We laughed, slapped each other’s helmets, and dove straight back into the craziness.
Grayson won a battle behind their net, kicked the puck loose to Landon. He then snapped a pass into the slot right where I was waiting for it. The goal would’ve been poetry, and I told their goalie that much after he’d snatched my attempt with his glove.
Surge pushed, and Colorado pushed back harder. They didn’t crack. Not once.
Late in the first though, they broke.
Turnover at the blue line. Quick transition. I tried to close the gap, but I was a step behind, and their center cut inside, slipped past Tucker, and fired top shelf.
Goal.
The arena fell into that sharp, stunned silence for half a heartbeat before the groans rolled in.
1–0.
I skated back to the bench, jaw tight.
“It’s just a goal,” Grayson said, leaning in. “We get ‘em too.”
I nodded, but it didn’t feel like just a goal. My confidence was up, but tonight felt like a brick wall and it sent me right back to the games where I couldn’t make anything happen.
Second period didn’t ease up.
If anything, it got worse. Faster. Harder.
The Avalanche came out like they wanted to bury us early. Forecheck heavy, sticks active, bodies everywhere. They pinned us in our zone for nearly a full minute on one shift, cycling the puck like clockwork.
“For God’s sake, clear it!” Cash barked.
I dropped low, grabbed a loose puck, and rifled it up the boards. It didn’t make it out. Kept in at the line.
“Again!”
I went back in, took a hit to make the play this time, chipping it past their defense.
“Go, go!”
Landon was already sprinting. I pushed off hard, legs burning, chasing the breakout. He carried it over the blue line, cut wide, then dropped it back to me. I stepped into it with a messy slap shot, and got blocked again.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, already turning to chase the rebound.
Grayson picked it up instead, spun off his man, and snapped a quick pass across the crease. Landon tipped it with a flourishing pirouette that stunned us as much as the crowd.
Goal.
The net rippled. The arena erupted.
1–1.
I didn’t even realize I was yelling until Grayson crashed into me, helmet knocking against mine. “That’s it! That’s how we get them!”
Energy surged through me, sharp and electric. For a second, everything clicked. The timing. The movement. Us.
But Colorado answered with everything they had.
They came back swinging, harder hits, tighter coverage. Tucker took another heavy collision in the corner, this one worse than before. He stayed down longer this time. Trainers leaned over the boards, ready to come to the rescue.
“Now you’re just looking for attention,” Cash called, circling.
