29 - Aiden
Aiden
The noise hit before I even stepped onto the ice.
This was it.
I tapped my stick twice on the boards before hopping over. Cold air bit at my lungs, sharp and clean, the kind that snapped everything into focus whether you were ready or not.
Grayson skated up beside me, visor down, jaw set. “You good?”
I nodded once. There was no room for anything else.
“Stay tight,” he said. “We play our game, our way, and we take this.”
The ref dropped the puck.
And it was war from the first second.
Colorado came out fast, no hesitation and definitely no filter. Their center won the draw clean, kicked it back to their defense, and they were already pushing through neutral ice before we could settle.
“Back! Back!” Cash shouted, pivoting hard.
I tracked the puck carrier, cut off his lane just as he tried to split between me and Landon. Shoulder to chest, I drove him off the puck, boards rattling on impact. It jarred up my arm, but I stayed on my skates.
“Good hit!” Tucker barked from behind the net, scooping the puck and sending it up the boards.
Landon grabbed it, turned, fired it across to me in stride.
I didn’t think. Just moved.
One touch to settle. Another to push forward. Their defense closed in fast, but I cut right, dragging the puck across my body, slipping past the first check. A stick clipped my skate. I staggered, kept it moving, and dumped it deep before I lost the edge completely.
“Cycle!” Grayson called, already chasing it down.
We worked it low, grinding. Boards, corners, quick taps. No clean lanes, no easy looks. Colorado boxed us out tight, their defense collapsing in layers. Every time I thought I had space, a stick was there. A body. Pressure from all sides.
“Switch!” Grayson yelled.
I peeled off, rotated high. He fed it up to me, quick and sharp. I wound up for a shot—
Blocked.
The puck ricocheted hard off a shin pad, bouncing out to neutral ice.
“Shit. Get back!”
They were gone again. A fast break that called us into high gear. Two-on-one. Cash dropped low, angling his body to take away the pass. The Avalanche winger hesitated for half a second, which was just enough. He shot.
Hunter snagged it clean out of the air, and the crowd exploded.
I skated past the crease, tapping my stick once on the ice. Reset. Breathe. Go again.
Shift after shift, it didn’t let up.
Hits piled up. Hard ones. The kind that made the glass shudder and my bones hum. Tucker took a brutal check into the boards midway through the first, and stayed down for a second too long.
“Want me to call your mama?” I called, circling back.
He pushed up, shaking it off. “Suck my dick, Santos.”
We laughed, slapped each other’s helmets, and dove straight back into the craziness.
Grayson won a battle behind their net, kicked the puck loose to Landon. He then snapped a pass into the slot right where I was waiting for it. The goal would’ve been poetry, and I told their goalie that much after he’d snatched my attempt with his glove.
Surge pushed, and Colorado pushed back harder. They didn’t crack. Not once.
Late in the first though, they broke.
Turnover at the blue line. Quick transition. I tried to close the gap, but I was a step behind, and their center cut inside, slipped past Tucker, and fired top shelf.
Goal.
The arena fell into that sharp, stunned silence for half a heartbeat before the groans rolled in.
1–0.
I skated back to the bench, jaw tight.
“It’s just a goal,” Grayson said, leaning in. “We get ‘em too.”
I nodded, but it didn’t feel like just a goal. My confidence was up, but tonight felt like a brick wall and it sent me right back to the games where I couldn’t make anything happen.
Second period didn’t ease up.
If anything, it got worse. Faster. Harder.
The Avalanche came out like they wanted to bury us early. Forecheck heavy, sticks active, bodies everywhere. They pinned us in our zone for nearly a full minute on one shift, cycling the puck like clockwork.
“For God’s sake, clear it!” Cash barked.
I dropped low, grabbed a loose puck, and rifled it up the boards. It didn’t make it out. Kept in at the line.
“Again!”
I went back in, took a hit to make the play this time, chipping it past their defense.
“Go, go!”
Landon was already sprinting. I pushed off hard, legs burning, chasing the breakout. He carried it over the blue line, cut wide, then dropped it back to me. I stepped into it with a messy slap shot, and got blocked again.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, already turning to chase the rebound.
Grayson picked it up instead, spun off his man, and snapped a quick pass across the crease. Landon tipped it with a flourishing pirouette that stunned us as much as the crowd.
Goal.
The net rippled. The arena erupted.
1–1.
I didn’t even realize I was yelling until Grayson crashed into me, helmet knocking against mine. “That’s it! That’s how we get them!”
Energy surged through me, sharp and electric. For a second, everything clicked. The timing. The movement. Us.
But Colorado answered with everything they had.
They came back swinging, harder hits, tighter coverage. Tucker took another heavy collision in the corner, this one worse than before. He stayed down longer this time. Trainers leaned over the boards, ready to come to the rescue.
“Now you’re just looking for attention,” Cash called, circling.
I joined him, staring down at a groaning Tucker. “Good thing he doesn’t have any sponsorship deals to lose.”
Tucker nodded eventually, slowly pushing himself up. “Just wait until I stop seeing double. I’m gonna kick both your asses.”
He skated off, but not clean or steady at all.
“Next man up!” Grayson shouted, clapping his stick.
We had no choice but to readjust. Shifts got shorter, and faster. Whatever hesitation held us back at the start had to be cut out. I found myself digging deeper, but it still felt like I was chasing the game instead of controlling it. Every touch mattered. Every mistake cost us big time.
“Middle, Aiden!” Grayson called late in the period.
I cut into the slot, stick down. He fed me a perfect pass and I took the shot.
Glove save.
I skated past the net, exhaling hard, frustration biting at the edges. That was it. That was my shot. Colorado wouldn’t be giving us another chance like that again.
“Next one,” Landon said as we looped back. “You’re right there.”
Right there. Always right there.
The clock ticked down, each second heavier than the last. Hits kept coming. Bodies crashing. Ice carving under sharp turns and desperate stops.
By the end of the second, it felt like we’d played three games already.
We skated off tied.
1–1.
And it felt like the hardest fight of my life wasn’t even halfway done.
The locker room was loud, but it wasn’t chaos. It was something tighter. Coiled.
Coach stood in the middle of it, eyes sweeping over every single one of us like he was taking inventory of what we had left. Sweat dripped, gear clattered, guys leaned forward, elbows on knees, chests heaving. Nobody was relaxed. Nobody was satisfied.
“Look at me,” Coach said, voice cutting clean through the noise.
Everything stilled.
“You think this is supposed to be easy?” he went on, stepping closer, voice rising. “You think they’re just gonna roll over and hand you this game because you want it more?”
No one answered.
“Good,” he snapped. “Because they don’t care what you want. They don’t care how close you think you are. That team out there is trying to take everything from you. Everything!”
He pointed toward the tunnel, toward the ice.
“And right now? Right now it’s a tie game. Which means what? It means this is where it gets decided. Not in the first. Not in the second. Here.” He tapped his chest. “Right here. This is what you’ve got left.”
My pulse kicked harder.
“You don’t save anything for later,” Coach said, voice dropping, dangerous now. “There is no later. You leave it out there. Every hit, every stride, every goddamn breath.”
A stick smacked against the floor. Then another. A steady tapping underscored Coach’s words.
“You fight for the guy next to you. You fight for this team. You fight for everything you’ve worked for your whole life to get to this moment.” His eyes landed on me for a split second. “Because this is it. This is where you decide who you are.”
The room erupted.
Sticks banging. Shouts. Pure, raw energy.
Grayson grabbed my helmet, knocking it lightly against his own. “You ready?”
“Fuck, yes!”
We stormed out of the locker room, the noise of the arena crashing back over us like a wave. I stepped onto the ice, heart pounding, and my eyes went straight to the stands before I could stop them.
Sage.
She was there. Watching me.
Our eyes locked for a second that stretched longer than it should’ve. No smile. No teasing. Just something steady and sure.
I nodded once, then I turned and skated into position.
The puck dropped.
And everything exploded.
Fuck strategy. This was just bodies colliding, sticks clashing, ice tearing under hard stops and desperate turns. I took a hit within the first shift, shoulder driving into my ribs hard enough to rattle my teeth. But I pushed through it, and kept moving, chasing the puck into the corner.
“Dig deep, boys!” Landon shouted.
And I fucking dug. Fought for it along the boards, skates grinding, shoulders braced. Grayson came in to help, jamming his stick in to pry it loose.
“Kick it!”
I kicked it free. Landon grabbed it up, and fired a shot. Blocked. The rebound popped out, and it was my name on the dance card. I lunged for it—
Gone. Cleared.
Back the other way.
“Backcheck!” Cash yelled.
I turned, legs burning more than ever now, chasing down their winger as he cut inside. Tucker stepped up and forced the collision. Both of them went down, and neither of us thought the guy had another hit left in him. He’d been taking it all night.
Gloves hit the ice somewhere behind me.