My eyes flicked to the clock as it ticked down. Three minutes left. I wouldn’t survive another overtime period. My heart was beating out of my chest as it was, and I could only imagine how tired the players were. Maybe that was a good thing—if they got tired, they got sloppy and made mistakes.
Almost as if I willed it into existence, Jaxon was upended by a stick hitting him in the shins.
I held my breath. It was a blatant penalty, but referees were often reluctant to make a call in games like this for fear of deciding the outcome. Scanning the officials, I saw one with his arm held high, signaling the tripping penalty.
With just over two minutes on the clock, the power play for the Comets would stretch almost to the end of this first overtime. If they could cash in and score, the game would be over and they would emerge victorious. If they didn’t, then they went back to the locker room to prepare for another period. We wouldn’t be leaving this building until someone put the puck in the back of the net.
Relieved that we had an advantage, movement caught my eye on the ice. Cal was mocking Maddox as he headed to the box, giving him a little wave as if to say “bye-bye.”
I groaned. Now wasnotthe time for Cal’s cocky bullshit.
Normally it was hot, but right now, it was asking for trouble. Was he trying to bring on bad karma? Dread settled deep in my belly. Pissing off the other team in a high-stakes game could light a fire in their belly. With our luck, we could just as easily see a short-handed goal by the Speed instead of one for the Comets on the man advantage.
Cal gathered the four other players out with him on the top power-play unit close, and I watched as each man nodded in agreement with whatever he said before lining up for the puck to drop.
Jaxon won it back to Cal, who skirted the length of the blue line. Each second felt like an hour.
“Shoot it, shoot it, shoot it,” I chanted under my breath.
If there was ever a time to believe in telekinesis, it was now. Cal pulled his stick back high for a strong slapshot, but it hit the goalie’s glove hand and dropped to the ice by his skates.
There was a massive pileup of bodies in front of the net. Comets players were trying to chip it into the net while Speed players tried to slap it away. I half rose from my seat in nervous anticipation of who would win the net-front battle.
My hopes were dashed when the puck squirted free and slid along the boards back toward the blue line. Thankfully, Cal wasthere to stop it. If the puck cleared the blue line into the neutral zone, the entire team would have to pull back to avoid the play being called offside. Regrouping like that would cost us at least twenty seconds we couldn’t afford to waste.
With the puck resting on Cal’s stick, a positional shift happened, and I realized what he was doing. Jaxon skated back to cover at defense as Cal skated toward the goal.
“Oh no,” I whispered.
This wasexactlywhat I’d chastised him for the first time we met. Jaxon was a skilled player, but he didn’t come close to the line of defense Cal provided. If he took a shot and missed, this could very easily come the other way and cost us the game.
Clearly, I hadn’t drilled it deeply enough through his thick skull and would need to hammer it home again.
Lightning quick, Cal shot the puck, and it hurtled toward the net. I couldn’t see even an inch of open space from where I sat. But miraculously, somehow, that puck popped the back of the netting, and every person in the arena was up on their feet, screaming their heads off in an instant.
Natalie jumped up at my side, Charlie still dead asleep in her arms despite the noise and sudden movement. Placing a hand on her shoulder, I took deep breaths, suddenly lightheaded.
“Holy shit,” I breathed out. “I can’t believe he did it.”
Cal’s face filled the big screen, and I found myself smiling at the unbridled joy reflected there. The blond scruff on his face from his playoff beard gave him a rugged look, and I couldn’t wait to fuck his brains out tonight.
He was so damn lucky that activating and taking on an offensive role in that moment had worked. He’d earned himself a stay of execution long enough to enjoy the victory, but tomorrow, he would get a piece of my mind about his risky play at such a crucial time.
Watching on as the Comets bench cleared and the team raced toward the hero of the game—my man—to celebrate, a flash of white moved through the sea of navy blue. Saint Booker for the Speed, who was a known hothead, came flying through to cross-check Cal square in the back, sending him off balance and into the boards.
It was a cheap shot, but he had nothing left to lose.
Cal’s body hit the unyielding boards, and I winced, knowing he would be feeling that tomorrow. Fighting broke out on the ice, and I said to Natalie, “He’s gonna be so pissed when he gets up. Booker will be lucky if he doesn’t leave in a body bag.”
Nodding in agreement, she shifted Charlie’s dead weight into a more comfortable position. I was gearing up to offer to take her off Natalie’s hands when her lips turned down in a frown. “What’s Jaxon doing?”
“Huh?” I turned my head back at the ice.
The refs were trying desperately to separate the massive fight breaking out between the teams, but my eyes honed in on a panicked Jaxon, waving his arms frantically next to an unmoving Cal.
My legs gave out as a hush fell over the crowd.
Get up, baby. Please, get up.
