Their goalie had his eyes on the puck, but we’d surprised him enough that he was a fraction of a second behind.
Hux took advantage of the millisecond we had and fired a bullet at the net, aiming straight for the gap the goalie was opening up as he moved back into position.
The puck sailed over his shoulder so close, it looked like it hit it. It slammed into the net.
The klaxon wailed, and I fist-bumped Hux.
“Well done,” I encouraged. “Let’s go, Seals,” I rallied with a shout.
We reset, and I held my breath, waiting for the puck drop. The linesman let go, and I reacted instantly, but I was a fraction of a second too slow. The Canucks’ center snatched it away and fired it to their forward.
Agosta was closest, shouldering their forward. He pushed him off his line and straight into the boards.
The puck spun away, and Hewitt was there to scoop it up.
I skated hard, pushing to get into position.
My focus narrowed.
Time slowed.
Hewitt shot to Cohen, and he wristed it to me. I tore down the ice, pushing hard. The puck was glued to my stick.
The Canucks’ defense was breathing down my neck, gaining on me.
I skated harder, pulling away from them again. I was three feet out from goal, and I shot it, the puck flying like a bullet low and tight under the goalie’s leg.
The buzzer sounded.
Music filled the stadium.
Our goal song thumped through the stands.
The home crowd—our crowd—screamed and whistled.
My eardrums vibrated with the noise.
We were narrowing the lead, and the crowd was loving it.
I breathed hard. My heart thundered in my chest. Steam rose up from under my pads with every move I made. Sweat dripped down my forehead under my helmet.
We were close. We could do this. If we could score two more and hold them off for the final twenty-odd minutes of the game, we’d bag another win.
***
We didn’t get the win. We were so close, though. The second period was ours, and the third was a messy scramble for the puck while both teams fought tooth and nail to score. We hadn’t been able to pull it off, but we’d kept the Canucks at three goals, too, so we were taking solace in that.
I hated losing, but I’d learned to move past it. I didn’t dwell on the losses or the wins. I needed to look forward, focus on our next game. So that’s what I did.
Now we were sitting around the firepit, enjoying one another’s company. It was such a contrast to the stadium. Quiet surrounded us, the far away hoot of an owl and crackling of the fire the only sounds.
I sipped the hot chocolate Carina had made for everyone after insisting she was freezing. I was sitting on the ground with a cushion under my ass and Rusty behind me, his arms and legs wrapped around me. We were wearing the same thing, both of us having thrown on sweats and tees when we’d arrived home. Carina sat in Travis’s lap, toasting marshmallows for them.
“What do you think of Charlie?” I asked as Carina leaned back and ran her hand over her belly. We hadn’t talked names, but I’d been pondering a few ideas.
“Who’s Charlie?” Rusty asked as he nuzzled my nape.
“Names for Peanut.”
