The defenceman loses his balance instantly and stumbles sideways.
Not flattened - just completely thrownoff.
Russo skates right past him with the puck.
The play keeps moving.
But the bench loses it.
“Okay!” Mercer shouts. “Rookie’s got teeth!”
I shake my head, half laughing as I follow the rush down the ice.
Where the hell did that come from?
The final buzzer sounds two minutes later.
Then the scoreboard flashes the number we’ve been chasing all season.
3–2.
Win.
The arena explodes.
It’s not the roar you hear in big professional arenas, but it’s loud enough to echo off the rafters. Fans are on their feet as we skate toward Chen at the crease.
Russo throws an arm around my shoulders.
“Finally.”
“About time,” I mutter.
Players drift toward the bench in a loose wave of exhausted relief.
Shaw skates in last.
I fall into step beside him.
“You’ve been holding out on us,” I say.
He glances over. “What?”
“That little move along the boards.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,oh,” I repeat. “You nearly sent that guy into the parking lot.”
He shrugs again, annoyingly calm. “Physics.”
I laugh. “That’s not an explanation.”
“Sure it is.”
We glide toward the tunnel together with the rest of the team.
Then I nudge his shoulder lightly with mine.
