22. Kel #2
I sit on the bench, my chest heaving. Ammonia smelling salts burn my nostrils, snapping my focus back to the game.
Henry and the second line battle in the defensive zone.
They keep the Bears pinned against the wall for forty seconds, taking the brunt of the bruising hits to buy us time to catch our breath.
"First line, get out there." The head coach taps Wally on the shoulder pad.
Henry dumps the puck into the neutral zone and sprints for the door.
Wally stands up. Simon and I follow. We vault over the boards, our skates biting into the rough ice. The crowd noise drops to a tense, vibrating hum. Everyone in the arena knows the next mistake ends the season. We line up in the defensive zone for a face-off.
The ref drops the puck. The Bears center ties Wally up, kicking the puck back to their point.
A Heathstead defenseman winds up for a slap shot. I drop to one knee, blocking the shooting lane. The hard rubber puck catches the outside of my shin guard. The impact stings right down to the bone. I block out the ache and scramble back to my feet. The puck deflects into the corner.
Simon reads the bounce. He turns on the jets, his copper hair visible through his helmet vents as he races their winger to the corner boards.
The Bears winger tries to pin the puck against the wall. Simon attacks the play. He initiates contact, driving his shoulder into the guy's chest to separate him from the puck. Simon uses his stick to strip the rubber free.
"Middle!" Wally yells, circling low to provide an outlet.
Simon bypasses the safe play. He sees a massive gap in their exhausted defensive coverage. He kicks the puck to his own stick and accelerates up the right wing. He blows past their center, breaking out of our zone with insane speed.
I read the rush. I push off my left edge, sprinting down the left side of the ice.
My lungs scream for oxygen. My legs feel like cement blocks.
I force my muscles to fire, chasing Simon to create a two-on-one odd-man rush.
I hit the opposing blue line, keeping myself onside by a fraction of an inch.
Simon hits the top of the right circle. A Heathstead defender steps up to challenge him. Simon fakes a shot, freezing the defender. With a quick flick of his wrists, Simon sends a saucer pass floating across the choppy neutral zone ice.
The puck lands flat right on my tape.
I catch the pass on the left wing. I cut toward the net. The massive Heathstead defenseman tracks my movement. He drops his shoulder, lining me up for a brutal open-ice hit. He wants to separate my head from my shoulders to stop the play.
I have a split second to make a choice. Taking the hit keeps the scoring chance alive.
I brace my core. I keep my eyes on the slot. I absorb the devastating impact as the defender crushes me into the plexiglass. The glass rattles. My helmet smacks against the pane. The air leaves my lungs in a violent rush.
Right before the hit connects, I slip a blind backhand pass right into the center of the slot.
Wally crashes the center lane. He intercepts my pass in perfect stride. He catches the puck on his forehand. The Heathstead goalie drops into the butterfly position, trying to take away the bottom of the net.
Wally uses the defenseman as a screen. He winds up. He fires a blistering wrist shot.
The puck launches off his stick. It sails over the goalie's dropping shoulder. It clinks against the metal crossbar and drops right into the back of the net.
The red goal light flashes bright behind the glass.
The horn blares. The deafening blast shakes the concrete foundation of the arena.
I slide down the glass, landing on my knees. I watch the puck sitting in the white netting. The exhaustion vanishes. A massive surge of adrenaline floods my veins. We did it.
The arena explodes. Twenty thousand fans erupt into absolute mayhem. The noise vibrates through my skates and rattles my ribs.
I scramble up from the ice. Wally comes flying across the zone. I brace myself. He tackles me right against the boards. We crash into the plexiglass, screaming in raw triumph. Simon slams into us a second later, crushing us against the glass in a massive hug.
The rest of the team pours over the bench.
Henry leads the charge, tossing his gloves and stick into the air.
A tidal wave of white and black jerseys swamps us in the corner.
We form a massive dogpile of shouting, sweating hockey players.
I grab Wally's helmet, shaking him. We pulled it off.
We secured the ultimate prize on our final night in the League.
The refs blow their whistles, breaking up the pile. We untangle ourselves. We skate around the zone, picking up our discarded equipment.
Tradition dictates the next move. We line up at center ice for the handshakes. The Heathstead Bears look devastated. We form a single-file line. I bump gloves with their captain.
"Hell of a series," I tell him.
He nods, staring at the ice. "Enjoy it, Lars."
The handshake line finishes. The stadium crew rolls the red carpet onto the ice. The League Commissioner walks out, flanked by the guards carrying the massive silver Alpha Cup. It gleams under the arena lights.
Wally skates forward to accept the trophy as our captain. He grabs the sides of the Cup, lifts it over his head, and screams at the ceiling. The crowd roars in response. He kisses the silver metal. He skates a short circle before turning to me.
Wally shoves the Cup into my chest. "Your turn, brother."
I grab the silver handles. The metal feels freezing cold against my sweaty palms. I hoist the massive trophy over my head. The weight is incredible. I skate toward the far end of the rink, heading straight for the VIP level.
I stop at the glass. I look up at the suite. Vayda stands right at the edge, pressing her hands against the window. Tears stream down her cheeks. She wears a massive, beaming smile. Kristy flanks her, cheering with the rest of the crowd.
Every instinct in my blood screams at me to drag Vayda down to the ice. I want her out here. I want to celebrate with my mate.
I check the urge. The media swarms the ice with cameras and microphones. They want a story. Dragging her down here shoves her right back into the spotlight she hates. It risks reigniting the tabloid drama. We promised to protect her privacy.
I raise my stick. I point the blade right at her, acknowledging our pack. She taps the glass in response.
The on-ice celebration lasts for another hour. We do the mandatory locker room champagne shower. We endure the endless press conference, answering the same repetitive questions about the double-overtime play.
The second the PR director dismisses us, Wally, Simon, and I ditch our gear. We throw on clean t-shirts and trackpants. We leave the chaotic locker room and navigate the concrete tunnels under the stadium.
We find the private green room our agent secured for the family.
I push the door open. The quiet room offers a massive relief from the arena noise. Henry sits on the sofa, drinking a water bottle with Kristy. Vinny and Brendan are at home, so the room feels intimate and calm.
Vayda turns around.
I cross the room in three strides. I wrap my arms around her waist and lift her off her feet. She buries her face in my neck.
"You guys did it." Her voice shakes against my skin.
Simon and Wally crowd in. They wrap their arms around us, turning the embrace into a massive pack hug.
I set Vayda down. I stand back and look at my family. We survived the tabloids, secured the championship, and finalized our bond. The hockey chapter ends tonight, but the future starts tomorrow. I look at Vayda, standing between Wally and Simon, and I smile. This is everything I’ve ever wanted.