sounded: 3–2. We’d won.
Relief flooded through me as we lined up to congratulate Belov. We’d done it. We’d played with the team knowing, with Boucher actively working against us, and we’d still won.
The energy was celebratory in the locker room but muted. Guys were happy about the win, but the elephant in the room—Boucher’s behavior—hung heavy over everything.
Coach called Boucher into his office before anyone had finished undressing. The door closed, but we could hear raised voices. Not the words, just the tone.
Boucher was getting torn apart.
“About time,” Harris muttered, unlacing his skates at his stall.
Kinnunen glanced around the locker room—guys pretending not to listen. “Wonder how much longer he’s going to be captain.”
The question landed like a stone in water, ripples spreading through the room.
Harris paused in unlacing his skates and looked up. “Good question.”
No one disagreed.
On Tuesday, Coach pulled us aside after practice. “You guys still planning to go public this afternoon?”
“Yes,” I said.
He nodded. “PR team is ready. Security’s been briefed for tomorrow’s game. We’ve got your backs.”
“Thank you, Coach.”
“Don’t thank me. Just keep playing the way you played last night. That’s all I ask.”
Kinnunen caught us in the parking lot as we were leaving. “Today’s the day?”
“This afternoon,” Étienne confirmed.
“Alyssa and I will be waiting. We’ll post support as soon as we see it.” He gripped both our shoulders. “You’ve got this.”
“I hope so,” I said.
“You do. Trust me.”
The drive home was quiet. Étienne’s hand found mine across the console, held tight.
At home, we tried to distract ourselves. Made lunch. Played a video game. Pretended we weren’t counting down the hours.
At two, my phone rang. Wesley.
“Hey,” I answered, putting it on speaker so Étienne could hear.
“Hey. Just wanted to check in. You guys still going through with this?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Have you finalized the photo and post?”
