“That’s how we fucking do it!” Liam yelled in my ear.
When we finally skated back for the face-off, I was riding the kind of high that made everything else in my life seem small and stupid. This was it. This was who I was supposed to be.
Fucking crushing it on the ice.
The final ten minutes felt like hours. NMU pulled their goalie with two minutes left and threw everything they had at us. I blocked three shots in the final minute—shin, shoulder, and one that caught me square in the ass and hurt way more than I’d ever admit to anyone.
When the final buzzer sounded, the relief and joy hit me all at once.
We’d won, 3-2. Even better was that I’d scored the game-winner and we were now on a five-game winning streak.
The locker room afterward was pure chaos. Music blasting, guys dancing around half naked, everyone riding that post-win high.
“That goal was fucking sick,” Foster said, dropping onto the bench next to me.
“Thanks, man.” The praise felt good, and settledsomething in my chest that had been restless all week. “Just got lucky.”
“That wasn’t luck,” Gordy called from across the room. “That was you playing out of your goddamn mind.”
My phone buzzed and I pulled it out to see a text from Ava.
Ava
That goal was SICK. You’re buying dinner tomorrow to celebrate.
I grinned and typed back.
Me
Pretty sure the person who scored the goal shouldn’t have to buy dinner but whatever.
Ava came to every home game to cheer me on. As much as we drove each other crazy like siblings were supposed to, she was also my biggest supporter.
More texts started rolling in congratulating me. It all felt good, but nothing compared to being here with my team, all of us riding the same high.
I leaned back in my stall, still in most of my gear, just soaking it all in. This feeling—this was everything. The win, the goal, my teammates celebrating around me.
Hockey was the one place where I never had to question who I was or what I was doing.
NINE
My door flew open as I was strumming a tune that I couldn’t quite get right on my guitar. Talia burst in, still wearing an oversized CFU shirt that she’d cut the neck of so it draped off her shoulder. “We’re having a girls’ night.”
“I’m practicing.”
“You’re brooding,” she corrected. “There’s a difference. Come on, Ayanna’s already setting up snacks and Rachel’s threatening to do face masks whether you cooperate or not.”
I sighed but set down my guitar. Maybe some mindless girl time would help me stop thinking about the psychology project from hell and my equally hellish project partner.
When I got downstairs, Rachel and Ayanna had transformed our living room into what could only be described as a spa meets snack bar. Wine, chips, cheese, chocolate, and an alarming number of face mask packets covered every surface.
“Finally,” Rachel said, patting the spot next to her on the couch. “Sit. Drink. Stop thinking about whatever’s making you play angry guitar.”
“I wasn’t playing angry guitar.”
“You weredefinitelyplaying angry guitar,” Ayanna said. “We could hear it downstairs. Very punchy.”
I grabbed a glass of wine and collapsed onto the couch, wishing I could tune out the thumping bass coming from next door. “I hate that we can hear their stupid party.”
