No. Not my anything. Just a rookie I was mentoring. That was all.
"Moretti, you're up!"
I vaulted over the boards mid-play. My skates hit the ice as Detroit dumped the puck deep. I raced back to retrieve it,absorbing the angles without thinking. A defenseman angled toward me—I feinted left, cut right, and sent a breakout pass up to Hayes that hit him in stride.
The next three minutes blurred into pure hockey. Shift after shift, the game seesawed back and forth with neither team gaining an edge. I played my usual game—controlled, calculated, every move precise. I set up two scoring chances that didn't convert, blocked a shot that left my shin throbbing, and won three consecutive faceoffs in the defensive zone that killed Detroit’s momentum.
The score stayed 0-0 into the second period.
I stood at the bench during a TV timeout. My chest heaved, sweat dripping down my spine under my pads. Theo was on the ice again. I found myself watching the rookie’s positioning during the defensive zone draw.
Perfect. The kid was a fast learner. He was already implementing the adjustments we had worked on during those brutal morning sessions.
Stop watching him.
The timeout ended. Play resumed.
I had just swung my leg over the boards for my next shift when I saw it happen.
Detroit’s enforcer—a plug named Morrison who'd been headhunting all game—lined up across from Theo at the faceoff circle. But he wasn't watching the referee’s hand. He wasn't watching Theo.
He was staring dead at me.
My stomach dropped. Morrison’s stick wasn't even on the ice. He was coiled tight, back leg loaded, shoulder dipped low. The angle was all wrong for a faceoff. It was perfect for a charge.
"Callahan!"
My voice ripped across the ice, but the noise from the crowd swallowed it whole.
The puck dropped.
Morrison didn't even blink at it. He exploded forward, bypassing the faceoff dot entirely, ignoring the play to drive straight for where I was skating.
I braced for the impact.
Then a blur of blue jersey cut across my vision.
Theo didn't play the puck. He didn't try to check Morrison. He just stepped sideways—directly into the gap between the enforcer and me.
He didn't have time to brace. He just put his body in the way.
Morrison slammed into Theo with the full force of two hundred and twenty pounds.
Time fractured into crystalline shards.
I saw Theo’s eyes go wide. I saw Theo try to brace for impact as Morrison’s shoulder drove up toward his jaw in a hit that would have been a suspension if it connected clean.
Theo threw himself sideways.
The hit caught him across the chest and ribs instead of the head, but the force of it lifted Theo off his skates. He slammed into the boards with a sound that punched through the arena noise like a gunshot.
Theo crumpled.
Everything in my world reduced to a single point—my rookie’s body limp on the ice.
I didn't remember crossing the distance. I didn't remember dropping my gloves. One second I was jumping the boards, the next my fists were tangled in Morrison’s jersey and I was slamming the enforcer into the glass hard enough to rattle the stanchions.
"You fucking—"
