28
Ryan
The final horn sounded, and for several seconds, I couldn’t hear anything else.
The Flint Frost had beaten Minnesota four to three in the most violent rivalry game I’d ever played, and the stadium built around Frost Lake seemed determined to collapse beneath the celebration.
The team flooded over the boards as Hollis reached me first, crashing into my shoulder before Archer and Keller slammed into us from either side.
Gloves struck my helmet, my back, and every bruise still healing beneath my pads while thousands of voices screamed through the frozen air.
“Decker!”
“Zero seven!”
“El Cuchillo!”
I shoved free long enough to lift my stick, and Frost Lake Arena ignited around me.
Every player in the league had seen pictures of the place.
A natural lake froze hard enough each winter to support the temporary rink, boards, benches, lighting rigs, and thousands of fans packed beneath steel beams and open sections of the night sky.
Pictures didn’t capture what happened after the sun disappeared behind the trees.
The ice seemed endless beneath the lights.
Snow gathered in the exposed corners of the stadium while music thundered from speakers mounted above the stands.
Minnesota fans filled one side in silver and navy, while Frost fans owned the other in black, blue, and white.
They pounded the glass hard enough to make it flex whenever one of us drove an Ice player into the boards.
The rivalry didn’t feel manufactured because these teams fucking hated each other.
By the middle of the first period, blood smeared one section of glass, two helmets had been knocked loose, and Coach Waters threatened to staple Keller’s ass to the bench if he took another retaliation penalty.
Minnesota scored first when Gray stopped the initial shot, but the rebound escaped beneath his pad. Their center slammed it home before Keller could clear the crease. The Ice bench erupted, their fans answered, and the temperature inside Frost Lake seemed to drop another ten degrees.
Gray struck his stick against the post as the puck returned to center.
“My fault,” Keller told him.
“No shit,” Gray answered.
Keller tapped his glove against Gray’s helmet before skating into position. Hollis lined up beside me for the faceoff, rolling his shoulders beneath his jersey. He was fast enough to turn a neutral-zone mistake into a breakaway and calm enough that nothing rattled him for longer than three seconds.
“You planning to let them keep that?” he asked.
“Fuck no.”
“Good. I hate losing in weather.”
“You hate everything in weather.”
“Correct.”
The puck dropped.
Minnesota tried to suffocate the middle of the ice, crowding our lanes and closing around Hollis whenever he carried it across the blue line. They knew our line liked speed, and they knew I preferred taking the outside before cutting inward once their defense committed.
Knowing wasn’t the same as stopping it.
Six minutes after their goal, Hollis dug the puck out of the corner, took a shoulder against the glass, and stayed upright long enough to kick it toward me. I caught it on my backhand as one of Minnesota’s defensemen stepped into the lane and reached with his stick.
I dragged the puck around him, shifted my weight, and buried it over the goalie’s blocker.
The sound that followed hit harder than the check that drove me into the boards. I pushed away from the glass with my fist raised while Hollis crashed into my shoulder and Keller shouted something I couldn’t hear over the crowd.
My eyes moved toward the seats above the Frost bench, and I found my people immediately.
Cade stood in the front row with Bliss tucked against his side, both of them screaming.
Easton pounded the glass while Aura jumped beside him, apparently no longer forbidding him from anything.
Briggs had both fists above his head, and Rider held the back of his coat to keep him from throwing his entire body over the barrier.
Gayle, Skylar, and Vivi filled the seats beside them, with the Bennetts occupying the row behind them.
Charm wasn’t there.
The realization entered quickly enough that no one watching me would’ve noticed, but I looked again anyway.
Bliss, Aura, Gayle, Skylar, and Vivi stood together beneath the lights.
There was no strawberry-blond hair, no pale face, and no woman trying to smile through her fear while wearing my name across her back.
Hollis hit the back of my helmet. “You planning to celebrate or conduct a census?”
I forced my attention away from the stands. “I scored, didn’t I?”
“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”
“Fuck off.”
Coach Waters stepped in front of us when we reached the bench. “Decker, excellent goal. You have ten seconds to remember you’re still playing hockey.”
“I remember.”
His gaze searched my face before he nodded. “Good. Minnesota certainly does.”
I sat and breathed through the pressure beneath my ribs.
Three organizations had scouts in the building.
Milwaukee sat two rows above the Frost bench, Pittsburgh had a pair of representatives near center ice, and Washington’s people remained against the glass near the tunnel.
They watched every shift, every change, and every second I spent on the ice without the puck.
I knew where they were. I saw when they leaned toward each other and when somebody wrote something down. Their attention didn’t make me nervous.
Charm’s empty seat did.
I hated myself for looking. I’d told her to stay away and made the boundary clear enough that Rider threatened to drag her out on a sled if she broke it. She was respecting the one thing I’d asked from her, and some weak, wounded part of me still wished she were there to see this.
Charm understood what today meant before anyone else did.
Before the scouts confirmed they were coming and before Chris started using words like offers, she looked at me as though the dream was already mine.
She listened while I talked about teams and cities, asked questions about development programs she didn’t understand, and memorized the names of organizations because they mattered to me.
When we’d discussed all three possibilities, Milwaukee had been the one we agreed could give me the best balance between hockey and the people I loved.
She should’ve been watching the best game I’d ever played.
Wanting that changed nothing. Missing her didn’t mean I’d made the wrong choice. It meant the part of me that loved her hadn’t caught up to the man who finally walked away.
The whistle blew, and I climbed over the boards.
Minnesota scored again early in the second. We answered before the period ended when Hollis won the puck behind their net and sent it toward Keller at the point. Keller fired through traffic, and Archer redirected it beneath the goalie’s arm before anyone closed the lane.
The score held at two to two until Minnesota took the lead in the third on a power play after Keller ignored Waters and introduced his fist to somebody’s mouth.
With seven minutes remaining, the entire stadium rose.
Minnesota collapsed around its net, trying to suffocate the game and survive the clock. Hollis and I cycled the puck behind the goal until their defense shifted low. He sent it up the wall toward Archer, who carried it high before snapping it back to Keller at the point.
Keller shot through traffic. The puck struck two bodies and dropped near my skate. I turned and fired, watching it slide between the goalie’s pad and the post.
The score was tied again.
Gray skated halfway out of his crease, screaming as though he’d scored it himself. Hollis struck my helmet with both gloves while a Minnesota defenseman shoved us away from the net.
I looked toward the Frost section again.
My family had lost whatever remained of their minds.
Bliss had both arms around Cade’s neck. Aura screamed beside Easton while he slammed his palm against the glass.
Briggs pounded both fists above his head, and Rider laughed while trying to prevent him from climbing over the seats.
Charm still wasn’t there.
The hurt slipped into the open space inside me, and I carried it back onto the ice.
With forty-one seconds left, Hollis stole the puck inside Minnesota’s zone and sent it toward me just as their defenseman reached into the lane. I beat him to it, dragged the puck between his skates, and cut toward the net before he recovered.
The goalie committed to the near post.
I sent the shot far side.
The puck struck the inside of the pipe and crossed the line. For one suspended second, Frost Lake stopped with it before the arena detonated.
Hollis hit me from behind before I completed the turn. Archer came from the other side, knocking us into the boards as the Frost bench emptied over the wall. Bodies crashed around me, and gloves struck my helmet and shoulders while thousands of people screamed my name into the frozen night.
“El Cuchillo!”
“Decker!”
“Zero seven!”
I fought my way upright, my chest heaving beneath my pads. My eyes moved toward the stands for the third time even though I didn’t want them to.
Everyone I loved was there except the one person I wished had seen the shot.
The admission entered without permission, brutal in its simplicity.
Of all the people watching, Charm was the person I wanted to see what I’d become tonight.
Scouts could record the goal. Reporters could ask how I found the opening.
My teammates could celebrate until their voices disappeared, and my boys could pound the glass hard enough to get thrown out of the arena.
None of them had watched me believe in this dream before it became real the way she had.
Charm knew.
I pressed my glove against my chest until the ache became part of the adrenaline, then turned away from the empty place I kept trying to find her and let my team drag me toward the bench.