The blues glisten, looking darker than usual in the dimmed lighting, but not dark enough that I don’t notice the smirk tipping up his lips, stretching into a full smile. He stops walking once he gets in front of me, turning his head.
Slowly, he lifts his fist between us, and I reach up, bumping it with mine as I shout over the roaring arena, “You’ve got this.”
He nods sharply. “Thanks, baby.”
My heart skips a beat as he walks forward to the back of the line. He barely takes a full step, and I can already feel Andy’s eyes burning into the side of my face. He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he bumps his hip into mine gently, and I’m sure if it wasn’t for the music, I’d hear him squeal again.
Alec Kostelecky is announced first for our team, the Nighthawks beloved captain, who would give the jersey off of his back for someone in need. An athlete who is fair and kind, deserving of all of the success.
Cam Costello, one of the strongest forwards in the league, is a survivor. Not many have been through the hell he and Morgan have. But they’ve come out the other side, stronger than ever.
Reed Larinski, a monster defenseman on the ice and a golden retriever off of it. He cherishes his wife and time with his family more than anything in the world.
Brett Burns, a playful puppy dog off the ice, is one of the fastest skaters and highest scorers in the NHL. He’s dating Coach Hartwell’s daughter, and last I heard, they’re engaged.
Jensen Donnelley, Reed’s defensive partner, already has a clear path to the Hall of Fame with the way he’s playing, especially after coming off of an injury last season. He’s a major factor in our winning. He’s also engaged to one of the team’s physical therapists, and they’re a major power couple.
And finally … Matt MacArthur, the starting goalie for the Nighthawks, who would rather make everyone else smile and laugh than to have the attention on himself. He is the oldest ofthe starting group, and while he isolates himself a lot, he’s just as important to the guys as everyone else.
He plays hard, loves harder, and is passionate about leaving nothing on the table. These last couple of months, he’s had the highest highs and the lowest lows, but he gets up every day and faces the unknown all the same, carrying the weight of the world on his broad shoulders.
After the opening ceremonies, the lights turn on, and I swear my skin starts to hum, my heart rate spiking before the puck is even dropped at the center of the ice.
This is it. This game could make history.
I can’t tell if my body is vibrating from my own excitement or from the energy in the arena because I didn’t even know it was possible for it to getthisloud. It’s a sold-out game, which I’m not surprised by, but seeing the fan base in full force is a whole other ball game.
Matt finishes carving up his crease before tapping his stick against each post—a tradition for most goalies. It might look like they’re the ones stopping every shot, but the goalposts also play a major role in defense. Sometimes, they make the most important saves.
The linesman’s arm in the air at the center dot draws my focus to the guys setting up, with Reed taking the face-off against Owen Knox.
Here we go.
I swear time slows as the linesman opens his hand and releases the puck. Reed and Owen fight for it, but Reed wins, dishing it between his legs to Alec. The outcome never comes down to a single face-off, but every single one counts.
Alec leads the puck into the zone, Brett entering not a second later across the way. They pass the blue line, setting it up to run a play. The Wild’s defense is tight though, and if their passes aren’t perfect, the Wild will take advantage.
“Hey, Shay,” Andy murmurs.
I can’t look at him right now. I can barely stay on my feet. I’m so anxious. “What?”
He gently squeezes my shoulder, my arms now crossed against my chest. “Take a breath for me.”
I inhale, and my lungs burn. I cough. God, was I holding my breath? What the hell?
“Thanks,” I murmur, watching the Wild entering their zone.
Matt is locked and ready, and the Wild make a great attempt to score. One of their forwards flicks his wrist, the puck soaring through the players and pinging off of the crossbar.
Matt’s view was completely blocked by one of their defensemen, and if that shot had been an inch lower, they would’ve scored. That was a close one.
I’m sure he’s mentally stressed about that, but sometimes, there’s not much we can do when the offense is flawless, nothing without a small miracle.
After a strategic line change, we take another couple unsuccessful shots in our zone. A couple looked promising, but the goalie’s locked in. Alec fires toward the net, and the puck bounces off his blocker. Cam gets the rebound, quickly firing it back toward the goalie’s shoulder, but he stretches upward, taking the shot off the shoulder.
Chaos ensues as their goalie dives for the puck. My heart rate spikes, and Andy winces beside me. Glancing down, I find his arm in the iron grasp of my hand, the tips of my fingers stark white.
“Oh, sorry.” I rip my hand away and turn back to the game.
