Sticks banging. Shouts. Pure, raw energy.
Grayson grabbed my helmet, knocking it lightly against his own. “You ready?”
“Fuck, yes!”
We stormed out of the locker room, the noise of the arena crashing back over us like a wave. I stepped onto the ice, heart pounding, and my eyes went straight to the stands before I could stop them.
Sage.
She was there. Watching me.
Our eyes locked for a second that stretched longer than it should’ve. No smile. No teasing. Just something steady and sure.
I nodded once, then I turned and skated into position.
The puck dropped.
And everything exploded.
Fuck strategy. This was just bodies colliding, sticks clashing, ice tearing under hard stops and desperate turns. I took a hit within the first shift, shoulder driving into my ribs hard enoughto rattle my teeth. But I pushed through it, and kept moving, chasing the puck into the corner.
“Dig deep, boys!” Landon shouted.
And I fucking dug. Fought for it along the boards, skates grinding, shoulders braced. Grayson came in to help, jamming his stick in to pry it loose.
“Kick it!”
I kicked it free. Landon grabbed it up, and fired a shot. Blocked. The rebound popped out, and it was my name on the dance card. I lunged for it—
Gone. Cleared.
Back the other way.
“Backcheck!” Cash yelled.
I turned, legs burning more than ever now, chasing down their winger as he cut inside. Tucker stepped up and forced the collision. Both of them went down, and neither of us thought the guy had another hit left in him. He’d been taking it all night.
Gloves hit the ice somewhere behind me.
I turned just in time to see Landon squaring up with one of their defensemen. Fists went flying, and the crowd cheered on their golden boy.
“Break it up!” the ref shouted, but they got a few solid hits in before they were pulled apart.
We reset. Again.
Minutes bled off the clock, each one heavier than the last. Chance after chance came and went right on by. Grayson ripped a shot from the top of the circle, but that too was saved. I tipped a pass in front, and it sailed wide. Landon crashed the net, got tangled with their goalie, bodies piling up in the crease. Whistle blew.
Nothing.
Still 1–1.
It felt like the ice was tilting under us. Like something had to give, but neither team was willing to be the one that gave it up first.
“Stay on it!” Grayson barked as we lined up again.
I nodded, chest heaving, lungs burning. Everything hurt. Legs, ribs, shoulders. But it didn’t matter. We kept going.
Five minutes left.
