It doesn’t take long for our offense to gain control of the puck, then our O-line is flying down the ice in an odd-man rush while Florida scrambles.
Seven minutes and twenty seconds left in the game, and Griffin scores.
The arena goes wild.
“Oh my god!”Indie mouths to me.“Oh my god!”
My heart hammers in my chest. We’re up by three with a minute and a half left on the power play.
Are we actually going to do this?
We battle it out after another face-off, but the Sharks hold our guys back from scoring again, then they’re back to full strength, and they come out swinging.
I block six more shot attempts, while their goalie does the same.
One minute left in the game.
Florida presses through the neutral zone and into my territory. I can hear Indie screaming encouragements from her seat as I block another shot attempt.
Thirty seconds.
Our guys fight for possession of the puck behind my net, two of them battling it out with three Sharks against the boards. They call their goalie out, adding an offensive player and leaving their net empty.
Twenty seconds.
The Sharks manage to extract the puck, swinging around the net and passing it from winger to center, back to winger.
Ten seconds.
A shot attempt bounces off my leg pads.
Five seconds.
Maddox checks a Shark against the boards, keeping him from taking a rebound shot.
Three seconds.
Desperate, the Sharks swarm me, trying to dodge the five first-line Rogues who will do whatever it takes to keep them from scoring another goal.
Two seconds.
The Sharks’ center takes a shot that bounces off the post to my left.
One second.
Griffin chips the puck away from the defensive zone. Maddox shoves their center. The wingers race after the puck.
The buzzer sounds.
There’s a singular moment of absolute silence, then it’s chaos.
Lights flash, sirens sound, and the crowd goes wild. My teammates surround me, slamming into each other, arms out, creating a pile of shouting, excited men who embrace each other as we all realize what we just did.
We won the fucking Cup.
“We did it!” Griffin shouts, wrapping his arms around me. “We fucking did it, Bashy-cakes. Ho-ly shit!”
I return his smile, but my eyes go to the pink-haired woman in the seats behind him. The woman I’ve loved for half my life. The one I’d all but given up hope would ever be present for a moment like this.
