Chapter 44
I lace up my skates for the final time this season. The weight of Game Seven settles in my chest. The locker room buzzes with nervous energy, and each of my teammates is lost in their own rituals. I grab my stick, feeling the familiar grip that has seen me through countless battles. Stepping onto the ice, I tap my stick exactly 96 times, a number that has become my silent mantra. The sound echoes in my ears, a steady rhythm that grounds me. The crowd roars, a wall of noise that fuels my adrenaline. With one last primal roar, I join my team, ready to leave everything on the ice.
The puck drops, and immediately, the game is a blur of motion. I center my focus to block out the madness on the ice and keep my eye trained on the puck. The roar of the crowd fades into the background, replaced by the sharp sounds of skates cutting ice and sticks clashing. From my vantage at the net, I watch as my boys battle fiercely on the ice. They weave through the Reaper’s defense with a desperate energy, their coordination nearly flawless. Oren, with his deft maneuvers and sharp instincts, passes the puck to Ford, who powers forward, taking the shot. The puck slices toward the goal, a blur of potential victory, but it ricochets off the post with a resounding clang, denying us the early lead. The missed shot on goal sucks but it just means that I have to work even harder to defend our net. We are in this together, every save, every miss, pushing us closer to glory or defeat.
The first period is a whirlwind of near misses and close calls, each moment sharpening my focus. As the horn sounds, we skate off the ice, hearts pounding, ready to regroup and come back stronger. We hit the ice for the second period after a swift kick in the ass from Coach Wilder with renewed determination, but the score is still locked at zero. The intensity ratchets up a notch. All of us, regardless of which team we are on, dig deep. Knowing what’s at stake, I ignore the frustration lingering on the edge of my focus.
With the Reapers pressing hard to break the deadlock, each rush toward my net is a heart-stopping moment. But I am dialed in, distractions no longer tolerated. The first crucial save comes from a deceptive wrist shot from the Reaper’s left wing, the puck darting through a forest of legs. I drop my stance, pads flush against the ice, and I feel the contact of the puck against my blocker. Barely a few minutes later, a breakaway puts me one-on-one with their star forward, the one and only who had my girl in his jersey on national television. I channel the anger that bubbles up inside me toward defending the crease.
He attempts a slick fake out to my right, but I anticipate his move, stretching my leg pad out to smother the puck under my body. As the clock runs out on the period, they manage a powerful slap shot from the blue line. I see it late, the crowd's roar nearly drowning out the sound of the puck whipping through the air, but I throw myself across my domain, glove outstretched, and catch it just beneath the crossbar. The buzzer sounds, and I exhale; every save was a statement. Not tonight, not on my watch , and because of that, the scoreboard still sits at 0 to 0. My jersey is damp with sweat but not defeat.
The third period begins with each play a potential game-changer. We hit the ice to put everything on the line. Early on, Vlad breaks through with a tricky play, darting past a defenseman to flick the puck over their goalie's shoulder. The crowd's roar is still ringing in my ears when Ford capitalizes on New Jersey’s distraction, intercepting a sloppy pass and hammering a low shot into the back of the net, doubling our lead within minutes. With two goals on the board, the game shifts; it becomes about defense, about preserving the lead.
The Reapers throw everything they have at us, their desperation clear as they pull their goalie in the dying minutes for an extra attacker. The game play tilts toward my net, attempt after attempt coming as they seek to crack our armor. But the boys and I hold firm, our fortitude as solid as the ice beneath our skates. Each save is met with louder cheers from the Red Wolves fans in the stands, every second feeling like an eternity. The moment the final buzzer sounds, signaling our victory in Game Seven and securing the Stanley Cup, time seems to stop. The deafening roar of the crowd, the flashing lights, the overwhelming emotions—all of it hits me like a tidal wave. We did it. The Red Wolves are champions, and my lifelong dream has been achieved.
I am mobbed by my teammates, our collective happiness spilling over as we hug, scream, and cry. The ice is a blur of chaos and celebration. Cameras follow our every move, capturing the raw, unfiltered look at our triumph. My eyes find Ziggy on the edge of the rink. She is in her element, microphone in hand, capturing every moment with a professional grace that never ceases to amaze me. Her smile is infectious, reflecting the faith she has in this team, yet there is a focus in her eyes that speaks to her dedication. Watching her weave through players and officials to get her interviews, her laughter mingling with the celebratory shouts, fills me with a profound sense of pride. The woman I have fallen for, shining in this role, her passion for her work as clear as my own on the ice. The smile plastered on my face for the win only grows bigger as my heart swells with love, A thought that I would probably have fixated on more, if this wasn’t hands down the best day of my life to date. She turns briefly, catching my gaze and winking, before diving back into her reporting.
As I hoist the Stanley Cup, the sheer weight of it is nothing compared to the burden we all carried to get to this moment. The silver gleams under the arena lights, a collection of all the blood, sweat, and unforgiving drive that defined our season. The crowd roars, a sea of cheers that resonates deep in my chest. I take a moment, letting the energy wash over me, engraving this memory where it will never fade. Then, with the biggest smile stretching from ear to ear, I hand the Cup to Ford, whose eyes mirror the same fierce pride as mine. He takes the trophy with honor, lifting it as the cheers double. We are more than a team; these men on the ice with me are my brothers. The ones I've fought alongside to prove to the world that we are at the top of our game and that this win is more than deserved. As the Cup passes from player to player, each face tells a story of sacrifices and triumph, and I stand there among my boys, overwhelmed with gratitude.
The jubilation from the ceremony bleeds over into the locker room. Champagne sprays everywhere, soaking us as we act a fucking fool, without a care in the world, reveling in our victory. I feel bad for the poor soul who has to clean up after our mess. The media clamors for their chance at us, everyone wanting a piece of the story. I start answering questions, posing for pictures, and embracing even the aspects of hockey I dislike the most. Truly soaking in every moment. This moment is what I have dreamed of since I was a kid—the pinnacle of my career.
Before getting fully caught up in the postgame interviews, I pull out my phone to text the one person I need to talk to the most.
: We did it.
Won the Cup.
: And you look
super hot today.
I hit send and wait, the seconds stretching into an eternity. When her reply comes, my heart skips a beat.
Ziggy: Be serious! !
Congrats, Elliot!
Ziggy: You deserve
this. I’ll see you in
the press room.
I tuck my phone away with a smile and get showered and head off to the press room for the biggest interview of my life.
Standing there with Ford and Coach Wilder, Ziggy starts the interview, her excitement mirroring ours.
“Elliot, Ford, Coach Wilder, congratulations on the big win tonight! This is a first for each of you. Elliot, let’s start with you. How does it feel to close out the season with such a monumental victory?”
I take a deep breath, trying to put the wide array of feelings and experiences into words. “Thanks, Ziggy. It’s surreal, honestly. This game, this series, it tested us in every way possible. To come out on top, especially in a Game Seven, is just incredible. We played our hearts out, and it’s an amazing feeling to see all that hard work pay off.”
Ziggy then turns to Ford. “Captain, what do you think was the key to your team’s success tonight?”
Ford smiles, his eyes reflecting the pride we all feel. “I think it was our resilience. We never gave up, no matter the situation. We stuck to our game plan, supported each other, and played as a cohesive unit. Everyone contributed, and that’s what made the difference.”
Next up is Coach Wilder, sharing thoughts on the victory. “I couldn’t be prouder of these guys. They showed tremendous character and heart. We faced a lot of challenges this season, but the way we came together tonight exemplifies what this team is all about. It’s been a privilege to coach them.”
Finally, Ziggy looks at me with a hint of finality.
“Elliot, this could be the last time I get to ask you an on-air question. Anything you want to say to the fans and your teammates?”
I feel a lump in my throat as I answer. “Ziggy, it’s been an honor. To the fans, your support has meant the world to us. You were our extra player on the ice tonight. To my teammates, thank you for every moment, every goal, and every triumph. This win belongs to all of us. Here’s to one unforgettable season.”
We head out to celebrate with our fans, the streets alive with our victory. The cheers are deafening, the air thick with excitement as we parade through the city, basking in the adoration. But as the hour gets later, the initial euphoria begins to fade, and a strange emptiness creeps in. I am celebrated as a hero and hailed for my performance, and yet something feels off. The cheers and accolades leave behind a hollow space inside me that all the praise in the world can’t seem to fill. A feeling lingers, telling me that maybe I still haven’t found what truly matters.
As I stand here, drink in hand, the experience suddenly feels different. I look around at my teammates; at their faces lit up with joy, and I feel a pang of longing. This is the moment I have dreamed of for so long, but it isn’t as fulfilling as I had imagined. The celebration and the triumph all seem hollow without someone to share it with on a deeper level. The celebration with my teammates is incredible, but as the adrenaline fades, I realize how empty achieving my dream feels when I experience it alone. Winning the Cup is supposed to be the highlight of my career…
The party continues around me, but my thoughts are on Ziggy. When she finally arrives, slipping into the bar with a quiet smile, everything feels right again.
She walks over to me, her eyes shining with pride and something deeper. I pull her into a tight hug, feeling the tension and uncertainty melt away. “I needed you here,” I whisper into her hair.
“I’m here,” she replies softly. “And I’m so proud of you.”
But it isn’t just her presence that brings me comfort. It's the warmth that radiates from her eyes. As I look into them, I see a reflection of my own accomplishments in her unwavering belief in me. I’ve never had someone believe in me so completely, to support me in such a way. I've spent my career on my own, never settling down, which in the moment was what I wanted, but now… Now, everything feels different.
I keep her locked in my embrace as long as I can, drawing comfort from holding her close. Time seems to lose all meaning as we stand there, united in the chaos one last time. Nothing else matters. In her arms, I find strength, love, and the courage to keep going. As we stand here, my tension and uncertainty melts away.
A piece of my sense of self now belongs to another person, but instead of feeling like a piece of me is missing, I feel more complete. My achievements are now hers and hers are also mine. Our connection has become one that I know will alter my life forever, I just wish it wasn’t going to hurt so much come tomorrow.