Chapter 28
Mason
The kind of game that stayed with you long after it was done. The kind of night you remembered in black and white, except for the blood on the ice and the glare of the scoreboard.
But before any of that could take center stage in my head, I had to get one thing off my chest.
Coach whirled round from his play board when I stormed into his office. The look of surprise on his face clouded over almost instantly.
“There’s something I have to say to you.”
“Not now, Calder,” he said, turning back to continue whatever he was doing. “If this is about your place in the starting rotation—”
“It’s not.” Which was only half a lie.
Enough to get his attention, because he set down the whiteboard marker and sat on the edge of his desk. “You have two minutes. Spit it out.”
There was no pause, no hesitation. I was ready to say the words, ready for Coach to hear them. “I’m in love with your daughter.”
His expression remained stony. It gave nothing away about what he felt. Not much help, but then again, I didn’t care.
“I’m not hiding it anymore,” I said, fighting through cotton mouth brought on by a serious case of nerves. Cass wasn’t kidding when she said I could have both. It was both the game, and this that had me tied up in knots.
“It’s not the time for this, kid,” Coach said, arms folded over his chest. The warning rang in my ears, but I couldn’t stop myself now.
I’d die if I didn’t get this out.
“I know this started out messy. That we kept secrets. I’m sorry for that, but it wasn’t for the wrong reasons.” He didn’t make a sound, and I took that as a sign to continue. “I never meant to disrespect you, Coach. Or the team.”
“I don’t give a shit about intentions,” he said then. The harshness of his tone made me take a step back. “Intentions don’t mean anything. It’s what you do that counts.”
I jumped on that, relieved to meet him somewhere he could understand.
“That’s what I’m doing now. No more secrets.
And if being honest means I never play another minute of hockey, so be it.
But I needed to tell you. This is how I feel.
I can’t deny it any longer. Not to you, and definitely not to myself. ”
He took a deep breath, shoulders rising until he was full up.
Then he let it out slowly, glaring at me the whole time.
The lack of response lasted long enough for me to realize I’d fucked up.
Big time. He was going to cut me from the team for good and nobody else would want to touch me.
I’d be washed up before I got the chance to really begin.
“You’re right.”
My mouth dropped open. “I am?”
“You disrespected me,” he said. “And Cass, by pretending this was nothing when it’s clearly not. If your word’s any good, that is.”
“It is.” I was breathless. Even shaking a little. “When it comes to her, it totally is.”
He grunted, and shook his head. I was afraid to move, and just stared at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Is that all?” Coach stood up and grabbed his marker again.
“Uh—”
“Get out of here and suit up,” he barked. “Quit wasting my time.”
I spun round and darted from his office, hardly believing how well that went. He told me to suit up. I confessed my love for his daughter, and he told me to suit up.
“Where the hell have you been?” Grayson tossed my jersey over when I joined them in the locker room.
“Just had something to take care of real quick,” I said, grinning like an idiot.
I undressed quickly, and pulled on my gear while the guys went through their usual pre-game shenanigans around me. I laughed at all the jokes, no matter how stupid, and even helped Tucker when his skate wouldn’t lock the way it should.
I was lacing up when Grayson slid onto the bench beside me. “I have an idea, and I want you to hear me out before you say anything.”
He sketched it out, talking fast: a switch between left wing and center mid-shift, using our speed to fake Denver’s forecheck. I’d take the draw, but after three seconds I’d loop wide and open up the lane for him to drive. It was chaotic. Something we’d only ever joked about doing.
“It’s too risky.” I let him down as gently as I could. “We can’t run some beer league experiment in game seven.”
“That’s exactly why it’s perfect,” he said with a smirk. “You want them to see it coming instead?”
I stared at him. “You sure?”
“When am I not?” He stood up and ruffled my hair. “We’ve got this, Calder.”
I glanced down at my phone, thumbing a message as the guys started filing out to the rink.
Me: See you at the game?
Three dots blinked for a second before Cass’ reply came through.
Cass: Can’t. Watching a snail cross my bathroom floor. Might take all night.
I laughed out loud and tossed my phone into my locker. The sound of sticks tapping concrete and a building war cry pulled me from the locker room in a hurry, and I raced after the rest of the team.
I caught up, helmet in hand, ready for blood.
You think you’ve played big games before. Rivalries. National championship. Even that first time on NHL ice. But nothing—nothing—came close to a Game 7.
It was the second round of the playoffs, and the whole building felt like it was breathing. Or holding its breath. Shallow. Tense. Waiting for something to happen.
We hit the ice to a roar that rattled through my bones like thunder in a canyon. Surge flags whipped overhead. Pucks clacked against boards during warmup. But it wasn’t until I lifted my head toward the box that the night truly came into focus.
Cass stood beside her dad, cheering us on with the rest of the crowd. He was stone-faced, but that was just his face. There was none of that icy distance between them. A truce. Maybe more than that.
It did something to me. Settled something inside that I hadn’t realized was still shaking.
I blew her a kiss, and the crowd went wild. Cass turned beet red, and hid her face in her dad’s chest. He gave me a look that said he’ll deal with me later.
“Part of the family, huh?” Hunter tapped my stick with his as he skated up. “I’m happy she took my advice.”
“Your advice?” To say that I was stunned was an understatement. “You spoke to Cass about me?”
“Looking out for a friend, that’s all,” he said, then pulled on his face shield and beat each of his pads in turn.
“Wait, we’re friends?”
“Shut up and play, Calder.” Hunter skated off to take his position, hyping up the guys the whole way. Our starting goalie had the flu, so Hunter was between the posts tonight.
The puck dropped, and I moved.
First period was brutal. The Avalanche came out like they’d been given special permission to maim. They hit hard. Clean, but mean. One of our defensemen took a shoulder to the chin that knocked his helmet halfway to Amarillo.
Coach rotated the bench tight, keeping energy high. I stayed locked with Grayson and Shawn on the top line, sticking to the new plan: the fake switch and slot rotation.
On our second shift, it finally clicked. Shawn took the puck deep, bounced it off the back wall. Grayson drew in two defenders, and I looped wide. It played out just like he’d said, and the puck hit my stick tape like it had a homing signal. And I fired.
It hit the post.
The red light stayed dark. The crowd groaned. I slammed my stick into the glass on my way back to the bench.
“Keep doing it,” Grayson said, breathing hard. “Next one goes in.”
I wanted to believe him, but didn’t. We’d already tried and failed a few times now, and something was off with every shot. It made more sense to play our usual game instead of gambling our chances.
So I played it safe and by the end of the first, it was 1–1. Denver had capitalized on a scramble in front of our net, but we answered with a laser from Grayson, top shelf from the point.
In the second period, things escalated. A brawl broke out at center ice when their captain laid out Hunter with a late hit. I was the first one there, fists flying. Penalties were handed out like Halloween candy, with the ref threatening to bench both teams if we didn’t get it together.
We went back to the locker room with the score still tied, heads down and tempers high. I sat waiting for Coach to come down on us, knee bouncing on account of my nerves having nowhere to go.
“Twenty minutes, boys,” Coach said. “Twenty minutes between you and the next series. One more series between you and the Cup.”
He wasn’t yelling, and he didn’t beat us over the head with every mistake we made. We looked at each other, not quite sure what to do with a supportive coach.
“Get out there, and leave nothing behind.”
And we didn’t.
The third period was all-out war. The Avalanche nearly took the lead twice, but Hunter was a brick wall in our goal, his glove snatching pucks out of midair like magic.
And when he was caught on the back foot, Grayson was there to block a shot with his ribs.
We kept rotating the play with misdirection, keeping it as unpredictable as we could manage under pressure. Finally, it started wearing them down.
With four minutes left, we drew a penalty. Power play. Our line hit the ice.
“Same switch?” I asked Grayson as we circled the dot.
He gave a stiff nod. “Go for it.”
Puck drop. I won the draw, and sent it back to Shawn, who slid it across to Grayson.
I peeled wide, heart thudding in my ears and drowning out the manic crowd.
Looping fast to the slot, I pulled a defender with me.
Grayson hesitated, looking like he was going to shoot.
Then he did a no-look pass and sent it right back to me.
No time to think.
I snapped it, feeling the blow start all the way down in my hips, move up to my shoulder and down my arm.
I heard nothing, just saw the puck sail hard and low, just under the goalie’s pad.
The light went red, and the crowd lost it.
I didn’t hear that either, or the blaring goal horn.
My line swarmed me until it was nothing but the crush of bodies, gloves pounding my helmet, sticks raised high. I glanced up, past the glass and chaos.
Cass was on her feet, yelling and clapping. To my surprise, so was Coach. I don’t think I’d ever seen him jump up and down before.
I skated back to the bench like I was floating on a cloud.
The rest of the game passed in a blur. We managed to hold them off even after they pulled their goalie and launched every attack in the book at us. When the final buzzer went, the noise was deafening. Sticks and gloves went flying, and bodies collided in a dog pile of sweat and disbelief.
The Surge had taken the series 4–3.
We were going to the Western Conference Final.