Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
The locker room was buzzing with pre-game energy, and I soaked it in like oxygen. Conference championships. This was as far as we could go in club hockey, and every single one of us had left everything on the ice this season to get here.
“You good, Monty?” Foster asked, sitting down beside Drew. Our captain looked calm as always, but his jaw was tight with tension. This game meant everything to him too.
“Yeah,” Drew said, but his hands were shaking slightly. “Just thinking about last time.”
I pulled my jersey over my head. “Last time’s over,” I called from across the room. “Tonight’s a clean slate.”
Coach Maxwell stepped into the center of the room, and the chatter died instantly.
“Gentlemen,” he said, his voice carrying that quiet authority that made everyone listen.
“You’ve earned this. Every practice, every drill, and every game this season has led to this moment.
MSU is tough, but we’re tougher. We’re faster. And we want it more.”
He looked around the room, making eye contact with each of us. “Leave everything on the ice. No regrets, no what-ifs. Just sixty minutes of the best hockey you’ve ever played.”
The guys started banging their sticks on the floor, the sound building until it was thunderous. Foster stood up, his captain’s voice cutting through the noise.
“On three,” he shouted. “Conference champs! One, two, three—”
“CONFERENCE CHAMPS!”
We filed out of the locker room, the energy pulsing through our ranks like electricity. As we hit the tunnel leading to the ice, the roar from the crowd started building, and by the time we skated out, it was fucking deafening.
The arena was packed—a sea of Clark Fork maroon and Montana State navy battling for dominance in the stands.
I took a lap around the rink, feeling my muscles loosen and my mind sharpen.
But even as I focused on my edges, on the feel of the ice beneath my blades, my gaze kept drifting around the crowd.
Ava was here. She came to as many games as possible and there was no way in hell she’d miss this one.
Don’t look.
I focused on the drill and took a shot on Gordy. The puck sailed wide.
Don’t fucking look.
I circled back to try again and that’s when I looked.
She was sitting about halfway up, wearing a maroon CFU hoodie with a black puffy vest over it, and her hair up in a ponytail.
My gut tightened.
Beside her sat Drew’s parents with Rory nestled against Mrs. Dumontier’s chest, wearing a tiny pair of baby ear protection headphones. Drew skated over to the glass and tapped it with his stick. His mom grinned and lifted Rory’s little hand, making her wave at him.
It was a perfect family portrait. The kind of scene I’d always told myself I’d never be part of.
But right now, all I could see was Ava.
I forced my gaze away and took another shot. This one hit the net.
When the puck dropped at the start of the game, I channeled everything—the guilt, the want, the fear—into the game. This was where I belonged. This was the one place where everything made sense.
Foster won the draw clean, sliding it back to Drew at the point. Drew surveyed the ice with that laser focus he got during games and found me already breaking up on the rush down the left side. The pass was crisp, right on my tape.
Their defenseman stepped up to challenge me, but I was already two moves ahead. I deked around him like he wasn’t even there and fired a wrist shot that rang off the crossbar.
Close. But it set the tone. We were here to play.
MSU came back hard, their top line cycling the puck in our zone with the precision that had made them conference leaders all season.
But Drew was a wall tonight—breaking up passes, clearing the puck, reading plays before they developed.
When their center tried to spring their winger on a breakaway, Drew was right there to break up the pass and clear it up the boards.
“That’s it, Monty!” Foster called as we lined up for the next face-off. “Stay locked in!”
The first period was back and forth, both teams feeling each other out. Drew was reading the plays perfectly, anticipating their moves before they made them. When their power play unit tried to set up in our zone, he disrupted their passing lanes and cleared the puck cleanly each time.
Every time I came off the ice, I had to consciously stop myself from looking at where Ava was sitting. I could feel her though, like a magnet pulling at my awareness.
Focus.
With two minutes left in the period, we got our chance. Foster carried the puck into their zone and dropped it back to Drew at the blue line. I positioned myself in front of their net, boxing out their defenseman. Drew saw me and fired a slap shot that I deflected past their goalie’s glove.
1-0, Lumberjacks.
The arena erupted. The guys slammed into me, screaming something I couldn’t hear over the crowd. I was grinning like an idiot, riding the high of the goal, when I made the mistake of looking up again.
Ava was on her feet, cheering with both arms raised above her head. Drew’s parents were standing too, his mom bouncing Rory gently. Even from the ice, I could see the pride on Ava’s face—pride for me—and something twisted in my chest.
I focused back on the game.
MSU tied it up early in the second period on a goal that deflected off Gordy’s pad and trickled in.
We regrouped at center ice for the face-off, the sting of that one still buzzing.
The goal lit them up—their bench was loud, their forecheck sharper—but we weathered the push.
Three minutes later, Foster buried a rebound off a beautiful passing play, and just like that, the momentum swung back our way.
Drew was playing the best hockey of his life.
Every pass was crisp; every defensive play was textbook perfect.
When their fastest winger tried to break free on a rush, Drew matched his speed stride for stride and poke-checked the puck away cleanly.
He’d finally gotten over his funk and just in time.
“Holy shit, Drew,” I called as I skated past him, unable to keep the grin off my face. “You’re playing like you’re possessed.”
“Just trying to keep up with you,” he shot back.
The third period was a fucking war. MSU came out flying, knowing this was their last chance. They peppered Gordy with everything they had, but our goalie was standing on his head, making saves that had no business being made.
With five minutes left, their coach called time-out, and I could see the desperation in their eyes when they came back out on the ice.
But we weren’t about to let them have this.
When the final buzzer sounded, the scoreboard read 3-2, Lumberjacks.
I skated toward Drew and threw my body at him, unable to contain myself. “We fucking won!”
The celebration was chaos—guys piling on top of each other, sticks flying through the air, fans screaming so loud I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. Drew was grinning like I’d never seen him grin before, and for a moment I let myself get swept up in it.
But through all of it—through the hugs and the screaming and the pure, unfiltered euphoria—I kept thinking of Ava.
I glanced her direction only to find Ava already looking right at me.
Our eyes met across the chaos.
She smiled—that big, bright smile that suddenly felt like it was just for me—and everyone else in the rink disappeared.
I couldn’t go to her. I couldn’t kiss her in front of everyone the way Foster was currently kissing his girlfriend, Abby. I couldn’t let anyone know that she was the reason I’d played so hard, the reason my blood was singing with something more than victory.
But I could hold her gaze for one more second. I could let myself feel this—whatever this was—before I had to lock it away again.
We’d won the championship and yet, the trophy wasn’t the best part of tonight.
The best part was the girl in the stands, smiling down at me like she was my own personal sun.