That’s what I needed to focus on. At least if I did well enough, I had a hope of being traded to a team that wasn’t the bottom dweller of the league.
I needed to cut all ties with Cara and Roe.
I jumped at the bang on my door.
“Hux,” Hewitt called. “Breakfast in five.”
“I’ll meet you there,” I yelled.
“No, you’re with us,” Gauthier called out. “Open the door so we aren’t shouting through it.”
“Gimme a minute. I’m naked in here.” I sighed. Neither one of them would let me wallow, but that was probably a good thing.
***
Skating out onto the ice in front of thousands of screaming fans would never get old. The excitement in the air was worthy of a Stanley Cup game—it didn’t matter that it didn’t count toward our standing. It was electric. The roar of the crowd was louder than the music thumping through the speakers. I looked around the stands, taking it all in.
Cara was right there in the front row at centre ice. I couldn’t help the grin that split my lips, and when she beamed at me, I tipped my head in acknowledgement, tamping down the surge of adrenaline that made me want to beat my chest like a giant silverback gorilla.
Certainty settled in my gut. Like the pieces falling into place, I knew that tonight’s game was going to be something to remember. Seeing Cara and Roe was like a shot of adrenaline, a boost to my system.
Except that I couldn’t see Roe. The seats on either side of Cara were full—she was sandwiched between two women, not our sexy silver fox.
Urgh, so much for cutting ties.
I shifted my weight from skate to skate and ran my fingers along the tape wrapped around my stick. The chill of the ice burned my lungs when I breathed it in—the scent of frozen ozone so familiar that it grounded me. I’d grown up on the ice. I’d had all my greatest moments in a hockey rink. It was where I belonged.
The crowds went nuts as the music died down, and the woman who would be singing the Australian national anthem was introduced. She walked out onto the red carpet laid across the ice and waited for the music to start. As the first notes played through the speakers, she sang. Her voice was incredible, but I blocked it out. I took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly, zeroing in my focus. I mapped out the game in my head. I imagined the plays—the passes, the interceptions—and the goals. I was as superstitious as any hockey player. Routine was everything. But I couldn’t let a different anthem being played trip me up.
Coach had walked us through strategy before we’d hit the ice for our warmup—play fast, clean passes, strong defence, and watch our backs. Losing Mironov put us at a disadvantage despite it being a welcome relief for me. Minns was paired with Cohen, but they didn’t work together as well as he and Mironov did.
The Kings would also be out for blood—the last time we’d gone up against them, we’d won in a shutout.
Another singer was introduced, and the crowd went wild again. He sang “The Star-Spangled Banner,” and I relaxed, letting the words wash over me. I closed my eyes and tipped my head up to the domed roof of the arena. I got into the zone, blocking out every distraction. I zeroed in on the ice, the puck, my teammates, and the net. I soaked in the words and shook my arms out when the roar of the crowd pierced my ears again.
This—hockey, the game, the love of it—was everything to me.
The puck dropped.
We were on.
Gauthier shot forward and swiped the puck away.
He fired it straight to Hewitt.
A quick pass to Minns.
He shot it back to Hewitt as he cleared the Kings’ defenders. I darted in and out, distracting the Kings and making a nuisance of myself. But it worked. I distracted one of the Kings’ defence and it opened Gauthier up.
Hewitt didn’t hesitate. He slapped the puck to Gauthier.
He deked and fired straight at the net.
The puck shot between the goalie’s legs. The lamp lit up.
The buzzer sounded. We’d done it. Less than thirty seconds on the clock and we were on the board.
Our goal song thumped through the arena, and I piled onto Gauthier, hugging him hard.
