The noise hit before I even stepped onto the ice.
Frost Bank Arena was a living thing tonight. It pulsed, roared, shook under our skates like it knew exactly what was at stake. Game 5. Series tied.
This was it.
I tapped my stick twice on the boards before hopping over. Cold air bit at my lungs, sharp and clean, the kind that snapped everything into focus whether you were ready or not.
Grayson skated up beside me, visor down, jaw set. “You good?”
I nodded once. There was no room for anything else.
“Stay tight,” he said. “We play our game, our way, and we take this.”
The ref dropped the puck.
And it was war from the first second.
Colorado came out fast, no hesitation and definitely no filter. Their center won the draw clean, kicked it back to their defense, and they were already pushing through neutral ice before we could settle.
“Back! Back!” Cash shouted, pivoting hard.
I tracked the puck carrier, cut off his lane just as he tried to split between me and Landon. Shoulder to chest, I drove him off the puck, boards rattling on impact. It jarred up my arm, but I stayed on my skates.
“Good hit!” Tucker barked from behind the net, scooping the puck and sending it up the boards.
Landon grabbed it, turned, fired it across to me in stride.
I didn’t think. Just moved.
One touch to settle. Another to push forward. Their defense closed in fast, but I cut right, dragging the puck across my body, slipping past the first check. A stick clipped my skate. I staggered, kept it moving, and dumped it deep before I lost the edge completely.
“Cycle!” Grayson called, already chasing it down.
We worked it low, grinding. Boards, corners, quick taps. No clean lanes, no easy looks. Colorado boxed us out tight, their defense collapsing in layers. Every time I thought I had space, a stick was there. A body. Pressure from all sides.
“Switch!” Grayson yelled.
I peeled off, rotated high. He fed it up to me, quick and sharp. I wound up for a shot—
Blocked.
The puck ricocheted hard off a shin pad, bouncing out to neutral ice.
“Shit. Get back!”
They were gone again. A fast break that called us into high gear. Two-on-one. Cash dropped low, angling his body to take away the pass. The Avalanche winger hesitated for half a second, which was just enough. He shot.
Hunter snagged it clean out of the air, and the crowd exploded.
I skated past the crease, tapping my stick once on the ice. Reset. Breathe. Go again.
Shift after shift, it didn’t let up.
Hits piled up. Hard ones. The kind that made the glass shudder and my bones hum. Tucker took a brutal check into the boards midway through the first, and stayed down for a second too long.
“Want me to call your mama?” I called, circling back.
He pushed up, shaking it off. “Suck my dick, Santos.”
