On the ice, the cold snapped me awake again. Each exhale puffed through my cage, sharp and visible. I skated the edge of the bench, helmet down, watching the first shift roll. My name didn’t get called. One minute turned to three. Still nothing.
The next line jumped, and I tapped the boards just to feel something. The game crawled inside my chest, thrumming alongside my heartbeat. When one of our defenders buried an opponent cleanly in the corner, Calder’s low grunt of approval cut through the noise. He was alive again, engaged. I stayed planted.
Then—“Donovan.”
I looked up. He crouched behind the line, expression unreadable.
“You wanna prove me wrong? Then fix it.”
The rink shrank around us. My throat felt raw. “I thought you were done with me.”
His stare didn’t waver. “You don’t get to fall apart. Not if you’re who I think you are.”
The words lodged deep, scraping something tender I didn’t know was still exposed. I didn’t answer. Just nodded once, hard, and lurched onto the ice.
The first stride burned. The second steadied. Every muscle screameddon’t choke this time.I tracked the puck as it slid toward our end—fast breakout, perfect for a clean cut. I intercepted before their winger could settle it, flipped direction on instinct. Behind me, their defense regrouped, chasing.
My skates dug trenches through the neutral zone. I waited for someone to shout for a pass. Nothing. So I carried it myself. My lungs stretched wide; the crowd’s noise dulled to a pulse. I faked right, spun left, held onto the puck by sheer will and balance.
Reese crashed up the center, open. I sent it cross-ice. She caught, shot, clanged it off the goalie’s pads. Rebound cut loose. I was already there. One quick tap.
The puck thudded into the net, the red light slicing through the rink haze. For a wild heartbeat, I couldn’t hear anything except my pulse hammering against my ribs. Then the arena cracked open—our bench screaming, gloves pounding the boards, Reese’s stick raised high like a flag.
Tie game.
But I didn’t celebrate. Not yet. There were two minutes left, and we’d already danced too close to disaster once tonight.
At the face-off, I drew in a slow breath through the cage. Keep it clean. Keep it simple. No solo heroics. I’d learned that lesson the hard way.
The puck dropped. I tied up their center just long enough for Reese to swoop in and take it. Our line shifted as one—therhythm finally right, our sticks moving like we’d been built from the same parts.
I stayed low on the wing, tracked open space, listened to the ice sing under our blades. Lakeshore pressed hard, desperation curling through their formation. Their captain went for the body instead of the puck; I slipped past her hip, grinning when her stick missed air.
Reese dumped the puck into the corner, and I chased, kicked it loose, pivoted just as one of their defenders closed in. A quick look over my shoulder—Tia streaking toward the slot. I flipped it to her tape without thinking. She didn’t question it. One-timer, bottom corner.
The net rippled.
Our bench exploded again. 3–2.
I barely made it three strides before Reese slammed into me, laughing loud enough to shake the glass. “You feed like a damn pro!”
“About time,” I panted, helmet bumping hers. “Let’s finish it.”
The last seconds crawled. Lakeshore pulled their goalie, every shot a bullet aimed at our nerves. I blocked one with my thigh, pain flaring hot through the pad. Didn’t matter. I cleared the puck down ice and chased. Empty net waiting.
Their defense reached first, swung wide. I angled in behind, stole the puck off her stick before she even registered I was there. Quick flick off my backhand. Rebound caromed off the post, straight to me again.
Second shot, no hesitation.
Net. Red light. Done.
The horn screamed, shrill and glorious. My legs gave out halfway through my victory lap; I doubled over, laughing and gasping all at once. Sweat dripped into my eyes, tasted like iron and salt and disbelief.
When I finally looked toward the bench, Calder was there—arms folded, the rest of the staff shouting around him. No grin. No outburst. Just one slow nod when my eyes found his.
It wasn’t approval.
It was respect.
