“Shut up and get a drink. We’ll be back on in no time.”
He wasn’t wrong. Itwasnice.
Actually, it was more than nice—it wasintoxicating.
Every time I glimpsed Section 108 during a line change or a TV timeout, something in my chest expanded.
The game flowed around us as my mind spun.
Nashville was playing well, their forecheck was aggressive, and their goalie was having one of thosenights where everything seemed to hit him square in the logo; but we were matching their intensity, and I could feel our team building momentum with each shift.
Midway into the first period, we broke through.
During one of our few power plays of the game, Erik blasted a wrist shot from the point that deflected off a Nashville defenseman and fluttered past their goalie like a wounded bird. The arena erupted. I raised my stick along with everyone else, but my eyes flew straight to Section 108.
Jacks was on his feet, arms in the air, surrounded by his friends, who were cheering just as loudly. The sight of him celebrating our goal, my team’s goal, made fireworks explode beneath my skin.
I wanted to acknowledge him.
The impulse was so strong it was almost physical.
Every part of me begged to skate over to the boards, point up at the stands, and make it clear to everyone how happy I was that he was there.
I managed to resist.
Barely.
The second period was a grind.
Nashville pushed back hard, tying the game on a deflection that our goalie had no chance against. The energy in the building shifted, comfortable confidence replaced by the tighter focus of a game thatcould go either way.
During one TV timeout, I caught Jacks looking down at the ice, and when our eyes met, he raised his hand. It wasn’t quite a wave but was enough of a gesture that I knew he was thinking about me, too.
The feeling that gave me was better than any pre-game speech I’d ever heard.
The third period started with us on a power play, and I could feel the opportunity building before it happened. The puck movement was crisp, everyone was in sync, and when Tyler sent a pass across to me at the top of the zone, I knew what I was going to do before the puck even reached my stick.
One-timer.
Top corner.
Bar down.
The puck exploded off my stick, a perfect release that sent it whistling through traffic and into the net with the kind of sound that every hockey player lives for, that sharp ping of rubber hitting twine.
Goal!
The arena went insane.
My teammates mobbed me. Tyler arrived first with a crushing hug. Erik lifted me clean off the ice in a celebration that should’ve broken several ribs. The crowd noise was so loud I could feel it vibrating in my chest.
But through all of it, through the hugs, the cheers, and the chaos of celebration, my eyes kept landing on Section 108.
Jacks was losing his mind.
He was on his feet, arms in the air, shouting something I couldn’t hear over the crowd noise. His friends were jumping around him, but all I could see was the pure joy on his features, the way he was celebrating my goal like it was the most important thing that had ever happened.
The sight of him,myguy, wearingmyjersey while celebrating a goal I’d scored, nearly brought me to my knees.
