Chapter Thirty-Four
FINN
The first shot of the national championship goes in.
Sixteen seconds.
Mountain Tech wins the opening faceoff, enters the zone, and releases from outside the circle. The puck touches Theo’s stick, changes direction, and slides beneath my glove.
Red light.
The arena erupts in red.
For one second, the entire season returns: first goal against Eastlake, public cameras, leaving the quarterfinal, the puck to my mask in the semifinal.
Then I see the puck in the net.
A puck. Not evidence.
Theo skates behind me.
“What do you need?”
“Next shot.”
Truth.
Stoneharbor ties the game four minutes later. Jace scores from the slot and points at Ellis on the bench instead of celebrating alone.
The first period becomes chaos. Mountain Tech shoots from everywhere. I stop fourteen after the opening goal.
At intermission, Maeve checks symptoms.
“Zero,” I say.
“Panic?”
“Two.”
“Need?”
“Normal room.”
She nods and leaves me with the team.
Coach draws adjustments. Theo argues for a lower breakout. Jace eats half a banana and drops the other half inside his glove.
Normal.
Second period, Mountain Tech scores on a power play.
Stoneharbor answers through Theo.
Two–two.
With eight minutes left, a collision behind the net shakes the glass. The sound cuts through me.
My breath catches.
Feet.
Blades. Crowd. Theo shouting the reverse.
I play the puck.
The wave passes before the next whistle.
No one knows except me.
That is not hiding.
Some victories are private because privacy is allowed.
Third period.
No goals.
Overtime in a national championship is a strange kind of silence wrapped in noise. Every shot could become history. Every save only creates another moment to survive.
At twelve minutes, I stop a one-timer with my shoulder.
At nineteen, Ellis leans over the bench and shouts, “Watch low blocker!”
He has seen the pattern from outside.
The next shot goes low blocker.
I stop it.
At twenty-four, Jace hits the post.
At thirty-two, Mountain Tech gets a breakaway.
Their captain approaches with speed, puck extended. I know his move from video: forehand fake, pull backhand, lift.
He changes it.
Shoots five-hole early.
I close the pads.
Save.
Rebound rolls toward the corner.
Theo reaches it and sends the puck up ice.
Jace crosses center with Rowan screaming from the Stoneharbor section. He enters wide, pulls the defenseman, and passes back to Theo.
Our captain does not shoot.
He sends it across the crease to a first-year named Malik Grant, who has played eleven minutes all tournament.
Malik’s stick meets the puck.
Goal.
For half a second, no one moves.
Then the bench empties.
I skate the length of the ice while gloves and sticks scatter. Malik disappears beneath the team. Theo reaches him. Jace tackles both.
Ellis catches me at the blue line.
“We won,” he says, voice breaking.
“We won.”
He hugs me.
The team pulls us into the pile.
Sound becomes pressure, heat, joy.
My alarm system searches for threat and finds teammates.
I stay.
During the trophy presentation, the announcer calls Theo first. He lifts the championship cup, then passes it to Ellis.
Ellis passes it to me.
The metal is heavier than expected.
I raise it.
The arena becomes light.
I look toward my parents. Mom is crying with both feet planted. Dad has one arm around her.
Mara stands beside them in silver boots.
I do not skate toward her until the official team photographs are complete. I do not turn the championship into a relationship performance.
Then I cross the ice.
She meets me at the glass door.
“You stayed,” she says.
“So did you.”
I remove the medal from my neck and place it over hers.
Mara touches it. “This is yours.”
“I know.”
Not a debt. Not ownership. Sharing.
She rises onto her toes and kisses me.
The crowd cheers because privacy has limits in a national arena.
When we separate, she says, “For the record, Malik scored the winning goal.”
“I know.”
“You are not going to become unbearable?”
“I allowed one goal on the first shot.”
“There he is.”
I laugh.
Mara’s eyes widen.
“Dimples,” she says.
I kiss her before she can announce them to the building.
Behind us, Theo and Rowan argue over who gets the cup first at the shared-athletics celebration.
Jace shouts that he is licensed to officiate penguin weddings.
Ellis wears the championship cap backward and refuses to remove it.
The future remains uncertain.
Tonight, uncertainty can wait outside.