18 - Haven
HAVEN
I’d completely underestimated the size of the crowd. The noise. The chaos. The palpable sense that something important was about to happen, as the air became increasingly charged with electricity.
God, I missed it.
“Get ready.”
The Phantoms had been booed since their skates touched the ice, while the Reavers had come out to a chorus of thunderous cheers. They took their first laps with their arms in the air, to the stomp of hundreds of feet against metal.
The puck dropped…
And it all went wrong, immediately.
Shit.
The Phantoms didn’t rush. They didn’t panic. They played with slow, controlled movements that forced the Reavers into tight spaces and bad coverage. One by one they took our options away, until each of their players felt just a half-step ahead of ours.
As a result, everything we did came just a fraction too late.
Ares hit early — too early — and created a scoring chance for the other team. A lane opened. A shot was taken…
Miss.
My fingers closed tightly around my tablet as Sebastian snapped the rebound away with his stick. He reset fast, but the message was clear:
The Phantoms weren’t about to give anything up for free.
“They’re baiting us,” I muttered, leaning into Mercer. “Forcing the collapse.”
The coach barked something that got drowned out by the roar of the crowd. On the other side of the ice, Asher had gone down from a hit.
He got back up quickly, though.
The Reavers fell into an attack pattern; one Mercer had drilled into them so many times they were probably sharing the same nightmare.
Grayson adjusted, moving early. He didn’t hold the puck this time, didn’t wait.
He flicked it away early before the pressure could close around him, catching Dorian on the weak side.
Shot…
Off the post.
The crowd gasped collectively, swallowing the sharp, metallic ring.
“Again…” I heard Mercer growl, under his breath.
And again, they did.
The team tightened up, and things came into sharper focus.
Midway through the first period, it started to click.
Ares held his lane — barely — but long enough to close the gaps that were previously forming.
Grayson moved the puck with purpose. Zack’s lateral movements were on point; he’d caught the defenders a few times with shifts of his hips.
Then — a turnover. Forced by the Phantoms.
It became a two-on-one. A one-on-one…
FUCK.
Goal.
Sebastian didn’t have a chance. He was left frozen, legs splayed, one arm extended to catch a shot that was already in the back of the net.
The celebration was bitter to watch. I watched it anyway. A minute later, the buzzer sounded. Period over.
“Phantoms aren’t giving them any room,” Mercer coughed. “They’re keeping up the pressure.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “But our team’s playing smart. And pressure can be broken.”
By the second period, Mercer hadn’t let up. He’d shouted at the team to react quicker, and go harder.
“Move the damn puck!” he’d snapped. “You’re thinking too much— play!”
The Reavers came out harder. Faster. And this time?
The Phantoms were the first to give.
Grayson drove hard, and cut left. He found a lane, and instead of forcing it, he snapped the puck across…
… straight onto Caleb’s stick. He didn’t hesitate.
Shot —
GOAL.
The roar of the crowd hit like a pressure wave. I let it wash over me, absorbing the energy, reveling in the raw exultation.
Mercer looked at me sideways, but offered nothing in the form of congratulations.
The game tightened even more after that.
Every shift mattered. Every mistake was punished.
Sebastian settled in, his movements loosening as instinct took over.
There was no more hesitation in the crease.
He slid left and right, arms moving like an inflatable air dancer at a used car lot.
He blocked a few solid shots. He even closed the distance, and took the puck on an errant breakaway.
Ares played mean — but smarter, now. His hits landed where they needed to, and nowhere else.
And Grayson…
Grayson controlled everything. He wasn’t perfect — not yet, anyway — but he was skating hard in that direction. His movements were deliberate now, his orders intelligent. He wasn’t reacting anymore, he was dictating. Guiding. Passing…
Finally.
Late in the third, with the score still tied, everything was on the line.
The Phantoms pushed harder, tightening their defense.
Their forward line began forcing mistakes, looking for that one opening that would it end it.
It could happen fast, too. With just a flick of the wrist, it could be for nothing.
This time however, the Reavers didn’t fold.
They held, shift after shift. Grinding. Adapting.
Listening.
Even if they’d never admit it.
“Watch the right side!” I said sharply. “They’re baiting the turnover.”
Mercer was already relaying it. Grayson was already adjusting.
Ares held. Caleb covered.
And in the final moments, the whole rink held its breath. The clock counted down. Ten seconds. Five seconds. Two… one…
Overtime.
The guys skated to the bench dripping sweat, breathing hard. Their eyes were sharp, though. They didn’t look the least bit tired.
They looked hungry.
“Alright, nothing stupid now,” barked Mercer. “Keep doing it.”
Nobody else spoke, including me. It was all out there, now. It was on them, and they knew it.
Overtime began, and things moved quickly. Everything was faster. Edgier. Much more dangerous.
Every opportunity mattered, because it could be the last one.
No mistakes… no mistakes… no mistakes…
Sebastian made the first save. Then another. When the puck failed to clear the zone, he snapped right back into the crease like his ass was a magnet. He deflected a third shot with his blocker, angling it straight to Caleb.
Caleb took the puck and rushed with it, cutting wide. He pulled the defense with him. For a split second, everything opened. Time slowed down…
He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. He passed—
Grayson was open, on the left, exactly where he needed to be. He was already rearing back, before the puck even got there.
The puck arrived.
His stick flexed, under the intensity of the slapshot…
GOAL!
The entire rink exploded. Gloves went flying. Sticks clattered across the ice.
Players piled on, leaping over the bench, mobbing Grayson. They were shouting and cheering. Grinning and laughing, totally overcome by adrenaline.
Victory.
Relief.
Release…
Shit, it was every bit as good as an orgasm. I stayed where I was, watching, making note of the reactions going on all around me.
It wasn’t just the win, either. It was how they’d gotten here. The Reavers hadn’t been perfect, and they hadn’t exactly been dominant.
But they’d definitely changed.
Across the ice, Grayson looked toward the bench again. His gaze found mine, and for a second he held it.
No smile. No acknowledgment. Just—
Understanding.
I exhaled slowly, lowering my tablet. Then I lifted my free hand, just as he turned back to his team.
Had he seen it?
I didn’t know. I didn’t care, either. They’d done this, and that was all that mattered. Maybe not because of me, but definitely with me.
Even if they weren’t ready to say it.