Oh, baby.
That scoreboard won’t be the only thing lighting up tonight.
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
Thomas
Okay.
I’m not saying this is the best game of my life, but like… itmightbe the best game of my life.
Everything clicks. Everything hums. The puck feels like it’s magnetized to my stick. My legs burn, but it’s the kind of fire that makes you feel invincible.
Every breath tastes like victory. The fans are on their feet, the noise crashing over us like a wave of pure chaos and love.
From the opening face-off, we’re on. Rowan’s in the net, laser focused, jaw clenched, tracking every move like a predator.
Bruno and I are flying down the ice with the kind of telepathy we haven’t felt in weeks. We don’t even have to call plays, we justknow.
I slip between two defenders like I’m skating on instinct, pass to Bruno, who fakes left, then fires right… and boom.
Goal.
The horn screams. The arena erupts. I nearly blow out my vocal cords shouting as I launch myself into Bruno, and we collide midair like two idiots in a beer commercial.
Rowan lifts his glove, gives us one of those tight nods from the crease. That small tilt of his head that sayskeep going. That we’ve got this.
And for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel like hope.
It feels like fact.
By the end of the first period, we’re up 3-0. The bench is buzzing. Helmets clink. Gloves slap. Coach actually smiles, briefly, and mutters something about “goddamn finally.”
I lean over the boards, chest heaving, eyes locked on the scoreboard. My heart’s doing double time, but it’s not panic. It’s drive.
Then the second period starts.
And everything shifts.
It doesn’t happen all at once. It’s not a car crash… it’s a tide.
Slow. Rising. Relentless.
At first, it’s little things. Missed passes. Loose puck battles. Stick checks that used to land clean now slide past.
We’re still skating hard, but they’re skating harder. We’re playing smart, but they’re playing like their lives depend on it.
Maybe they do.
They score once, on a power play we never should’ve given them. One of their wingers rockets down the side, finds an opening, and fires low glove side.
Rowan gets a piece of it, but the puck skitters just under the pad and into the back of the net.
The buzzer goes.
The crowd goes tight.
Still 3-1. We’ve got this. Shake it off. Reset.
