Then Barnes jumped over the boards for his first shift. He was NMU’s top winger and their biggest trash-talker. I’d caught him with a clean hip check last season that put him on his ass, and he’d been bitching about it on social media. Posted at least five videos of himself with captions about revenge and payback. The guy couldn’t let anything go.
Our eyes met across the ice and he smirked, mouthing something I couldn’t hear but could definitely guess. Mypulse kicked up a notch. He could run his mouth all he wanted—I’d make him eat it on the ice.
Two minutes later, I got my chance. Barnes carried the puck into our zone with his head down—rookie fucking mistake—and I stepped up at the blue line and absolutely destroyed him. It was a clean hit with perfect timing, just physics doing what physics does.
Barnes went down hard and the puck slid free. Our winger took off on a breakaway and the crowd lost their minds.
I skated past Barnes as he was getting up, his face twisted with rage. “Still want that revenge?”
He shoved me—not hard enough for a penalty, just enough to show he was pissed. The ref warned him and I skated away, grinning like an idiot.
God, I loved this game.
NMU scored first on some bullshit redirect that Gordy had no chance on. We answered back four minutes later when Foster won a face-off directly to me and I blasted a slap shot from the point that their goalie never saw through the screen.
“Good pace out there,” Coach said during intermission. “They’re getting frustrated. Stay disciplined and they’ll start taking penalties.”
He was right. NMU came out for the second period even more aggressive and more desperate. Their fourth liner took a stupid hooking penalty three minutes in and we went to the power play.
I watched from the bench as Foster’s line set up in their zone. They moved the puck beautifully until Liam wound up from the point and beat their goalie clean.
2-1, Lumberjacks.
The arena erupted and I was on my feet with everyoneelse, banging my stick on the boards. Liam skated past our bench with a huge grin on his face, and I reached over to tap his helmet.
“Fucking beauty!” I yelled.
My next shift came about eight minutes into the period. NMU was pressing hard, trying to tie it, and they caught us on a bad rotation. Their winger had a clean look from the slot and I watched him wind up for the shot.
I didn’t think. Just dove.
The puck hit my shin pad so hard I saw stars for a second, but it deflected into the corner.
“Fuck yeah, Monty!” Liam was there, hauling me up. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
My shin was already throbbing—that was definitely going to leave a nasty bruise—but I didn’t care. We’d kept the lead and that was all that mattered.
We held them off through the rest of the second, but NMU tied it early in the third on a goal that was partly my fault. Their forward got behind our defense because Liam and I both thought the other had him covered.
2-2.
Fuck.
“Next shift, we come out flying,” Foster said during a time-out, his eyes scanning all of us.
I nodded, already planning. I was pissed at myself for that defensive breakdown, and I needed to fix it.
When my shift started, NMU had the puck in their own zone. Their defenseman tried to make a pass across the blue line to his partner—but it was a lazy pass and I read it the second the puck left his stick.
I jumped it.
Suddenly, I had nothing but open ice and their goalie staring me down. The crowd was on their feet, and I couldhear Coach yelling something, but everything narrowed to just me and the net.
Their goalie was playing the angle well, cutting down my space. I faked the shot to freeze him, then roofed it over his glove.
Top shelf. Bar down.
The celebration hit me like a freight train. Liam got to me first and nearly knocked me over, then Foster, then half the bench was pouring onto the ice. The roar from the crowd was so loud I couldn’t hear anything else.
