19 - Aiden #2
“You’ve got twenty minutes to show them that belief wasn’t misplaced,” he said. “You don’t protect a lead by sitting back. You bury them. Every shift. Every battle. You make them feel it until the horn ends this thing.”
Landon lifted both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, the speech worked. You were right, Coach.”
A few chuckles broke the tension, but as expected, Coach barely cracked a smile.
“Save the comedy routine for after the win.”
Landon saluted with his water bottle.
“Let’s finish it.” Grayson clapped his hands sharply, and it got us all in motion. The locker room buzzed as guys started pulling helmets on and tightening chin straps.
Grayson nudged my arm, and I turned to find him holding his phone low between us. “You might want to see this.”
The screen lit up with a flood of posts flying past faster than I could read them.
Clips from the current game already cut together.
My goal replayed from three different angles, Grayson’s pass across the slot, the shot beating the goalie clean.
Another video showed the second goal from ice level, the crowd erupting while Landon crashed into me after.
My name sat under every clip. I’d never been a hashtag before. It was surreal. I scrolled once and stopped. One post had thousands of comments piling up under it.
The Surge’s secret weapon, they called me.
Another showed a meme of Mason’s jersey hanging in the locker room beside a caption about the team finding new life. Yet another looped Grayson’s goal with a caption about his partnership with the ‘new’ center.
Grayson tapped the screen. “That one’s already past half a million views.”
“This game isn’t even over.” My stomach twisted with an unfamiliar feeling..
“That’s the point,” he said, sliding the phone back into his bag. “Fans thought the season went down with Mason’s injury, and you just gave them something to hope for.”
Across the room Tucker slapped a fresh roll of tape into his locker and grinned toward us. “Guess they missed the backup plan.”
Two periods on the first line and suddenly the whole arena believed again. Because of me, apparently.
The room started to rise around us. Sticks lifted, and helmets snapped into place. Guys headed for the tunnel in a steady stream, the noise of the arena filtering down the hallway, swelling with every step closer to the ice.
Twenty minutes left.
Third period started with Dallas pressing hard, desperate to pull the game back within reach. That lasted about forty seconds.
Grayson intercepted a pass in the neutral zone and turned up ice with me pacing the middle lane.
Landon streaked down the right side, one hand on his stick while he tapped the blade against the ice to call for it.
He caught it in stride, and stepped over the blue line with a defender angling in front of him.
Most players would’ve dumped it deep or fired a safe shot from the boards.
But most players weren’t Landon fucking Cross.
He slid the puck between his skates, hopped over a reaching stick, and kicked it forward again in one smooth motion before settling it back onto his blade.
The defenseman twisted around trying to recover position while Landon carried the puck behind the net.
Instead of circling out the other side, he banked it off the back boards to himself, and burst toward the crease.
The goalie dropped.
Landon flicked the puck high, just under the bar.
The net snapped, and it sent the crowd into outer space.
He coasted toward the corner thumping his chest, while the red light strobed behind him.
I caught up first and slammed into his shoulder. “What the hell was that?”
“Creative expression.” He flashed a wicked grin.
Grayson arrived a second later and wrapped an arm around both of us before steering us toward the bench. “Landon’s gonna give me a heart attack before we make playoffs.”
The scoreboard rolled five to two. Dallas looked stunned.
The next few shifts turned into a siege.
Every time they tried to push through center ice, Tucker and Cash shoved them wide. Hunter swallowed the few shots that reached him, batting rebounds into the corners before their forwards could reach them.
When we jumped over the boards again, the building buzzed with anticipation.
Grayson snagged a loose puck near our blue line and sent it forward. “Go!”
I drove through the neutral zone while Landon cut behind me, dragging a defender out of the lane. Two Dallas players closed in before I even reached the circles. The first lifted my stick, and the second drove into my shoulder. The puck slipped loose.
That was my cue to chase it down along the boards, jam my body between them, and from there I kicked it forward with my skate while their sticks clawed at it. I shoved the puck ahead and followed it into the crease.
The goalie dropped again, pad sliding across the ice to block the angle.
I reached past him, stretched my stick along the ice, and forced the puck through the gap before a defenseman hauled me backward.
The goal light flashed. The roar from the stands rolled down over the ice.
I lay there for a beat while Grayson grabbed my arm and hauled me upright.
“Hell of a fight,” he said.
Tucker crashed into us so hard it shoved my helmet sideways. “That’s what I like to call a dirty goal.”
“Still counts,” I said.
Six to two.
Dallas tried to rally after that, throwing everything forward. Their defense pinched deeper in the zone, looking for a break that never came. Hunter turned aside a heavy shot from the left circle and kicked the rebound wide. Cash cleared the puck off the glass.
From there, it was easy. I picked it up near center ice with a defenseman racing toward me. The crowd had started something by then.
“Santos! Santos!” The chant echoed through the arena while I crossed the blue line.
Grayson flanked me on the left side. Landon darted toward the net.
The defense collapsed toward him. My nerves were shot, listening to the chanting but not able to process it.
I pulled the puck across my body and slipped past the first stick.
The second defender slammed into me as I drove toward the crease.
The puck popped loose again. I lunged forward, reaching around his skates while the goalie sprawled across the goal line. My stick found it. I shoved it under his arm and into the net.
The horn blasted. Again.
“Santos! Santos! Santos!”
Grayson grabbed me around the shoulders while the other guys skated circles around us with their sticks raised high above their heads.
Seven to two.
The final minutes bled away with the whole arena still chanting my name. When the horn ended the game, the ice turned into a blur of gloves slapping helmets and sticks banging against the boards. When we skated toward the tunnel, the crowd still roared above us.
Inside the locker room the noise continued. Tucker crashed into me first, chest against mine, then he grabbed the back of my helmet.
“Three goals,” he said. “You hiding that all these years?”
Cash nudged my shoulder as he passed. “Guy turns into a machine the second he gets first line.”
“Next time warn us you’re about to break the internet.” Landon said, swinging his phone around so everyone could see the screen.
I dropped onto the bench and pulled my helmet off while the room erupted around me. Gear flew everywhere, and the guys stomped a rhythm with their skates on worn out rubber.
It was more than I’d been expecting. More than my wildest dreams could’ve conjured up.
“Relax,” I said, raising my voice over the noise. “It’s not like it’s the playoffs or anything.”
A few guys laughed.
“Maybe not,” Grayson said, wiping his face with a towel. “But after tonight, we’re still in the running to lift that cup.”
The room quieted for half a second before the cheers kicked up again.
Tucker started peeling off his jersey. “So which bar are we hitting?”
“Something loud,” Landon said. “Tonight deserves it.”
Cash pointed at me. “Guest of honor decides.”
“Not tonight.” I grabbed my bag from under the bench.
Groans rolled across the room.
“Don’t tell me you’re skipping this,” Tucker said.
“No kidnapping either,” I warned, fixing them with a stern look. “I didn’t put up much of a fight last time, but tonight I will.”
Landon threw his hands up. “Come on. You need to celebrate.”
“Didn’t you know maximum absorption happens when there’s a beer and hot girls involved?” Tucker said.
I zipped my bag and swung it over my shoulder. “I didn’t say there wasn’t gonna be a hot girl involved.”
Wolf whistles exploded as I left the locker room, their laughter and stupid comments following me out.
“Go get her, tiger!”
“Don’t pull a hamstring!”