Seattle and every other team rep will be in the crowd watching. I’ve come up with a new plan. I haven’t mentioned it to Sutton.
Not yet.
But I plan on playing the game of my life. I’m going to walk off the ice tonight with offers from every team.
Okay, that might be a little arrogant, but I want to play hockey. The last month has made that clear. But I would really rather not be in Seattle when I do it.
There are plenty of teams on this side of the country. I just need them to see me. Want me. Sign me.
“You have to get up,” she says. “You’ve got media in an hour.”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m happy to be here. I’ve got a ticket to the biggest hockey game of the year. And I get to watch you.”
After a little incentive from my lovely not-girlfriend-but-love-of-my-life, I’m headed down to the conference room to join the rest of my team.
I pose for pictures. Sign autographs. Do interviews. And then it’s off to the arena. That’s when the adrenaline kicks in. I want this win. This season I haven’t been at my best. I was too busy throwing a fit because my daddy was trying to be the boss of me.
Tonight, I am going to show I’m in control. I will decide my future. If I don’t get the offer I want, I’m done. And I’m totally okay with that.
I wish there had been a chance to see Sutton before the game, but it didn’t happen. I know where her seat is. She’s sitting with Keira and some of the other girlfriends.
In the first period, I set up Ashton for a goal. It’s like we’re working with telepathy. We don’t broadcast our moves. This is what comes from years of playing together.
In the second period, I score on a shot from the circle. I tell myself not to get cocky, but damn, we are kicking ass. The arena is wild tonight. After making another killer move, I look up to where I know Sutton is sitting. I point at her…as much as I can in my gloves.
She jumps up and down, clapping and screaming.
“Show off,” Holden says as he skates by.
We head off the ice and into the locker room.
“You’re looking good out there,” Pierce says. He guzzles water, leaning against the locker.
“Thanks. I feel good. We’re all playing well.”
“And don’t let it go to your head,” Coach snaps. “We all know games are lost in the third period. We’re not letting that happen.”
“No, we aren’t.”
The arena feels different in the third period. It’s like everyone is holding their breath. They’re waiting to see if we’re going to lose it all.
I take my position, and the puck drops.
The other team comes out swinging. They're desperate now, and desperate teams are dangerous. Their center slams into me the second I touch the puck, sending me into the boards hard enough that my teeth rattle. I shake it off and get back into position.
"Watch number twelve," Ashton calls out. "He's gunning for you."
I see him. Big defenseman with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove. He's been targeting me all game, but now he's getting reckless. If they can’t beat us, they’ll try to make sure we’re not in competition for one of the contracts that those scouts in the NHL are ready to dole out.
The puck comes to me again, and I move, skating hard toward their zone. Number twelve is there, blocking my path. I fake left, go right, and slip past him. His stick catches my ankle, but I don't go down. I push through, feeling the burn in my thighs as I accelerate.
Their goalie is tracking me. I can see his eyes through the mask and see him shifting his weight. I have maybe two seconds to make a decision.
A goal would be selfish. I’ve had my time in the sun. And this goalie sees me coming.
I pass to Crew, who's coming up on my right. He one-times it back to me, and I take the shot.
