We cycled through another shift without letting up. I won a faceoff clean in the offensive zone, drawing it back to Seth. He passed across to Grayson, who sent it back to me in motion. I faked a drive, then threaded a pass to the weak side where our sub winger had slipped behind coverage.
He buried it.
13 to 1.
The bench reacted with loud taps against the boards. Even the scratches were on their feet. It looked like I’d formed my own partnership with Grayson, and it was working.
Seattle called a timeout. Their coach spoke into the huddle, but the scoreline was heavy on their shoulders.
When play resumed, their energy shifted. They played tighter, blocking lanes and forcing dumps. I adjusted, keeping my feet moving and staying available in the middle of the ice. Grayson and I started anticipating each other without needing words.
He carried in, cut toward the boards, and sent a no-look pass to my stick as I crossed the slot. I redirected it immediately to the point. Seth shot through traffic. Goal.
14 to 1.
I looked up while circling back toward center ice. Rows of fans in team colors, hands in the air, phones raised.
And then I saw her.
Sage sat a few sections up from the glass, not directly behind the net, but slightly off to the side. She wasn’t losing her voice like the rest of the crowd, but her eyes were fixed on the ice. Where people shifted in waves around her, she remained still, focused on play.
My grip on the stick tightened as I glided through the neutral zone. If I’d known she were here—
“Eyes up!” Grayson crossed in front of me.
I snapped back to the puck, remembering there was a game going on. Seattle had possession along the boards, and I closed in, pressured their center, then forced a hurried pass that went wide. Our winger recovered it and sent it up to me.
The shift in tempo was felt inside my skates. I carried the puck deeper, drew the defense toward me, then slipped it across to Grayson. Nice and easy.
He didn’t hesitate. One stride, one shot.
Goal.
15 to 1.
As we skated past the bench, Coach pointed toward me. “Keep reading it. Good spacing.”
Grayson leaned in as we rotated back. “Good work tonight, Santos.”
I nodded, but my eyes drifted again toward the stands. Sage was still there. She hadn’t looked away.
Seattle won the next faceoff and tried to push back, but our transition game smothered it. I intercepted a cross-ice pass and immediately fed Grayson at the blue line.
He drove toward the net while I circled to support. Grayson didn’t need it though, and shot from the wing to slip the puck through the goalie’s five hole.
16 to 1.
The arena noise climbed again.
I skated toward center ice for the next draw, breathing steady, legs responding without hesitation. Grayson lined up beside me, stick on the ice.
“Let’s keep it rolling,” he said. “Think we can make it to a hundred before they call it?”
“Least we can do is try.”
The puck came back to our side after the faceoff. I collected it and started the cycle again, moving it to the point, then cutting through the middle to open a lane.
From the bench, Tucker shouted, “That’s how you do it!”
