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Foster was quiet. He’d already changed into his base layer and was sitting in his stall, staring at nothing, his captain’s C visible on the jersey hanging beside him. I understood the silence. Some things were too big for words.

Drew was retaping his stick for the third time, which he only did when he was in his head. He’d been emotional all week about tonight—not because it was his last game, but because it was ours and he knew without us, the team dynamics would change. Liam sat next to him, his leg bouncing, as he talked to Drew in a voice too low for me to catch the words.

Coach came in for the pregame talk but kept it short. He wasn’t the type for speeches, and he knew this team well enough to know that tonight the motivation didn’t need to come from him. I was relieved to know he’d be staying on to coach. Foster had recruited him our sophomore year after Drew and Liam recommended him because he’d been their coach back in Meadowbrook when they were kids. He’d become like a father figure to all of us and had definitely made our team stronger.

“We’ll have the senior ceremony before puck drop. After that, let’s go out there and play one last game of hockey.” His gaze slid around the room, landing on each senior. “Enjoy tonight, guys. You’ve earned it. We wouldn’t have gotten this far without you all. Thank you for playing with your hearts and always giving it your all.”

We filed out of the locker room and lined up in the tunnel with all the seniors in front. Each senior would get announced and skate out to center ice to be met by the people who mattered most.

Foster went first. His name echoed through the arena and the crowd erupted. Abby and Mason were waiting for him at center ice. Abby was bundled in his jersey, and her smile widened as he skated toward her. Pride and tears filled her eyes, and when he reached her, they wrapped their arms around each other, and he kissed her forehead while the announcer listed his stats and the crowd cheered.

From beside me in the tunnel, Drew whistled and the guys around him joined in, cheering on their captain. The whole team was lined up behind me, sticks tapping the ground in a steady rhythm that built as the announcer transitioned.

The rest of the seniors followed until it was finally my turn.

“Number thirty-two—your starting goalie—Harrison Gordon.”

The arena roared. I pushed off and glided through the tunnel, the cold air hitting my face as the lights opened up above me. The stands were packed with people waving signs.

And at center ice, three people were waiting for me.

Sam stood on the right, her blonde hair spilling over my jersey—the one I’d had dreams of her wearing. Next to her was Viv, impeccably dressed as always and with her chin lifted and that famous Gordon composure firmly in place. Except her eyes were bright and her mouth was pressed into a line that I recognized as the face she made when she was trying very hard not to cry. And beside her was Pop, his gaze filled with pride.

My parents weren’t here, but that didn’t surprise me. They hadn’t talked to me since I’d taken Viv’s side. But I didn’t need them here.

I already had all the family I needed in this arena.

And it felt like the hugest honor to stand with the woman I loved, the sister who’d chosen her own path the same way I was choosing mine, and the grandfather who taught me what real love and hard work looked like.

Sam grabbed the front of my jersey and pulled me down for a kiss that the crowd whistled at. Viv squeezed my arm once—the Gordon version of an embrace—and I covered her hand with my glove and held it there for a second longer than she expected. Her composure cracked just enough for a tear to slip through.

“I’m proud of you, little brother,” she said, just loud enough for me to hear.

“I’m proud of you too,” I said back.

Pop squeezed my shoulder and smiled. “I’m damn proud of you both. You’re exactly the kind of people I want carrying on the Gordon name.”

The announcer read my stats and I memorized this moment—the cold, the lights, the noise, the three people flanking me who represented the life I was building on my own terms. I would hold this memory close to my heart for a long time. It was an ending, but a beginning too.

Then it was time to play.

Montana State came to fight and we’d expected no less. They’d been our biggest rivals since we’d brought the CFU team back to life.

Within the first two shifts, they’d pressured our breakouts and forced turnovers in the neutral zone. They’d clearly game-planned to control tempo, and early on, it was working. We couldn’t get clean zone entries, and our top line was spending more time defending than cycling.

Their first real chance came when a turnover at our blue line gave their winger a clean look from the slot. He had a quick release, and he fired it low to my blocker side. I kicked my right pad out and deflected it to the corner, but the rebound was loose and their center was crashing hard. I scrambled back to my post and got my glove down just in time to smother the second chance.

My heart rate spiked.

This was going to be a battle.

Drew carried the puck behind their net with that deceptive speed he had—people underestimated how fast he was because he made it look effortless—and waited for the defense to commit before feeding Liam at the back door. Liam wound up for the one-timer but pulled it back at the last second, drawing the goalie down, then roofed a wrist shot over his shoulder. The arena shook.

1-0.

Montana State answered four minutes later when a cross-ice pass that our defenseman couldn’t intercept found their sniper on my glove side. He didn’t hesitate, ripping a wrister top corner over my glove before I could get there. It was a perfect shot. Sometimes you did everything right and the puck still went in. That was the cruelty of the position.

I reset. Tapped both posts and took a breath.