Epilogue #2
Ryan controlled the puck near the blue line, drawing both penalty killers toward him before slipping a pass to Mason.
The defender lunged immediately, trying to deny him shooting space, but Mason sold the shot with a subtle shoulder movement before threading an impossible pass through two sticks to Luca waiting backdoor.
The red light flashed and the Evergreen supporters exploded.
Emma grabbed my arm before I'd even realized I was on my feet, Corey shouted something completely unintelligible beneath the roar surrounding us, and Victoria clapped both hands over her mouth as the first line disappeared beneath a pile of celebrating teammates along the end boards.
1-0.
Dad acknowledged the goal with nothing more than a single nod before directing fresh players over the boards. He would already be thinking about the next shift.
By the midway point of the third period Evergreen had extended the lead to 3-1, controlling the game with the same patient confidence that had carried them through the entire tournament.
Every line contributed, every defenseman blocked shots, and Oscar continued frustrating anything Lake Superior managed to throw toward his crease.
The championship suddenly felt close enough to touch.
I found myself glancing repeatedly toward the game clock.
Ten minutes remained.
Ten minutes separated Evergreen from another national title.
***
MASON
The scoreboard hanging above center ice read Evergreen 3, Lake Superior 1.
Ten minutes.
That was all that separated us from another national championship.
Ten minutes sounded insignificant until you had to play them.
Coach had warned us before the third period that the final ten minutes of any championship game were unlike anything else in hockey.
Teams stopped playing systems and started playing desperation.
Players blocked shots with every part of their bodies, shortened every shift, and emptied whatever remained in the tank because nobody wanted to wake up the following morning wondering whether they'd had one more effort left to give.
He'd been absolutely right.
Lake Superior attacked with everything they had.
Their defensemen pinched relentlessly, forcing our wingers deeper into the defensive zone while their forwards crashed Oscar's crease looking for rebounds and loose pucks.
Every battle along the boards lasted a little longer than the one before it.
Every clearance became precious. Every whistle offered another chance to draw breath before the next wave arrived.
Ryan skated past me as we waited for another defensive-zone faceoff.
"They're gambling."
I nodded.
"They have to."
"If we stay patient, they'll give us something."
That had been our identity all season—Patience.
Coach had preached it from the first practice in September until this very night. We never chased games. We never forced plays that weren't there. We trusted our structure because sooner or later opponents became frustrated enough to make mistakes.
Lake Superior was getting close.
The puck dropped and chaos erupted immediately.
Ryan tied up their center long enough for Luca to sweep the puck behind our net where Ethan collected it before reversing direction and feeding Connor curling toward the right boards.
Connor banked the puck safely into the neutral zone, forcing the Mariners to regroup instead of attacking with speed.
The forty seconds that followed felt like forty minutes.
Every player in green defended with complete commitment.
Defensemen sacrificed their bodies to block shooting lanes.
Ryan won another battle along the wall before chipping the puck safely beyond the blue line.
Luca outraced one defender long enough to burn another twenty seconds before dumping it deep and changing with the rest of us.
Coach never stopped talking.
"Good change."
"Stay above them."
"Nothing through the middle."
His voice cut cleanly through everything else.
Calm.
Certain.
Exactly what we needed.
When the clock finally slipped beneath seven minutes remaining, the arena noise became deafening. Evergreen supporters sensed the championship drawing closer while Lake Superior fans tried desperately to lift their team one final time.
The Mariners pulled within inches of changing everything.
A deflected point shot bounced awkwardly through traffic before dropping almost directly on Oscar's doorstep. Their captain lunged toward the loose puck, but Oscar somehow stretched across the crease and smothered it beneath his glove a split second before a stick reached it.
The whistle shrieked.
I pushed away from the net and skated toward Oscar first.
"That's why you're the best."
He grinned through his mask.
"You boys can buy me dinner later."
Ryan laughed.
"If this score holds, we'll buy you the restaurant."
Even Coach couldn't hide the faintest smile.
The next shift belonged to us.
Ryan won the draw cleanly back to Connor, who immediately found Luca flying through the neutral zone. Their defense backed away just enough to respect his speed, allowing him to carry the puck over the blue line before sliding it across the ice toward me.
Everything slowed.
I caught the pass in stride, looked up, and saw the defenseman commit himself half a second too early.
One quick drag moved the puck around his stick.
Another stride created open ice.
The shot exploded off my blade.
Their goaltender fought it off with his blocker, but the rebound ricocheted harmlessly into the corner where Ryan arrived first, pinning the puck against the boards while precious seconds disappeared.
Exactly the way Coach wanted.
As I skated toward the bench for another line change, I caught sight of the family section beyond the glass. Jack stood beside my parents, applauding every shift as though the score was tied.
The clock above center ice rolled beneath the five-minute mark, and the atmosphere inside Great Lakes Arena transformed completely.
Every Evergreen supporter rose to their feet, sensing the win only moments away, while the Lake Superior faithful answered with even greater desperation, refusing to surrender hope while time still remained on the scoreboard clock.
The noise became relentless, echoing from every corner of the building until individual voices disappeared beneath one continuous roar that seemed to vibrate through the glass and into the ice itself.
Championship hockey had a strange way of distorting time.
Entire periods could vanish in what felt like minutes, yet the final five minutes stretched endlessly because every shift carried the potential to decide everything.
Every player understood exactly what was at stake.
Nobody shortened a stride. Nobody hesitated to block a shot.
Every decision had to be perfect because there would be no opportunity to erase a mistake.
Coach gathered the first line during the television timeout. He didn't raise his voice because he never needed to.
"They're coming with everything they've got," he warned, looking at Ryan, Luca, and me before including the defensemen standing beside us. "Stay disciplined. Keep moving your feet. Don't get caught chasing the puck. They have to force the play. We don't."
Ryan nodded.
"We've got it."
Coach looked directly at me.
"If the opportunity comes..."
He didn't need to finish the sentence.
Take it.
The faceoff came inside our defensive zone after Oscar gloved another dangerous shot through heavy traffic.
Ryan won it cleanly, pulling the puck backward to Connor before immediately tying up the opposing center.
Connor wasted no time. He banked the puck high off the glass, sending it bouncing safely beyond our blue line while both teams sprinted through the neutral zone.
Lake Superior regrouped quickly.
Their defenseman carried the puck back across center, accelerated over our blue line, and tried forcing a pass through the middle that Ethan intercepted cleanly. The instant the puck touched Ethan's stick, I turned up ice.
He saw me immediately.
The pass reached me just outside our blue line with enough speed that I never needed to break stride.
I gathered it smoothly, crossed center ice, and found myself racing toward two retreating defensemen while Ryan and Luca drove hard through the middle lanes, forcing both defenders to respect every option available to me.
The first defenseman stepped toward Ryan.
The second shifted his weight toward Luca.
For one brief moment, the middle of the ice belonged entirely to me.
I lowered my shoulder, accelerated between them, and crossed the blue line with open ice unfolding directly ahead.
The arena noise seemed to disappear as instinct replaced conscious thought.
Every hour I'd spent shooting pucks as a kid, every practice Coach had ever put me through, and every repetition Ryan and I had shared over the previous months converged into one perfectly familiar moment.
The goaltender challenged aggressively.
I carried the puck another stride before shifting it from forehand to backhand and immediately pulling it across my body again.
He bit.
The opening appeared no wider than a dinner plate.
It was enough.
My wrist snapped through the shot, sending the puck rising cleanly over his blocker before exploding into the back of the net with a sharp crack that somehow cut through thousands of screaming voices.
For the briefest heartbeat I simply stood there watching the net ripple.
Then the red light flashed.
The official pointed decisively toward center ice.
The building erupted.
Ryan hit me first, wrapping both arms around my shoulders before Luca crashed into both of us with enough force to send the three of us stumbling toward the corner boards.
Within seconds the rest of the line arrived, followed by our defensemen, gloves pounding against helmets as the Evergreen supporters celebrated the goal that had all but secured another national championship.