I fake left, snap my wrist, and send the puck screaming top shelf.
The net ripples.
The Birdcage detonates.
I don’t even hear my own shout, just feel it in my chest as my teammates crash into me, gloves smacking my helmet, the scoreboard flipping in our favor.
And before Florida can catch their breath?—
We do it again.
A turnover near their blue line. Campbell feeds me a perfect pass. I take one stride, two, and rip it through traffic so fast the goalie barely tracks it before it’s behind him.
Another goal. Another roar.
Two goals in minutes, and suddenly the game is ours.
As I skate back to the bench, lungs on fire, heart pounding, I glance up at the crowd again—half expecting, stupidly hoping?—
That somewhere up there, Juliette is watching.
And maybe, just maybe…one day she will.
The locker roomis pure victory-chaos. Music thumps from a speaker someone definitely isn’t supposed to have in here. Guys are shouting, laughing, tossing towels, reliving goals at full volume while steam rises out of the showers. Someone moans about having to get up early tomorrow, while someone else isarguing about a missed call that doesn’t matter anymore because we won.
My body aches as I tug my jersey over my head, grab a towel, and wrap it around my waist. My skin is still buzzing from the game, from the ice, from the way the Birdcage shook when those goals went in. I cross to my locker, pop it open, and reach for my phone.
One new voicemail. From Juliette. My heart does a full, ridiculous somersault as I hit play.
“Hi, Sawyer. Um—sorry to bother you. I wanted to say yes to your offer for Theo. For the box. That was really kind of you. Thank you.”
A pause. I can hear her breathing, like she’s bracing herself.
“I was just wondering if I could talk to you about it? I’d really love to do it for Theo’s birthday, and maybe bring Vivian and Charlie, if that’s okay. I completely understand if it isn’t. I just…it’s his birthday, so…”
Another pause. Softer now. “Anyway. Let me know. Thank you.”
The message ends. The noise of the locker room rushes back in, but I don’t move. I just close my eyes and smile.
A locker slams next to me. Ty’s voice cuts through the ruckus. “Dude, what are you doing? Meditating?”
Owen wanders over, squinting. “I think he passed out standing up.”
I open my eyes. “No,” I sing out, which is not like me. “I just got the best voicemail of my life.”
Ty smirks. “You sound unhinged.”
“I’m absolutely hinged,” I correct. “And determined to win over this woman.”
Campbell slides in, towel slung over his shoulder. “Hey, Romeo. I need you to focus on winning games.”
I grin. “Oh, I will. Don’t you worry.”
The locker room hums around us—steam, laughter, the afterglowof a hard-fought victory—but everything in my chest is already racing toward something else.
“I’m going to win them both.”
CHAPTER 18
