1-0, Lumberjacks.
The arena erupted, and as we celebrated, I glanced up at the stands. Ava was on her feet while she cheered. My parents were standing too, my mom bouncing Rory gently. My daughter looked content, her face focused on the ice. Even though she had no idea what was happening, seeing her there filled me with joy on a level I’d never experienced before.
MSU tied it up early in the second period with a goal that deflected off Gordy’s pad and trickled in. We regrouped at center ice for the face-off, the sting of that one still buzzing in my chest.
The goal lit them up—their bench was loud, their forecheck sharper—but we weathered the push. Three minutes later, Foster buried a rebound off a beautiful passing play, and just like that, the momentum swung back our way.
I was playing the best hockey of my life. Every pass was crisp; every defensive play was textbook perfect. When their fastest winger tried to break free on a rush, I matched his speed stride for stride and poke-checked the puck away cleanly.
“Holy shit, Drew,” Liam called as he skated past me, a wicked smile on his face. “You’re playing like you’re possessed.”
“Just trying to keep up with you,” I teased.
The third period was a fucking war. MSU came out flying, knowing this was their last chance. They peppered Gordy with everything they had, but our goalie was standing on his head. With five minutes left, their coachcalled time-out, and I could see the desperation in their eyes when they came back out on the ice. But we weren’t about to let them have this win.
When the final buzzer sounded, the scoreboard read 3-2, Lumberjacks.
Liam skated over and threw his giant body at me, his face filled with excitement. “We fucking won!”
The celebration was chaos—guys piling on top of each other, sticks flying through the air, fans screaming so loud I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. But through it all, I kept looking up at the stands where my family had huge smiles on their faces, my mom still holding Rory against her chest.
We’d fucking done it.
And I’d played like the player I knew I could be.
The locker room was pure euphoria. Someone had brought in speakers, and music was blasting while guys danced around in various stages of undress. I was sitting in my stall, still in most of my gear, riding the high of the best game I’d played all season. My phone was buzzing with congratulatory texts, but I was too wired to focus on reading them.
“That was fucking beautiful out there,” Liam said, collapsing onto the bench next to me. His hair was matted with sweat, and he had that post-game glow that came from leaving everything on the ice. His Irish accent was thick now like it always got when he was emotional. “You were dialed in from the first shift.”
“Thanks, man.” I started unlacing my skates, my fingers still buzzing with adrenaline. “It felt good to contribute instead of being a liability.”
“Liability?” Gordy looked up from his stall, raising an eyebrow in that way he did when he thought someone was being an idiot. “You were our best defenseman tonight. Coach is probably going to nominate you for player of the game.”
The praise felt good, but more than that, it felt earned. I’d worked through whatever mental block had been screwing with my game, and when it mattered most, I’d shown up.
Jake wrapped his arm around Liam’s neck. “I bet ya ten bucks Foster’s the first one to start another ‘We Are the Lumberjacks’ chant,” he said toward the chaos, grinning as our captain danced around with his gloves still on.
“Nah,” Liam countered smiling at me, “my money’s on Monty. He’s been vibrating since the final buzzer.”
Someone from across the room laughed. “Careful. Freshmen are probably taking odds on it already. Those idiots have been betting on everything lately.”
Laughter rippled through the room, and I shook my head, smiling faintly. I hadn’t been paying much attention to team drama recently. Between classes, practices, and sleepless nights with Rory, most of my world existed in fifteen-minute bursts of chaos. Whatever they were talking about barely registered.
But as I finished changing, I noticed some of the freshman players—Beau Alden, Kyle Furst, and a couple of others—huddled together, talking in low voices and glancing in my direction. They looked like they were plotting some shit, and knowing freshmen, they probably were.
“Hey,” I called out, nodding toward the group of younger guys. “What’s got you idiots looking so serious? We just won the fucking championship.”
“Just talking about the game,” Beau called back, thatcocky freshman grin spreading across his face. “Speaking of which, where was Harper tonight? Thought she might’ve shown up to support herproject partner.”
The way he said project partner like it was some kind of innuendo made my jaw clench. “How the hell should I know? I’m not her keeper.”
“Right,” Kyle chimed in, exchanging a look with Beau. “Must be hard, being forced to work with your sworn enemy, although if my sworn enemy was that hot, I’d be hard too.”
The freshmen started laughing until Liam stood up. “Shut the fuck up, Kyle. That was disgusting and unacceptable. You talk to your ma with that filthy mouth?”
“Why are you guys asking about Harper anyway?” I asked.
Beau shrugged, still wearing that shit-eating grin that now officially had me on edge. “Just wondered if you played better tonight because you lost the bet.”
