I move toward forty-six.
The ref cuts me off. “McAllister. Back off.”
I stop.
Forty-six stands there breathing hard, without apology or a glance toward Finn.
“That was late,” I say.
“He had the puck.”
“Three seconds ago.”
“Back off, Captain.”
I look once toward the tunnel where Finn is being helped off.
Then I look at Zach.
One glance.
Zach’s shoulders set.
Coach Sully stays silent on the bench.
He sees it.
He lets it happen.
Evan’s voice comes from behind me. “Do not make it stupid.”
I do not answer.
I take the next shift.
The puck drops. Houston works it into the corner. Forty-six is there, braced along the boards, stick down, still playing like he has not changed the night.
I hit him.
Hard.
Shoulder through chest. Hands low. Feet under me.
He folds into the glass.
Not enough.
I keep him there.
The whistle screams.
I hear it.
I do not let go.
Forty-six tries to twist out.
I hold.
