Chapter 30
Mason
I wasn’t in my body when the anthems were sung. I don’t think I even blinked.
The lights above the rink were brighter, the crowd rowdier. Every molecule in me was on high alert, like I could feel the air ripple and shift as players moved. Could hear the menacing flex in their muscles when the Florida Panthers took the blue line with us.
We’d never been this close, and had to play as if we would never be again. That was Coach’s advice before coming out here, and I held onto it with a death-grip. Jaw clenched tight enough to break bone.
They were just as wired, which made the ask all the more daunting. They’d fought hard all series, and played fast and brutal. Nothing rattled a Panther, it seemed, and tonight, they came out the gates even faster.
“Head down, eyes up,” were Grayson’s last words before the puck dropped.
That advice didn’t help much in the face of the Panthers’ relentless assault. They scored within seconds, and left us reeling on the counter, which I fumbled. Their defense was suffocating, and their goalie was made of wall.
First shift, I took a hit so hard my lungs forgot what they were for.
Got up grinning, and that’s how I knew I was totally in this.
The crowd lost their shit whenever someone laid a body, and it happened often.
Grayson threw a check that sent a guy flying into the boards.
Tucker took a high stick to the chin and just kept on skating.
We were banged up, bruised, and flat-out exhausted, but not one of us eased up. Running on adrenaline and pure stubbornness, we kept throwing ourselves at them.
Late in the second, we finally cracked the scoreboard when Grayson finished a power play.
The San Antonio fans lost their minds. It didn’t last, though.
I was still thinking about Cass blowing me a kiss on that assist when the Panthers came back.
They crushed our celebrations with a wraparound that snuck past our goalie’s skate.
I couldn’t help but wonder if Hunter would have blocked it.
Now we were down, 2–1.
Third period, and tension bled from the boards.
Every face in the crowd was drawn with either fear or canned elation, praying for that final buzzer to sound.
I just played. I barely heard the whistles anymore.
It was just my skates slicing ice, the thunder of full body impact, and the breathless determination of my team pushing through.
Then, with less than two minutes on the clock, a Panthers forward slipped past our D, deked left, and scored.
3–1.
The air got sucked out of the building, along with the collective voice of our fans. No one was chanting. No one dared breathe.
The Surge rallied with Grayson’s help, talking us up as we set for the next shift. Coach lost his voice in the box, screaming at us to, “Empty the tank!”
So we did.
We pulled the goalie with a minute left. One more chance. I was out there with Grayson, Tucker, and our top D pair. Forty-two seconds. We cycled the puck clean. Thirty-five. I saw the gap and took it. Grayson slid across the ice, and I let the one-timer rip.
It flew clean, hard, and perfect. I was planted on the spot, watching its trajectory with hope warming my chest.
And then it got blocked.
Painful groans fluttered through the crowd, with a few choice words of judgment flying at me like daggers. I ignored the fans, but knew I’d be seeing that defenseman’s shin pad in my nightmares.
The puck bounced off and time ran away with us. The horn blew. Panthers’ sticks, helmets, and gloves rained down around our exhausted team. We watched them mob their goalie, screaming and hugging, some of them crying.
It was over. We had gotten so far, but had come up just short.
Going down the handshake line hurt like hell. It always sucked to congratulate a win that wasn’t ours. This time especially so. We’d lost the Cup.
Back in the locker room, the mood was quiet and somber. Some of the guys slumped onto benches, Grayson just sat and stared at his hands. Our goalie probably took it the worst, especially with Hunter sitting next to him as the un-used backup, but I had nothing left in me for pep talks of any kind.
“You lost today, but you’re not losers,” Coach said as he came to stand in front of us. “You fought like champions, every one of you. And I’m damn proud of you all.”
No one moved, and he kept going.
“The Panthers didn’t win tonight because they’re better,” he said. “They won because they were luckier when it mattered most. But we’re not done.”
Somewhere across the room, someone sniffed. Shawn let out a heavy exhale, head down.
Then Grayson stood up and said, “Next year.”
“Next year,” Tucker echoed, coming to stand beside him.
Then we were all on our feet, bumping fists and hyping each other up. No fire lost, just redirected.
The door cracked open, and I turned just as Cass stepped inside. She paused, like she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be here, but I was already moving.
I didn’t give a damn who saw.
I crossed the floor in three long strides and pulled her into my arms while she was about to commiserate our loss. Our mouths came together in heat and hunger so strong it loosened the ache in my chest. I could breathe again.
For weeks, I’d been skating on a knife’s edge through pressure, the spotlight, and the unbearable weight of expectation. But with Cass, there was none of that. No noise, or doubt. She was my solid ground. The only thing that felt certain in a game full of rebounds and ricochets.
Losing the Cup hurt. But losing her? That would’ve destroyed me.
So I kissed her like I knew it. Like every breath left in me belonged to her.
Wolf whistles and hollers broke out, and there was even some light applause. But Cass didn’t pull away. She kissed me back like we had something to prove and all the time in the world to do it. She gave my hair a slight tug and I groaned into her mouth.
“Okay, okay,” someone called out, laughing. “Get a room.”
I broke the kiss, grinning wide. “I’m about to. Everyone out.”
A few guys snorted, and some applauded again, pointing us toward the showers.
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.” I looked around and waved the guys out. “Showers are closed. Hit the bar. Go cry into your beers, or whatever. Just go.”
Tucker was the first to make a move, and grabbed his duffel. “Respect,” he said to me on his way out.
“Don’t take too long, lover boy.” Grayson clapped me on the shoulder.
But Hunter followed close behind, shaking his head vehemently. “No, long is exactly what you want to take. Keep the woman happy.”
Cass turned bright red, laughing as one by one, the guys threw comments at us as they left.
Soon enough, the locker room was empty. Except for Coach, who came ambling out of his office.
He lingered just long enough to look at us, his expression softening in a way I hadn’t seen before.
Cass stiffened beside me, but her dad nodded at her.
“You’re good for him,” he said. “I figured it out weeks ago, but kept my mouth shut because I needed his head in the game.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t make me regret it,” he said, then gave us a rare smile. “Lock up when you’re finished.”
The door clicked shut, and I turned to Cass. The beginnings of tears misted up her eyes and her cheeks still burned red.
“Did that just happen?”
I didn’t give her more time to process, and swept her into another kiss. Rougher, more purposeful. The tension that had built all day, all series, dissolved to nothing.
“Up for a shower?” I murmured against her lips.
“With you? Always.”
We stumbled toward the stalls in a flurry of clumsy kisses and groping, pulling off random items of clothing, knocking into a bench, a wall, each other. Water jetted out, and steam curled around us.
I didn’t care that we lost. I didn’t care that the Cup was still out of reach.
Because she was with me. Mine.
And I was hers.