19 - Aiden
Aiden
My skates cut across the red line and I lifted my stick, calling for it.
Grayson sent the pass before the Dallas defense closed the lane.
Flat. Right on my blade. I pulled it in, turned my hips, and drove between their center and the left defenseman.
The arena carried that low roar that lives under the ice during a home game.
Thousands of people breathing as one collective superfan.
Five years riding the bench taught me patience, but tonight patience had no use.
A Dallas stick jabbed at the puck. I shifted it to my backhand and sent it wide to Landon along the boards. He caught it with one hand, shoulder into their defender, then chipped it back toward the slot.
I’d already circled behind the net.
Grayson read it before anyone else did. He drifted high into the right circle, waiting. I fed it up the wall. One touch from him sent it back through the middle.
Landon drove the crease.
The goalie dropped.
My stick caught the puck clean and I fired. It rang iron and kicked out to the corner.
Grayson slapped the glass with his glove as we looped past each other on the backcheck. “That’s it. Keep pushing.”
The Stars tried to answer with a rush through center. Their winger carried speed, head down, hoping to split Tucker and Cash. But Tucker angled him wide while Cash stepped into the lane and lifted his stick. Perfect timing. The puck slid loose toward the boards.
I grabbed it and turned up ice.
Grayson matched my stride through the neutral zone. Landon cut across the far blue line, dragging a defender with him. That opened a narrow lane through the middle, and I sent it through the seam.
Two huge strides from Grayson, and he ripped a shot before their defense had a breath to reset. Good shot, but the goalie kicked it aside.
Landon circled behind the net and dug it free again.
The bench erupted behind us.
“Again,” Grayson called.
We cycled, adrenaline pushing us to do as our captain said.
Dallas tried to clear, but Cash pinched down and kept it alive. The puck skittered along the boards. I corralled it and snapped a quick pass toward the crease.
Grayson redirected, and this one beat the goalie clean.
The horn ripped through the arena and he skated past with his fist raised while the crowd surged to its feet. He pointed his stick toward me as he looped back.
“Nice feed.”
I tapped his shin pad.
The bench opened and the guys poured over the boards to celebrate. Gloves thumped against helmets as we rolled through the line.
Years of watching from the sidelines, and tonight the game felt different under my skates. Faster. Clearer. Mostly it was me. I felt different in the game.
Coach clapped my shoulder as I stepped onto the bench. “You’re looking alive out there, kid. Stay on them.”
I nodded and grabbed a quick swig from my water bottle.
The Stars pushed back halfway through the period. Their top line pinned us in our zone for a long shift. Grayson dropped low to help Tucker clear the crease while I covered the slot. The puck bounced between sticks before Cash finally shoveled it off the boards and out.
Landon and I streaked up the side.
“Middle,” he called.
I sent it across and followed the play into their zone.
Landon circled the defenseman and fired a pass across the front of the net. It skipped past a Dallas stick and hit my tape. One quick move. The goalie slid across, and I snapped the shot high glove.
The net jumped, and the arena followed right after.
Landon barreled into me first, arms wrapping around my shoulders before Grayson crashed into both of us.
“First line suits you,” Landon said against my helmet.
I laughed and shoved him away.
The rest of the period blurred into fast shifts and heavy forechecks. Dallas clawed one back near the end when a rebound slipped past Hunter during a scramble in the crease. Hunter slammed his stick against the post while the Stars celebrated.
He skated toward our bench during the reset. “Time to pull it back.”
Grayson nodded once. “Already on it.”
The horn ended the period and we headed down the tunnel with the score sitting at two to one.
The locker room buzzed with that tight energy that built up during a game that was still wide open. Grayson leaned forward on the bench while the coaches ran through adjustments on the whiteboard.
“Keep the pressure on their defense,” he said, looking straight at me and Landon. “They can’t handle the pace.”
Second period started with Dallas pressing hard.
Their center tried to control the middle of the ice, but Grayson cut off his lane while I chased the puck behind their net.
Landon swooped in along the boards and stole it clean.
He fired a pass through traffic that clipped my skate before sliding to Grayson.
He didn’t waste any time, and drove a bullet down the right side of the net.
The goalie stopped it but the rebound kicked straight to Landon waiting at the edge of the crease. He took the opportunity, and buried it.
The scoreboard flipped to three to one.
Landon skated backward with both hands raised while the crowd thundered behind him. Totally in his element as he soaked in the adoration of the fans.
“You’re welcome,” he said when we circled up.
The Stars came back swinging after that. Their defense joined the rush more often, forcing Tucker and Cash to stay tight in front of Hunter. One drive turned into a heavy collision along the boards that rattled the glass.
Cash shoveled the puck free, and I picked it up, charging up ice with Grayson pacing the left side. Their defense stepped up at the blue line, but our captain deftly cut inside. I slipped the puck through the narrow gap between their sticks and he blasted past them.
The shot cracked off the goalie’s pad and bounced wide. The disappointed groan from the crowd reverberated over the ice.
Grayson circled back and slapped the boards. “Thought that was in.”
“Next one,” I said.
Midway through the period, Dallas scored again during a scramble in front of the crease. Hunter got a piece of the first shot but the rebound slipped under his pad before anyone cleared it.
Three to two.
The arena went quiet, then Dallas fans found their voice.
The next shift turned into our best sequence of the night. Landon chased down a loose puck behind the Dallas net and flicked it up the boards. I caught it and pivoted toward the slot while their defenders scrambled.
Grayson glided into open ice, and I found him easily, feeding the puck as easy as a hot knife slicing through butter. His stick snapped through the shot and the puck blasted past the goalie before he set his feet.
The horn shook the rafters again.
Grayson turned toward me as the red light flashed behind the net. “That’s two.”
“Pick a number and we’ll make it happen.” I bumped his glove.
The period carried on with both teams trading rushes and hard shifts. Tucker blocked a heavy slapshot near the end and limped back to the bench while Cash held the line long enough for us to clear. When the horn finally ended the period the scoreboard showed four to two.
I skated toward the tunnel with Grayson beside me and Landon just ahead.
Grayson nudged my shoulder with his glove. “Keep that up in the third and they won’t touch us.”
The crowd stayed loud as we disappeared down the hallway, the ice still buzzing under my legs and the game waiting for the last twenty minutes.
In the locker room, the heat of the game came with us when we pushed through the doors. Jerseys peeled halfway off. Tape got tugged loose from wrists. The floor around the lockers turned into a scatter of gloves and water bottles. But nobody sat for long.
Energy rolled through the room in quiet bursts.
Guys shifting gear, sticks tapping through conversation.
Hunter leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs while the trainer checked the edge on one of his skates.
Cash stood a few lockers down working fresh tape around his blade, pulling it tight with quick snaps of his wrist. And me in the middle of it all, not quite believing this was happening.
Four to two. Twenty minutes left.
Coach stepped in and the room settled without anyone calling for it. His tie hung loose, shirt sleeves shoved up his forearms. He planted himself in the middle of the room and scanned over us, taking in every face.
“That’s the kind of hockey we’ve been chasing all season.” He wasn’t yelling like he usually did, and this calmer, firmer tone felt more serious somehow.
“You’re moving the puck. You’re trusting each other,” Coach went on. “That’s why they can’t get comfortable out there, and that’s exactly what we want.” He pointed toward the hallway that led back to the ice. “Dallas came in here expecting to walk over us. Now they’re scrambling every shift.”
Landon leaned back on the bench beside me, helmet resting against his thigh.
“Coach,” he said, dragging a hand through sweat-soaked hair, “it’s not like this is the playoffs. We’ve got it covered.”
A few guys snorted, but Coach didn’t even blink.
“The road to the playoffs starts in October,” he said, voice steady. “You want to play in April? Then nights like this is when it starts.” He stepped closer, the room tightening around his words. “You think those guys out there are treating this like another regular season game?”
Nobody answered.
“Didn’t think so.” He jabbed a stubby finger at the Surge crest stitched across his chest. “You lost Mason and everyone outside this room wrote the ending for you. Said we were done. Said this season went with him.”
The silence thickened, and Coach nodded toward the hallway again.
“Look at the ice out there. Those fans came in tonight wondering if we still had a fight left in us. Now they’re on their feet.”
My pulse drummed in my ears. Either I was about to pass out, or his locker room speech was actually having an effect on me.