35. Jaymie
Jaymie
The first round of playoffs hit like a goddamn freight train.
Two games away then two at home, that's all I had to focus on besides the game itself.
Everything was louder. Sharper. The boards felt harder, the ice faster, and every second was its own war.
The Tennessee Thunder came in swinging. But so did we.
From the first shift, I could feel it—how locked in we were. Me, Connor, Logan, Darren. Every line w as clicking, every zone entry smooth. We hunted the puck like it owed us money.
Midway through the first period of Game One, I caught a rebound off the boards and fed it straight to Connor, who was already skating into the high slot like he’d read my mind. He one-timed it low glove side.
Back of the net.
The roar was instant, deafening. Our bench exploded. I skated into the huddle, gloves slapping helmets, and Connor yelling, “Let’s go!”
We didn’t let up.
By the end of the second period, I’d picked up two assists and a greasy wraparound goal that snuck under the goalie’s pad by pure stubbornness. Logan and Darren were animals on the forecheck. We swarmed them in the neutral zone, forced turnovers, suffocated every rush.
Final score: 4–1.
We walked off the ice grinning, bruised, and already hungry for more.
Mallory texted me right after the game ended.
Mal Baby
You looked hot scoring that goal. Just saying.
I smiled so hard I didn’t even care that I still had sweat running down my neck or that my lower back was screaming.
You saying I should score more often?
I’m saying you should bring that cocky grin home.
Home. Jesus.
She’d started saying it casually—back home, when you’re home, waiting for you at home—but every time it hit me in the sternum. Like maybe this wasn’t temporary. Like maybe we’d built something real in the middle of all this chaos.
Game Two was a different beast. The Thunder adjusted. Got faster. Dirtier. They wanted the cup just as badly as we did. I took a blindside hit five minutes into the first that left me seeing stars and chewing on the inside of my cheek just to stay grounded.
Logan helped me up, eyes scanning my face. “You good?”
“Better when we bury these assholes,” I muttered.
He grinned. “That’s my guy.”
It took overtime to close it. Darren buried a rocket after I drew two defenders wide and dished it off just before the goalie cut the angle. The puck hit twine and the crowd lost its mind.
The locker room was chaos—sweaty hugs, towels whipping, Logan blaring his “playoff magic” playlist which was, as usual, terrible.
But even in the middle of all that noise, I pulled out my phone.
Miss you.
She replied fast.
Mal Baby
Miss you more. Be safe. Don’t get cocky.
Safe flight home
God, I wanted to be home with her. Feet tangled on the couch. Her head on my shoulder, belly snug against my side. That quiet, domestic kind of peace we never talked about but had somehow slipped into like a second skin.
We were going straight into game three once we got off the plane, if 10 minutes could have been excused to sneak away to her I would have tried.
The guys could tell I was pissed off I couldn't go home quick.
But once we hit the arena all jokes left the building and we put our game faces back on.
Just 60 minutes of gameplay stood between me and seeing my girl for the first time in four days.
Con nor scored short-handed in the first. Logan fought their top defenseman after a dirty hit on Darren. I picked up a goal in the second—stole a pass off the blue line, skated it in, faked the backhand and flipped it top shelf.
The puck hit the net with a clean snap.
That sound. That rush.
I lived for it.
Chasing the puck. Chasing the goal. Chasing the Cup.
But lately, it was more than that.
It wasn’t just about chasing the game anymore. It was chasing her—chasing what it felt like to be hers.
I loved this. The game. The grind. The blood and sweat and bruises. I loved chasing the goal.
But even as we swept the Thunder, three games to none, and the guys hooted and hollered around me like we’d already won the damn Cup… my head was somewhere else.
Up two floors.
In my apartment.
With a woman wearing my hoodie and carrying the best thing I never knew I wanted.
I closed my eyes for a second as the team swarmed Logan for his game-ending block.