7 - Aiden #2
Next shift, Seattle tried to answer with a rush of their own. Their winger carried through center and made to thread a pass across the slot. I anticipated it, stepped into the lane, and intercepted.
“Turn!” someone from our bench yelled.
I moved up ice with Grayson flanking me. Two defenders closed in. I faked a shot, dragged the puck across, and slipped it back to Grayson along the boards. He cut toward the net and shot from an angle so tight it made me wince. The rebound kicked out into the crease.
“Santos!”
Whether the cry came from God or Coach, my body reacted the same. I was the closest to the rebound, scrambled after the puck, and poked it home before the goalie could smother it.
11 to 1.
The crowd responded with a roar so loud it shook the glass.
From the bench, one of our forwards called out, “That’s it, Santos. You’re on fire.”
Coach stood near the end of the boards, arms folded, watching the matchup develop. “Keep the puck moving, but don’t force it.”
Seattle tried to match our pace, but something wasn’t working out for them tonight. Missed passes, lackluster defense, and way too much space for us to take over in the center.
Grayson took advantage. He carried wide, then cut back to hand it off to me at the top of the circle. I saw the lane open before it fully formed, and shot low through a screen. The puck deflected off a defender’s skate and changed direction enough to beat the goalie.
12 to 1.
“Nice read.” Grayson didn’t make too big a deal of it and I played it cool.
Inside I was jumping up and down over my second goal of the night, and my captain’s acknowledgement.
We cycled through another shift without letting up. I won a faceoff clean in the offensive zone, drawing it back to Seth. He passed across to Grayson, who sent it back to me in motion. I faked a drive, then threaded a pass to the weak side where our sub winger had slipped behind coverage.
He buried it.
13 to 1.
The bench reacted with loud taps against the boards. Even the scratches were on their feet. It looked like I’d formed my own partnership with Grayson, and it was working.
Seattle called a timeout. Their coach spoke into the huddle, but the scoreline was heavy on their shoulders.
When play resumed, their energy shifted. They played tighter, blocking lanes and forcing dumps. I adjusted, keeping my feet moving and staying available in the middle of the ice. Grayson and I started anticipating each other without needing words.
He carried in, cut toward the boards, and sent a no-look pass to my stick as I crossed the slot. I redirected it immediately to the point. Seth shot through traffic. Goal.
14 to 1.
I looked up while circling back toward center ice. Rows of fans in team colors, hands in the air, phones raised.
And then I saw her.
Sage sat a few sections up from the glass, not directly behind the net, but slightly off to the side. She wasn’t losing her voice like the rest of the crowd, but her eyes were fixed on the ice. Where people shifted in waves around her, she remained still, focused on play.
My grip on the stick tightened as I glided through the neutral zone. If I’d known she were here—
“Eyes up!” Grayson crossed in front of me.
I snapped back to the puck, remembering there was a game going on. Seattle had possession along the boards, and I closed in, pressured their center, then forced a hurried pass that went wide. Our winger recovered it and sent it up to me.
The shift in tempo was felt inside my skates. I carried the puck deeper, drew the defense toward me, then slipped it across to Grayson. Nice and easy.
He didn’t hesitate. One stride, one shot.
Goal.
15 to 1.
As we skated past the bench, Coach pointed toward me. “Keep reading it. Good spacing.”
Grayson leaned in as we rotated back. “Good work tonight, Santos.”
I nodded, but my eyes drifted again toward the stands. Sage was still there. She hadn’t looked away.
Seattle won the next faceoff and tried to push back, but our transition game smothered it. I intercepted a cross-ice pass and immediately fed Grayson at the blue line.
He drove toward the net while I circled to support. Grayson didn’t need it though, and shot from the wing to slip the puck through the goalie’s five hole.
16 to 1.
The arena noise climbed again.
I skated toward center ice for the next draw, breathing steady, legs responding without hesitation. Grayson lined up beside me, stick on the ice.
“Let’s keep it rolling,” he said. “Think we can make it to a hundred before they call it?”
“Least we can do is try.”
The puck came back to our side after the faceoff. I collected it and started the cycle again, moving it to the point, then cutting through the middle to open a lane.
From the bench, Tucker shouted, “That’s how you do it!”
Grayson tapped his stick against the boards as we passed. “Keep pushing.”
I did.
And every time I drove the middle or set up a pass for him, I felt the pace sharpen, the partnership settling into place, until the only thing in the building that mattered was the next play.
*
The arena doors were still spilling the last of the crowd when I stepped outside, bag slung over my shoulder and adrenaline still sitting in my stride. The night air carried the sound of engines turning over and people arguing about overtime, but I noticed her immediately.
Sage stood near my truck, hands in the pockets of her faded jeans, leather jacket swinging open.
“I thought you don’t like hockey,” I said as I drew up to her.
“I don’t.” She stepped aside enough to let me toss my gym bag into the passenger seat. “Just wanted to see you be invisible, like you said.”
“And?”
She shrugged. “I still don’t like hockey.”
“Touche,” I said, laughing softly. “But you still came tonight, which I’ll take as a compliment.”
“I wouldn’t suggest that. Not just yet, anyway.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “What are you up to?”
“I figured out how you’re going to pay me.”
“Pay you?” I asked. “I thought my payment was settled at the exhibition.”
Her mouth twitched, but she didn’t take the bait. “Do you want to know what it is or not?”
The nerve of this woman. But I wasn’t going to let her have it this easy. “You have some nerve extorting me over something that isn’t even finished.”
She laughed at that, head tipping back slightly, and the sound cut through the leftover arena noise still drifting across the lot. The brightness of it hit somewhere low in my chest and settled there.
“Technically,” she said, stepping closer, “it’s supposed to be unfinished. Have you looked it up yet? The tattoo?”
I hadn’t.
I’d thought about it. About the lines she’d inked into my skin and the space she’d left open on purpose. But I hadn’t gone searching for the meaning. After I’d left Purple Rose that night, it didn’t feel necessary.
“No,” I said. “I figured I’d let the artist explain her masterpiece.”
“Hardly a masterpiece.”
“Right. It’s a work in progress I’m apparently still paying for.”
She bumped her shoulder lightly against my arm as she passed me, heading toward the far end of the lot. “Come on.”
I fell in step beside her, spotting a dark gray Nissan under one of the lights, clean but unremarkable. Sensible, practical, and the opposite of the trucks and sports cars scattered around it.
“That’s you?” I asked, trying to hold back laughter and judgment at the same time.
She stopped beside the driver’s door and stared at me. “I’m not a pro athlete, Aiden. I have to work within my humble budget.”
I walked around the front of the car, dragging my fingers over the hood as I went. “Well, if you start charging your clients actual money for your work, maybe you’ll afford something a little better.”
“Shut up and get in,” she huffed, but a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.
I laughed and opened the passenger door, sliding into the seat. The interior smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and whatever coffee she’d had earlier. There were sketchbooks stacked in the back, one corner poking out from under a canvas tote.
She got in, shut the door, and started the engine. The dashboard lit up in a soft glow that caught the edge of her profile.
I averted my eyes and swallowed as I fastened my seatbelt. And avoided looking right at her. “Do I get to know where you’re kidnapping me to?”
“No,” she said, then shifted into reverse and pulled out.