Asher glanced at the rest of the team and inched closer. “I want to know everything when this is done,” he whispered.
“Please, don’t say anything,” I begged.
He mimed zipping up his lips. “I have things to confess myself.” He winked.
Huh?
He wrapped his arms around both of us in a big bear hug. “Let’s beat these fuckers then talk about the dicks we’re all sucking back home, shall we?”
Rafael
That heavy lava that flowed through my blood, dragging me down, in the second period, morphed into a nuclear explosion in the third. My body soared down the ice like a rocket. The thrum of the ice against my skates sent a steady vibration through my extremities, and I became one with the sport again. That old feeling returned, and I operated on raw instinct: my movements were crisp, my vision clear, and I predicted plays before they were executed. My hockey brain clicked back on, and I focused on the game, and the game alone.
The torrent of emotions that’d tipped me off-balance for the past two months was gone—it was just the team and me.
Nobody talks openly about what it’s like when you stop using drugs and alcohol to quell your emotions. Well, let me be the one to confirm: feelings are a fuckingbitch. Feeling everything in its entirety once the booze was gone was like getting hit by a tidal wave. Fucking greeting cards made me cry!
Your entire being has to adjust to experiencing the world completely without the aid of a foreign substance. When you’re down, you have to push through it instead of using something to numb the pain. Sitting with that shit makes you feel powerless—as if it will never end. But then you start to realize that those feelings dissipate over time.
Between Cody’s love and Asher’s revelation, it was like the storm inside me calmed down. People had my back, and I didn’t need to feel alone anymore.
Even if we lost that game, I’d feel proud because we’d played like monsters the entire time. We fought like hell and never relented.
Inside, though, the yearning for the W was immense. The win wouldn’t be for ego or the scouts in the stands. I wanted to experience that joy unfiltered, and I wanted to experience it with Cody.
My guy.
The puck dropped in the neutral zone. Asher picked it up and shot it to me. I was covered, so I slapped it to Theo. He surveyed the ice and passed it to Cody at the blue line, but the defenseman rushed him. He faked a shot and passed it to me. I sped down the ice and took a shot. It ricocheted off the goalpost and was picked up by a defenseman.
He skated around the corner and passed it to their right winger, but Theo was there to intercept the outlet pass, pinning the puck against the boards. The puck was in play, and the entire Vipers team was in the offensive zone.
With ten seconds remaining, Theo passed the puck from the boards to Henry at the top of the faceoff circle. Henry stepped into a shot, but it was blocked again. The puck broke loose to Cody, who shoved it toward the net as time ran out.
In one last desperate play, Cody screened the goaltender, and the puck squeezed through the scramble, sliding across the goal line just as the buzzer sounded.
I released a scream that ripped my throat to pieces as I barreled toward Cody and wrapped my arms around him.
Together, we fell over with Asher, Theo, and Henry landing on top of us.
Soon, the entire Vipers team was off the bench and on the ice. I let the full impact of what just happened consume me. Cody’s crying in my arms, the roar of the crowd washing over us as I told him how fucking amazing he was over and over again.
Pain is tough, but if you spend your life trying to avoid it, you miss out on the joy that makes it all worth it.
Cody
My heart was in my throat when Coach announced the three shooters for the shootout—Asher, Rafael, and me.
I’d usually toss out some cheesy lines about “it” being “the moment of truth,” but the adrenaline surging through me obliterated my ability to form coherent sentences.
It’s a dream for a hockey player. Your team, the entire arena, everyone’s eyes on you, waiting to see what you do. It’s an absolute honor when a coach puts that kind of confidence in your ability, but it’s also the most terrifying experience imaginable.
The Hawks’ center was up first. This guy was good—I’d noticed him as someone to watch out for during warm-ups.
He skated toward Rowan, slowing down as he approached the goal, while his stickhandling sped up. He deked to the right, and Rowan dove for it. With a quick move to the left, he slid the puck into the net.
Fuck.
Rafael grabbed my hand, his grip tight. Scoring first shifts the energy completely. We were devastated.
