Chapter 16 #3
He gets crushed in the corner in celebratory hugs, and then they skate past the bench to exchange fist bumps. I’m grinning widely when I tap my glove against his.
As I take to the ice for my next shift, one of the assholes who targeted Colby skates by.
I keep an eye on him as well as the puck we’re currently fighting for possession of, and when the chance arises, I position myself to give him my full body weight on the blue line, sending him onto his ass with a clean hit.
“You fucking dickhead,” he mutters under his breath once he’s finally back onto his skates.
I give him a droll look but stay silent.
Then on my next shift, I get the other fucker, who I’m pretty sure is the one who checked Colby into the boards at a dirty angle.
A red haze simmers in my vision. I’m on high alert, hovering around the blue line in the offensive zone. One of their forwards wins possession of the puck behind the net and passes it to the asshole.
I zero in, waiting for him to get closer, and the second he goes to skate around me, I angle my stick for the poke check, passing the puck to my waiting winger at the same time I bodycheck the asshole into the boards. He crumples to the ice like a defeated balloon.
Touch my Colby again, and I’ll break your face.
The words are on the tip of my tongue, but instead of giving him the satisfaction of knowing his actions got under our skin, I chuckle and leave him groaning on the ice as I refocus on the game.
It’s a heated battle. Neither of us can get close enough to the net to take a shot, and as Minnesota calls for a time-out with three minutes remaining, the tension at the base of my neck becomes more intense.
We gather around Coach Vaughn as he points to various plays on his clipboard, whisper shouting commands.
I keep my gaze fixed on Colby as I squirt water in my mouth.
There’s a fire blazing in those hazel eyes.
A hunger fueled by passion and a need to win.
The small crease between his brows is sexy, and I want this for him more than I want it for myself.
The official blows his whistle, signaling the end of the time-out, and the current line retakes their positions in the defensive zone. My knee bounces an erratic rhythm as I flick my gaze between the ice and the clock.
One minute, thirty-three seconds.
The next line returns to the bench, and now it’s Colby’s line that takes to the ice next.
Colby throws himself over the boards at the exact moment one of Minnesota’s forwards tries to pass the puck to their defenseman, but it rebounds off his tape and enters the neutral zone. Colby snaps it up on his stick and flies down the ice.
I’m on my feet, heart thundering in my chest as Colby dodges their players like he’s a fucking ballerina.
Then with a flick of the wrist, the puck slips into the net glove side.
The bench erupts, drowning out the sharp sound of the goal horn.
Coach Vaughn roars behind us, shaking each of us by our shoulders.
We’re up by one with only thirty seconds on the clock.
Colby’s wearing an aw-shucks grin as he skates by for the fist bump, and my eyes feel a little damp.
How is he real? Like, seriously?
He lines up for the face-off, and it feels like the crowd is only getting louder, vibrating the entire building with their claps and chants.
I have no doubt Colby’s parents will be adding to the noise.
I wouldn’t be surprised if his mom’s already in tears, because she’s a good mom like that.
So proud of her son, she’s unable to contain it.
The clock winds down, and Minnesota do everything in their arsenal to try and claw back, but when the final buzzer sounds, their blue jerseys become a blur as we swarm the ice, descending on Winslow in front of the net.
This time, we don’t lose our gloves or sticks because we need them for Saturday’s game.
But holy fucking shit. We’re going to the final.
I make a beeline for Colby in the middle of the scrum. His cheeks are bright with his wide smile, once again saving us from elimination.
“You—” I say when I finally get to him. “—are fucking incredible.”
He taps my calf with the blade of his stick before throwing his arms around me. My breath gets stuck in my throat. There’s no need to worry because our other teammates are in various stages of embrace, but his sudden show of affection catches me off guard.
The backs of my eyes burn, my chest feeling impossibly tight from the million different emotions running wild inside me.
I wrap my arms around him and squeeze, but not too tight because his ribs are going to be sore, and make a mental note to make sure he picks up some ice packs to take back to our room.
Colby lifts his head, his eyes shining bright under the arena lights, and his smile so wide, I’m unable to stop myself from smiling back.
We’re one step closer to completing another goal on his list, and there’s something in my gut that is screaming at me to find a way to keep him after we complete the final one.