He met my gaze once across the neutral zone. This would not be a calm game.
I glanced toward our side of the stands out of habit. Mila sat in her usual spot behind the plexiglass just off the left side of our bench. Avery sat beside her, Jasmine and Margie flanking them, Tori on the end with her hands wrapped around a coffee cup.
When my eyes found Mila’s, she held the look for a second then smiled. My shoulders eased a fraction. I faced forward again.
Coach called us in for final instructions. His voice cut clean over the noise.
“Crestwood feeds off broken coverage. Mason Stone will try to isolate one defender and force collapse. Do not overcommit. King, you anchor the first line. Set the pace.”
I pushed off the boards, blades carving clean arcs as I took my position at center.
The ref skated in, puck poised. The whistle cut loudly through the air, and the puck dropped.
Mason exploded through the neutral zone, shoulder dropping, stick handling tight enough to make a defenseman bite. Theo held his gap and forced him wide at the boards, but Mason made him earn every inch.
The crowd reacted to every near breakaway.
Jax skated beside me during a reset. “He’s fast.”
“He’s impatient,” I replied. “Don’t chase him. Make him chase us.”
We adjusted coverage, tightened our lanes, and forced Crestwood into perimeter shots. Mason tried to split two defenders midway through the first period and clipped my hip instead. I absorbed the contact and drove him into the boards cleanly.
He bounced back up with a grin that wasn’t friendly. Good.
Midway through the second quarter, the game opened up. Mason slipped a pass through traffic, and Crestwood buried it.
One–zero.
Their section erupted.
I circled back to center ice and blocked out the noise. On the next shift, I called the play before Coach could signal it. Theo cut high instead of cycling low. Chase drove net. I drew two defenders then sent the puck backdoor.
Goal. One–one.
The sound behind the plexiglass resonated differently. I allowed myself one glance toward the stands. Mila was on her feet.
Third period picked up. Bodies hit harder. Sticks came up faster. Mason tried to bait me into chasing him high near the blue line. I didn’t bite. I forced him outside, stole the puck clean, and transitioned immediately.
Two shifts later, I took a shot from just inside the circle. It deflected off a defender’s stick and lifted over the goalie’s shoulder.
Two–one.
We held it.
The final minute stretched longer than it should have. Mason made one last push, cutting across the slot with a desperation play that would have been beautiful if it had landed.
Theo stepped into the lane and finished the check, shoulder driving through Mason’s chest. The puck slid harmlessly into the corner. The buzzer ended it.
The release in my chest was physical. We lined up for handshakes. Mason’s grip locked around mine—firm, deliberate. His eyes held mine a second too long. I didn’t blink. He let go first.
As we cleared the ice, I glanced toward the stands again.
The arena was still loud. Mila didn’t glance at the ice. She was watching me like I was the only thing that mattered.
The locker room after a win usually carried an edge of chaos. Tonight it felt tighter. Controlled.
Jax dropped onto the bench and shoved my shoulder. “You looked like you wanted to kill someone in the first period.”
