Chapter 34 Rodriguez
RODRIGUEZ
Mid-April - Calgary
Morning skate is routine. Same drills we’ve run a thousand times, same warm-up, same pre-game rhythm that’s become second nature after years in the league.
But today feels different.
Maybe it’s because we’re fighting for playoff position with only ten games left in the regular season. Maybe it’s because Calgary’s tough on their home ice and we need this win to stay in third place.
Or maybe it’s because Juliette’s here, traveling with us for the first time, sitting in the hotel having breakfast with the other WAGs while we run drills. Her first road trip. First time she’ll watch me play in another team’s arena.
First time I have to deliver on that insane bet we made after Toronto.
The thought makes my stick wobble on what should be an easy pass. The puck slides wide of Dex and hits the boards with a hollow thunk.
“You good?” Dex glides over, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah. Fine.”
I’m not fine. My hands feel disconnected from my brain, like someone else is controlling them. Every time I think about tonight—about her in the stands wearing my jersey, about what happens after for every goal I score—my concentration shatters.
Focus. I need to focus.
Barrett blows his whistle sharp enough to make my teeth hurt. “Rodriguez! You planning on showing up tonight or should I bench you now?”
“I’m here, Coach.”
“Then act like it.”
The reprimand burns in my chest and I run the next drill clean, pushing everything else to that compartment in my brain marked ‘deal with later.’ The passes get crisper. My legs remember what they’re supposed to do.
There’ll be time for everything else after we win.
After morning skate, we head back to the hotel for team lunch and naps. The usual pre-game routine that’s supposed to be calming.
I find Juliette in the hallway outside our room, leaning against the wall scrolling through her phone. She’s wearing jeans and my white away jersey with RODRIGUEZ across the back in blue letters, and the sight of my name on her shoulders makes something possessive and hungry wake up in my chest.
“Hey,” she says when she sees me, tucking her phone away.
“Hey yourself.”
I cage her against the wall with my arms, not caring that Anderson’s walking past with his eyebrows raised or that Dex is definitely taking a photo from down the hall.
“You ready for tonight?” I ask.
“I’m just watching. You’re the one who has to play.”
“I’m very motivated to play well tonight.”
She bites that spot on her lower lip that drives me crazy, and I know she’s thinking about what each goal means. “Don’t think about that now. You need to focus on the game.”
“I am focused on the game.” I lean down until my mouth brushes her ear, feel her shiver. “Every goal tonight is for you.”
The tiny catch in her breathing makes me want to skip the game entirely.
“Romeo—”
“Just you, JuJu. No one else.”
I kiss her, meaning for it to be quick but she opens her mouth under mine and everything else fades away. When I pull back, her cheeks are pink and her eyes slightly unfocused.
“Go,” she says, but her hands are fisted in my shirt. “Before someone sees.”
“Let them see.” I grin and step back, already backing toward our room. “See you after the game.”
“After your nap.”
“After my nap,” I agree. “I’ll be dreaming of you.”
Her laugh follows me into the room, where I definitely don’t nap because I’m too busy thinking about tonight.
Game time.
The arena is packed with Calgary fans who are loud and hostile from the moment we step on the ice. Red jerseys everywhere, cowbells, drums, some guy behind our bench already three beers deep and screaming creative insults about our mothers. This is their building. Their ice.
But we’re here to take it from them.
I step onto the ice for warm-ups and immediately scan for Juliette.
She’s in the third row wearing the white jersey, her hair down and falling over my name and looks up like she can feel me watching.
Our eyes meet across the ice and I skate over and tap my stick against the glass.
She smiles and shakes her head like I’m ridiculous.
Tonight. Tonight I’m going to give her a game to remember.
Warm-ups fly by in a blur of routine—circles, shots, stretches. The anthem plays and I mouth the words while bouncing on my skates, energy crackling through my legs. We line up for the opening faceoff.
We trade chances for the first few minutes, everyone feeling each other out, testing. Calgary’s playing heavy, finishing every check, trying to establish physical dominance early.
Then at 5:32 of the first period, everything changes.
Brody strips the puck at the blue line and feeds it to me breaking through the neutral zone. I catch it in stride, the puck settling on my stick like it belongs there.
I fake right, cut left, and suddenly I’m in the slot with nothing but space and time.
I don’t think. Just shoot.
The puck leaves my stick with that perfect feeling—when you know it’s in before the goalie even moves, before the puck even reaches the net. Bar-down. The best sound in hockey.
The red light goes on. The horn blares loud enough to shake my bones.
Our bench erupts.
I skate toward the family section with my arms raised and point directly at her, making sure she knows. Making sure everyone knows.
She’s on her feet with both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise and something else. Something that looks like “oh shit, he’s actually doing this.”
One goal.
One.
The thought of what that means later makes blood rush in my ears, makes me want to score ten more just to see that look on her face again.
Dex crashes into me, helmet to helmet hard enough to rattle my brain. “Beauty shot, Roddy!”
“Thanks, man.”
“Keep it up. They’re rattled.”
He’s right. Calgary’s line change is sloppy, their coach barking corrections from the bench. Their fans have gone quieter, that nervous energy when the home team gives up the first goal.
Good. Let them be rattled.
I’m just getting started.
The rest of the first period is a battle. Calgary pushes back hard, throwing everything at the net. Luca makes two incredible saves—one with his glove that has everyone on the bench banging their sticks—to keep our lead. We trade penalties. The physicality ramps up with every whistle.
But I can’t get another clean look. Every time I touch the puck, I’ve got two guys on me, maybe three. They’re keying on me now, know I’m feeling it tonight. Their defensemen are taking runs at me, trying to knock me off my game.
During a TV timeout, I sneak a glance at the family section. Juliette’s talking to Goldie but her eyes keep drifting to me. She’s playing with her necklace and I can tell she’s thinking about it too. About what one goal means. About what might happen if I score again.
The thought makes me restless, makes my legs feel like they could skate through the boards.
Second period. We come out flying.
Three minutes in, Calgary takes a penalty for slashing. Power play. Finally, Dex finds me at the right circle. The pass is perfect, tape to tape.
One-timer. I don’t even see it go in. Just hear the ping of the puck off the inside of the post and then our bench going insane.
Two goals.
This time when I skate past the family section, I slow down just enough to make eye contact and point right at her again.
She’s standing but laughing now, shaking her head with this expression that’s part shock, part “I can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” part something else that makes my blood run hot.
Two.
My teammates mob me against the boards. Brody’s shaking me by the shoulders, yelling something I can’t hear over the crowd.
“You’re on fire tonight!” finally breaks through.
“Just lucky.”
“Luck nothing. You’re dialed in.”
Back on the bench, I grab water and try to settle the adrenaline that’s making my hands shake. Two goals. Two. The math is simple and devastating.
Still over half the game left.
The thought makes me grin.
The second period continues and Calgary’s getting desperate. They’re taking more risks, pinching their defense, throwing bodies everywhere. Big hits that echo through the arena, their crowd trying to will their team back into it.
But we’re weathering it. Luca’s locked in, tracking everything. Our defense is blocking shots like their lives depend on it. And every time I touch the puck, something electric runs through my whole body.
It’s one of those nights when everything clicks. When the game slows down and your stick becomes an extension of your thoughts.
Midway through the second, we’re cycling the puck in their zone. Dex to Brody behind the net. Brody back to Dex in the corner. Their defense is collapsing toward the net, trying to prevent any passes to the slot.
Which leaves me wide open at the top of the circle.
Dex sees it the same moment I do. The pass is hard and flat, right on my tape.
I don’t have time to think. Just catch and release in one motion, everything flowing through the shot.
The puck rockets past their goalie’s blocker before he can even extend his arm.
Three goals.
Hat trick.
The arena goes dead quiet for a second, that moment of disbelief before reality sets in. Even the Calgary fans have to acknowledge it. Then our bench explodes.
This time I don’t just point. I blow her a kiss, making sure she sees it, making sure she knows exactly what I’m doing.
Juliette’s face goes red. She’s shaking her head but she’s grinning, caught between mortification and something else. She sits down and presses her hands to her temples like she’s getting a headache and mouths something at me, I catch the end of it and wink at her.
Three.
The thought makes my head spin. Three’s already ambitious. Three’s already going to be a long night for both of us.
My teammates are all over me. Dex lifts me off my skates in a bear hug. Brody’s screaming directly in my ear. Anderson’s laughing and shaking his head.
“Hat trick, baby!” Almardon shouts from the bench, pounding his stick on the boards.