Page 129 of Hard to Handle

Our legs are tired. Our chests burn from breathing so hard.

We need to stay focused.

No more missed passes. No more checks turning into fights.

We need to focus.

We have to win.

I have to win.

Pass after pass we move down the ice. Withers to me. Me to Heffner. Heffner back to me.

A glance at the clock.

Time’s wasting.

We need to score.

There is no sound.

There is no crowd.

There is no pressure.

It’s me and the goalie.

It’s the puck and the net.

It’s Jonah beside me, pushing me to make this shot.

Daring me to prove that I can.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

DEKKER

“TEN. NINE. EIGHT.”

The Jacks fans in the crowd begin the countdown to the buzzer.

“Seven. Six. Five.”

To them winning their first Stanley Cup.

“Four. Three. Two.”

To twenty men a childhood dream is about to come true.

“One.”

The arena erupts into chaos.

The men on the ice even more so as they pile on top of each other in an ecstatic frenzy.

Frozen in excitement, I stand in the midlevel seats in the arena with both hands covering my mouth in a state of shock myself.

They did it.