The goalie makes the save.
"Fuck," I mutter, circling back.
The clock is ticking down. We're up by one, but one goal is nothing. One goal is a mistake away from overtime.
Their team is all over us now, throwing everything they have at our defense. Pierce blocks a shot that would have tied it up.
I'm skating my ass off, chasing every loose puck, fighting for every inch of ice. My lungs are screaming. My legs are jelly. But I don't stop. I can't stop.
Number twelve catches me again, this time with an elbow to the ribs that the ref doesn't see. Pain explodes through my side, but I keep moving. I'm not giving this asshole the satisfaction of seeing me hurt. And I’m not about to sit the rest of this game out in the penalty box.
I dig in, pushing harder than I've pushed all night—maybe ever. I throw my body in front of the puck heading straight for our goal.
The puck hits my shin guard and deflects wide. The pain is immediate, but I don't care. I go down hard. I hear the arena gasp, boo, and then cheer.
Ashton has the puck. I watch and try to use every ounce of mental power to make this play happen. Ashton shoots and buries it.
The goal horn sounds, and the arena erupts.
The ice is chaos.
Line rushes, players piling on, the crowd noise deafening. Holden has his mask off, and he's crying, which I will absolutely never tell him I noticed. Ashton finds me through the chaos, grabs the back of my neck, and says something I can't hear over the noise, but I get it.
We did it.
I'm laughing. I don't even realize it until I hear myself.
And then I'm scanning the boards.
I find her.
She's on her feet, one hand punching the air, then both arms up. Keira is beside her, doing the same thing. Sutton is screaming—I can see it even if I can't hear it.
I point at her.
She puts her hands together and makes a heart. I blow her a kiss.
Ashton grabs my arm and pulls me into the team photo. I don't stop smiling for the next forty minutes.
The corridor outside the locker room is pandemonium. A hundred people all trying to be in the same hallway at once. I haven't showered yet. I don't care. I push through the crowd with single-minded focus.
I find her outside the locker room door.
She's standing with Keira, who I assume is waiting for Crew.
Sutton turns.
I close the distance between us. I cup her face. I know I stink. I’m sweaty. My hair is plastered to my forehead, but I don’t care.
"Hi," she says.
“Damn, woman, I love you.”
I kiss her.
She makes a small, surprised sound against my mouth, and then her hands come up and grip the front of my jersey. She kisses me back. I hear some catcalls and cheers and block them all out. It’s just her and me.
When I pull back, she’s grinning up at me. “What was that for?”
