He should know by now that men don’t see me like that.
JJ friend-zoned me years ago, and in all these years, no one else has interested me.
But hockey has always interested me. And right now, I’m about to head into the biggest game of my career—the final game in the Olympics. If we win this, we win the gold medal.
I owe it to my teammates to focus.
I owe it to myself too.
At the sound of the beep, I sigh. “Hey, it’s me. Headed to the game. Just wanted to say hi and hear your voice. But, um, hopefully I’ll talk to you after. Tag, you’re it.”
With that, I power down my phone. It’s time to win a medal.
Sometimes, if we’re lucky, goalies have this moment when we can sense what’ll happen next. I’ve played enough to recognize when this sense overtakes me, so when the Russian center is on a breakaway, I lean into the instinct. By every indication, she’s about to take a slap shot. Instead, she flips the puck with her stick, tossing it in the air, with the intent to send it toward the net, past my shoulder. I shouldn’t have enough time to correct, and if I hadn’t anticipated it, I wouldn’t.
But I’ve been playing against Aiden Langfield all my life, and that’s a move right out of his playbook.
So while it’s not a pretty stop, I fling my body upward like a damnstarfish. The puck hits my chest, and as it bounces back, the buzzer sounds.
And we win the fucking gold medal.
Immediately, my teammates are on me, hugging and cheering and laughing.
We win, 2-0. Another freaking shutout.
On the way to the locker rooms, a microphone is shoved in front of my face.
“Addie Langfield,” the reporter says, “you just pulled off quite the hat trick.”
I give him a polite smile. “Not quite what a hat trick means, and it was a team effort.”
“Right, but no goalie in Olympic history has ever completed three shutouts.”
A burst of pride shoots through me. It’s not new information. There were murmurs about it going into the game. Still, I tried to ignore it. My mission was to win today. Not allowing a single goal is more than a freaking cherry on top.
“I’m very proud to be part of Team USA.”
“What’s next for you? Word on the street is that Las Vegas has an open goalie position.”
I frown. “The Las Vegas Lions?”
He lets out a deep laugh. “No, not the PWHL. The Las Vegas Vices. Can you confirm whether you’ll be a free agent after this?”
I shake my head. The question is ridiculous. Only one woman has ever played goaltender in the NHL, and she lasted a single game.
“I’ll be returning to college.”
“But—”
“Adeline,” a familiar voice calls.
A thrill shoots up my spine. There’s only person who calls me Adeline, so when he shouts my name again, my heart flips over on itself. I push past the reporter, and when I spot JJ rushing my way, it all hits me.
This moment, everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve dreamed of, didn’t feel nearly as satisfying as it should. Until now. Until the boy who worked by my side helping me chase this goal all along appears.
“What are you doing here?” I say as he approaches, big smile spread across that handsome face, dimple popping, and blue eyes blazing with a wild heat in them.
He wraps me up in a hug, squeezing me tight, and I inhale the familiar scent of him. “You won the gold medal, Adeline. Where the fuck else would I be?”
