Chapter 50
50
RONAN
T onight’s our night. The second biggest night of the hockey season.
The night I never thought would be possible until just a few weeks ago.
The Saints are playing game seven of the conference finals. And so far, in this best-of-seven series, we are tied with the Dallas Mountaineers three to three after they knocked New York out of the running two days ago.
So, tonight is it.
Loser goes home.
Winner goes to the series finals.
I have a good feeling about this match. Like, a really good feeling. I woke up with it, and I’ve been riding this high all day long. I think we’re going to win this. It’s fate. We’ve come too far not to.
It’s been a tough matchup. The Mountaineers are playing rough and scrappy. But we’re holding them.
I know Rainbow is predicting that we’re going to lose this one. She didn’t tell me straight out, though. She’s too sweet to mess with an athlete’s mental space like that right before the match. But I could tell when I texted her earlier. She thinks we’re going to lose.
But Nicky encouraged me to believe in myself and in my talent instead of that psychic stuff today. So that’s what I’m choosing to do.
I’m going to trust my gut above all else.
And y’know what? Nicky trusts in me, too.
I have to say that even if we don’t win tonight, the Saints have far surpassed everyone’s expectations this season, especially for a first year expansion team. We’re the first team to lose as many games as we did in the beginning of the season to then turn it around and make it into the post-season playoffs.
It’s kind of embarrassing how bad we sucked in the beginning—but hell—we killed it the past couple months.
Everything changed when Nicky walked into my life.
Thanks to her, I’m a better player. A better leader. A better man.
And that’s exactly why I’m head over heels for her now.
My Peach. W armth rushes into my chest at the mere thought of her.
In any case, I’m proud of this team. I’m proud of our guys, and the way twenty-three strangers came together and grew into a unified team. If I think of it that way, what we accomplished this season has been pretty damn admirable.
And that’s exactly what I reminded the guys during my captain’s speech at half-time, when we’re down by one.
We’re now about to start the final period of the match. My eyes zero in on my favorite section of the jam-packed arena, narrowing in on Nicky in the crowd. Tonight, she’s with my family in the stands, watching the game. She’s wearing my jersey. She even has my number painted on her cheek.
She’s been so supportive during this whole playoff series, and tonight is no different.
Number seventeen looks damn good on her.I’d bet my last name would look good on her, too.
Head in the game, Brighton.
Seeing Nicky in my jersey only gives me a deeper drive. A heightened sense of motivation as the game resumes. I don’t know why, but the why doesn't even matter. Because whatever it is, it fucking works.
It’s after a clean pass from Parker and then a fastbreak up the ice that I see the opening I need. I fake a pass, throwing my opponents off my trail, and then I shoot.
The Mountaineers goalie scrambles and misses the puck. The biscuit glides into the net, giving us the point we need to tie the game.
The crowd goes wild, and I shake my stick in the air.
My eyes go back to Nicky. She’s screaming her little head off as she jumps around with my family. It’s a beautiful sight, but I only allow myself a fraction of a second to view it before getting my head back in the game.
There’s no time for celebrations yet. We’ve tied the game 2-2, but we’re not done yet. This game can’t end in a tie, which means that if neither team scores, we’re minutes away from an overtime from hell.
Our coach calls our only thirty-second time out, so we can regroup.
I skate toward our box, and I catch a quick glimpse of Nicky in the stands. She’s waving a homemade sign with my name. Her excitement is what gives me the encouragement to give it my all for the last ninety seconds of regulation.
We come out strong, and I put my all out there on the ice. But then, the goddamn Mountaineers slice the puck into the back of the net at the last possible second.
The Saints lose at the buzzer.
There’s no penalty. No video review. Nothing. The game is over.
I fall to my knees on the ice, defeated, while our opponents skate around, chanting in celebration.
Our season is over.We’re done.