Chapter Eleven
A llison's footsteps echoed in the concrete tunnel leading to the Charm City Chill locker room. The familiar weight of her grandfather's puck sat in her purse, but for once, she wasn't thinking about luck or superstition. She was thinking about the way Kane's eyes lit up when he smiled, how his hand felt in hers, the quiet moments between the chaos of hockey and neighbors and expectations.
The security guard recognized her now, giving her a knowing wink as she passed. Music thumped from behind the locker room door—pre-game warmup playlist, heavy on bass and energy. She knocked.
Kane opened the door, already in his base layers but not yet fully geared up. His face broke into that crooked smile that made her heart stumble. "Hey you."
"Hey yourself." She stepped inside, suddenly shy despite everything they'd shared. "I brought—"
"I don't care about the puck." He pulled her into a quiet corner behind the equipment racks, his hands settling on her waist. "I care that you're here."
The locker room should have smelled like hockey gear and rubber mats, but all she could smell was Kane's cologne and the mint of his pre-game gum. "The team—"
"Can wait." His lips found hers, soft but insistent. She melted into him, fingers curling in his practice jersey. He tasted like victory and possibility and everything she'd been afraid to want.
A wolf whistle shattered the moment.
"Get it, Captain," Dmitri's voice carried through the room. "Is better than lucky puck."
They broke apart to find the team filing in, equipment bags over shoulders and knowing grins on faces. Kane's ears were red, but he kept one arm around her waist.
"The puck witch graces us." Dmitri executed a dramatic bow. "And brings magic."
"I’m not...” Allison started, but Oliver cut her off.
"You brought it, right? We're playing Boston. We need all the luck we can get."
"I—yes, but—"
"What is going on in here?" Coach Vicky's voice cut through the chatter. She stood in the doorway, auburn hair pulled back severely, forest green blazer impeccable. Her eyes narrowed at Allison. "No unauthorized personnel in the locker room before games. You know better, Kane."
"Sorry, Coach." Kane squeezed Allison's hand. "We were just—"
"Saying goodbye." Allison extracted herself from his embrace. "Good luck today."
"Out," Coach Vicky ordered.
The familiar trek to the friends and family seats felt different today. Final game with the puck. Final time dealing with superstitions and expectations. Time to be just Allison and Kane, without the weight of luck and legacy between them. She’d tell him later. She’d go to the games, but the puck would stay home.
Pauline was already in their usual spot, phone in hand. "You're late! Did you bring—"
"This is the last time," Allison announced, sliding into her seat. "I'm retiring the puck after today."
Pauline's thumbs froze mid-text. "What? No. You can't. We're one win away from clinching the division for the first time in franchise history."
Allison's phone buzzed as Pauline's message hit the group chat. The responses were immediate:
Mrs. Peterson: NO!! My lucky hats need the puck's energy! I'll knit you an entire winter wardrobe!
Mr. Chen: It’s bad luck not to see it through to the end of the season.
Jenny: OMG NO!! We need playoff luck!
Martinez Family: Abuela says she'll teach you her secret empanada recipe! Don't take away the magic!
That last one almost had her reconsidering.
"I don't want to be the puck girl anymore," Allison explained, silencing her phone. "I want to be Kane's girlfriend. Just that. No luck, no superstitions, no pressure."
Pauline's expression softened. "You really care about him, don't you?"
Enough to stop letting Jesse's ghost control my happiness, she thought. The admission felt like freedom. "Kane's different. What we have is real, with or without lucky pucks."
The first two periods were a blur of fast hockey and faster scoring. The Chill led 3-1 at intermission, Kane with two assists and the team looking sharp. Allison was just thinking how perfect everything was when the announcement came.
"Please welcome NHL rookie Jesse Matthews, who'll be demonstrating shooting techniques with our pee-wee hockey program."
The bottom dropped out of Allison's stomach. Jesse skated out in Boston's navy and gold, carrying himself like he owned the ice. She hadn't known he'd be here. Hadn't prepared herself. She hoped one of the six-year-olds speared him when he wasn’t looking.
Movement near Boston’s bench caught her eye. Marcus was leaning close to a woman with perfectly styled dark hair and expensive clothes. Vanessa. The social media manager who'd stolen Jesse's heart—and Allison's self-esteem—with a few well-timed posts and strategic camera angles.
Vanessa looked up, scanning the crowd. Their eyes met.
Allison's hand closed around the puck in her purse. Two years ago, this moment would have destroyed her. Would have sent her running from another arena, another city, another chance at happiness.
Not anymore.
She pulled out the puck, held it up so Vanessa could see, and pressed a deliberate kiss to its surface. Let them think it was for luck. She knew the truth—it was goodbye to the past, to insecurity, to letting other people's choices define her story. To heck with it. She was going to bring the puck to all the Chill’s games. In fact, she just might donate it to the team. She’d have to ask her grandfather first, though.
Shove that up your Instagram, Vanessa. #bitch.
The Chill dominated the final period. Kane was everywhere, setting up plays, creating chances, leading his team with the confidence of a captain who believed in something bigger than luck. When the final horn sounded on their 6-1 victory, Allison cheered with pure joy, no weight of superstition holding her back.
Kane's apartment was already full of celebrating teammates and neighbors when they arrived. Mrs. Peterson had made lucky knitted hats for everyone. Mr. Chen was leading a heated debate about the best viewing spots in the arena for maximum luck. Oliver was filming everything for his channel.
"Hey." Kane pulled her into a quiet corner of his kitchen. "You okay? That couldn't have been easy, seeing them."
"Actually," She smiled up at him.. "I'm perfect. You're not Jesse. I'm not who I was then. And this—" she gestured between them, "is so much better than luck."
His answering kiss tasted like victory and promise and forever.
Until a familiar voice cut through the party noise.
"Well, well. If it isn't Michael Warrant's granddaughter herself."
They turned to find Jesse and Vanessa in the doorway, Marcus hovering awkwardly behind them. Jesse's smile was razor-sharp. "Heard you've been sharing your grandfather's legacy. Any chance you'd spread some of that luck around? For old times' sake?"
Kane tensed beside her, but Allison just smiled. She'd already let go of the past. The puck was in her purse, but her future was right here, holding her hand.
"Sorry, that’s Charm City Chill business," she said, not sorry at all. "But I hear Mrs. Peterson knits excellent lucky hats. You should ask her about her rates."
Jesse's smile faltered. Vanessa's perfect eyebrows drew together in confusion. But Allison didn't care. She was too busy falling in love with the way Kane was looking at her—like she was magic all on her own, no puck required.
The party swirled around them, full of victory and friendship and possibilities. And afterwards, when she and Kane went back to her apartment, they made their own kind of magic.
One that had nothing to do with luck at all.