Then three.
Every shift shorter now. No movement wasted.
I skated past Hunter in the crease, catching his eye. Sweat dripped down his mask, chest rising hard under his pads. He’d been unreal all night.
“Hang in there,” I told him, voice rough. “We’re gonna make this worth it.”
He let out a breathless laugh. “I have no plans of throwing in the towel until we’ve got this game in the bag.”
Something in my chest lit up, and I pushed off, skating back into position.
“Hold it,” I told Grayson. “As long as you can. Hold that fucking puck, then feed me when it’s time.”
He frowned. “How will I know when it’s time?”
I tapped my helmet. “Eyes on me. You’ll know.”
He held my gaze for a second, then nodded.
Final minute.
The arena was on its feet, and we could feel each and every spectator holding their breath on our behalf.
Grayson had the puck, just inside their zone, defenders closing in on him fast. He held it. Just like I said. Took the pressure. Absorbed it.
I moved, cutting through the seam. Risky, but my last resort. High danger. Tight space. Exactly where it could break. Two Avalanche defenders clocked me at the same time. Adjusted, and closed in.
“Now,” I called out, tapping my stick once on the ice.
Grayson didn’t hesitate. He swept the puck across the ice like a bullet.
It came in hot, and I lunged for the dead stop when my marks thought I’d keep moving. The defenders overshot like I knew they would, momentum carrying them a step too far. They turned, eyes snapping back to me just as I pulled the puck in tight.
Everything slowed.
I pivoted, cutting around them to fake the pass to Landon who came crashing in from the left. They bit. Both of them. And once they were cleared, I drove the net.
Time stood still. The arena got sucked dry of every other person in there. It was just me, their goalie, and the back of that fucking net.
For half a second, there was nothing.
Then the arena lost its absolute shit.
2–1.
I didn’t even feel the first hit when Grayson slammed into me. Then Landon. Then everyone. Bodies crashed into mine, their weight piling on until my legs gave out and we all went down in a heap on the ice. Helmets knocked together. Sticks clattered.
Noise. Pure, deafening noise. Like music to my ears.
The tunnel was chaos.
Guys shouting, the echo of the arena still vibrating through concrete and bone. We poured off the ice in a rush of noise and sweat and adrenaline, the win still buzzing under my skin like I’d been plugged straight into the building’s power source.
Grayson slapped the back of my helmet on the way past. “Hell of a play!”
“Get in here, boys!” Coach barked from down the hall.
They kept moving, but I slowed down.
