Kai’s eyes finally flick to mine.
“Don’t let me do something stupid,” he says.
And the fact that he says it at all—that he admits he might lose control—makes my chest tighten.
“I won’t,” I promise.
Then I realize how stupid that promise is, because I can’t control what Tyler says.
I can only control what I do next.
The locker room between periods is a pressure cooker.
Coach talks. Guys nod. Asher sits still like a statue.
Kai is silent again, staring at the floor like he’s trying to burn a hole through it.
Weston leans over to me and whispers, “I think Mercer might actually murder someone.”
I whisper back, “Stop talking.”
Weston’s brows shoot up. “Oh. It’s serious.”
Asher’s voice cuts in from across the room. “It’s always serious.”
Coach finishes with one final glare. “You want to win? Keep your heads.”
His eyes land on Kai. “Captain.”
Kai nods once. “Yes, Coach.”
Coach’s gaze sweeps us. “Bennett. Cooper. You’re my wings. You’re the pace. You keep it clean.”
“Got it,” Weston says.
I just nod, and we head back out.
Third period.
We’re still up by one, but there’s plenty of game left for that to change.
Third period feels like a storm waiting to unleash.
The crowd is louder now, restless. The ice feels smaller. The checks feel heavier. There is an electric energy buzzing too close to the surface.
My legs burn. My lungs scrape. Sweat drips down my back, cooling too fast.
Asher is a wall in our net. Calm. Efficient. Unmoved.
We get a power play with eight minutes left. Tyler trips Weston near center ice, and the ref actually calls it.
Weston pops up, grinning. “Thanks, bestie.”
Tyler smiles back, like he’s thinking about something else.
In the faceoff circle, Kai glances at me, quick. We don’t need words. We move.
Kai wins the draw. I slide into position. Weston on the left side, me on the right, puck cycling. We fire shots. Their goalie blocks. Rebound pops loose. I jab at it once. It goes in.
