Grayson skated past to hear the way I cursed under my breath. He stopped dead and grabbed the grill of my helmet. “I won’t stand for shit-talk on my team. You hear me?” I just stared at him. “Eyes up, Aiden. You know how to work a fucking puck.”
Game on, and Landon flashed by, yanking the puck free from a Nashville defenseman. I followed, trying to anticipate the pass, to move like we’d practiced a hundred times. A thousand, even. My skates felt lighter, and that hesitation tripping me up didn’t feel as consuming.
Second period rolled around, and my confidence hadn’t improved but I was loose. That was something. I showed up where they needed me, but I kept overthinking every play, every chance I took. We managed a goal early in the period thanks to a slick wrist-shot from Landon that somehow slipped past their goalie. But it wasn’t enough.
We were still trailing 2-1.
“Get it in! Keep pushing!” Grayson called as I awkwardly took a pass, skating wide. I forced a slap shot that barely made it to the boards. Nashville countered with a quick one-two pass through the neutral zone, and they scored again. 3-1.
I skated back to the bench, chest heaving, feeling judgment from every set of eyes on me. I wanted to disappear.
Coach yelled something from the box, words lost in the chaos of the crowd, and I pushed again. Reset. Landon faked out the guy covering him, distracting me enough to make me fumble it from the go.
“Come on, man!” he yelled as he skated past. “Don’t let them read you.”
“Sorry, I’m on it.”
We cycled through plays—Tucker with the boards, Cash with a back check—but every time I got the puck, I hesitated. I’d thought I was coming out of it, but it just wasn’t falling into place for me. A misstep here, a half-hearted pass there. I could feel the crowd sensing it before it even happened. They weren’t shy. Every scrape of skate on ice, every miscue of mine, met with a chorus of boos and jeers.
Right at the end of the second period, Grayson rose up like a beacon of hope with the perfect tip-in, and brought us 3–2.
As we skated off for the intermission, I scanned the crowd, hunting for the camera to give Sage the wink she would’ve been expecting. My pulse thundered in my ears and I felt like total shit, but just the thought of having that little piece of her made it all bearable.
But I didn’t find any camera. Mostly because I stopped looking for one.
Because—
“Sage?!” Her name fell out of my mouth even though there was no need to call her. She was staring right at me, cheering like a maniac for what was technically the losing team.
She winked, then did the same salute I’d given her at my last away game.
And my heart just about exploded.
The movement of the team carried my stunned ass down the tunnel and into the locker room. The haze of seeing Sage out here in Nashville only lifted once I spotted Coach standing in front of us, sleeves rolled up.
Everything and everyone went quiet. Some of us were too afraid to sit down.
“They think they’ve got us,” Coach started, looking at each of us in turn. “They think they’ve pushed us into a corner we can’t get out of. Are they right?”
A few mumbled ‘nos’ rippled through the room. Not very convincing.
“We’re the goddamn defending champions!” His face shook with it, redness creeping onto his cheeks. “We didn’t get there on blown-out budgets and built-in superstars. We fucking clawed from the bottom. CLAWED. Injuries, losing streaks, our own fucking fans counting us out before we hit the ice. Some of you have been here long enough to remember that.”
Coach looked right at me when he said that. Then his eyes fixed on Hunter. When he looked away, Hunter and I found each other across the room. We’d been with The Surge the longest. We were the ones who remembered. The ones expected to lift the guys out of this.
“Hunter!” All of us jumped to attention at the sound of Coach’s voice. He glared at the goalie. “Is there a corner we can’t get out of?”
“No, Coach!”
Fuck. That gave me goosebumps.
“What about you, Aiden?” Coach stared me down. “You think they’ve got us?”
This wasn’t me standing in his office before the game, ready to puke with how low I felt. Doubting everything I knew about the game that had lived in my veins since I was a kid.
I squared my shoulders and met his gaze head-on. “No, Coach!”
Everyone was wide awake after that, applauding, amping each other up as we got ready for the final showdown. By the time we strapped on our helmets for the third period, I felt like the old me again. The guy who could actually rise to the occasion.
