55 - Grayson
GRAYSON
The puck hit the ice and everything else dropped away.
Noise. Crowd. Pressure.
Gone.
All that was left was movement. Muscle memory. Hundreds of hours of drills — intense and unrelenting.
And the sheer will to win.
The Sentinels came out swinging. No hesitation. No feeling-out. They pressed hard from the first shift — aggressive forecheck, bodies finishing every hit, sticks snapping at lanes like they were trying to break us before we could settle.
Good.
“Left side — watch the trailer!” I barked, pivoting at the blue line.
Ares answered first.
He crushed their winger along the boards, clean and hard, the kind of hit that echoed. The puck popped loose, and Sebastian was already calling the next play from the crease, calm as ever.
The crowd roared.
Not all of it for us.
I heard it then — the split. Half the arena in Reavers colors. The other half?
Sentinels.
Loud, confident, braggadocious. Like they owned this place.
Good.
Let them think that.
I took the outlet pass and turned up ice, cutting through the center as bodies collapsed toward me. For a second — just one — my eyes flicked up.
Bench.
Glass.
Her.
Haven stood there, tablet tucked by her side, because the tablet couldn’t help now. Watching everything as she always did — like she already knew how this was going to play out.
Something settled in my chest. Steady. Certain.
Then it was gone.
Back to the game.
The first period was a war. Hits stacked. Shots traded. Sebastian stole two goals they should’ve had, and I couldn’t be more proud of him. Our defense held under pressure, tight and controlled.
And Sutherland—
I saw it early. Not the play.
The hesitation.
It was small, at first. Almost nothing. A fraction too slow, pushing across. A glove that came up just a hair light.
Something’s wrong.
I filed it away. There was no time to do anything else.
Then I went after it.
In the second period, we struck first. Ares drove the net, dragging defenders with him. I circled high, pulled coverage, then slipped the puck wide.
Zack was there. Stick down. Ready.
The puck hit him clean. Back of the net.
1-0.
The building split again — half roaring, half dead silent. But the roars were thunderous. Feet slamming aluminum floors threatened to shake the peeling paint from rink’s walls.
I didn’t celebrate long. I turned instead.
Watched.
Sutherland skated back, fishing the puck from the net.
And there it was.
That look.
Not anger. Not frustration.
Something tighter.
Like the ice underneath him was cracking.
The puck dropped again, and it got worse as the period went on.
Subtle changes, but I saw them.
An overcommit, on a routine shot. Late recovery. A rebound kicked out where it shouldn’t have been.
What the hell is wrong with you?
He was better than this. I knew he was.
But I still remembered what he did.
We made it 2-0 late in the second. This one was mine.
Clean. Fast. No hesitation.
I took the pass, cut inside, and snapped the shot before he could set.
It punched the back of the net before he even moved.
I didn’t celebrate.
Just turned and skated away.
By the third, they were unraveling. You could feel it, both on the ice and off.
Passes missed. Structure slipping. Confidence gone.
And Sutherland?
He was breaking. Piece by piece. I saw it in his eyes, now. That same tight look.
Like he wasn’t playing us anymore.
Like he was playing something else, inside his own head.
They got one back with ten minutes left. Scramble in front. Sebastian almost had it.
2-1.
The Sentinels fans came alive again. The building shook. Momentum shifted.
This was where I used to take over.
Force it. Control it. Finish it myself.
I didn’t.
I slowed, instead. Let the play move. Let it breathe, the way we’d practiced.
Haven’s voice — quiet, sharp — cut through the noise in the back of my head.
You don’t have to carry everything.
Final shift. Clock bleeding out.
I picked up the puck at center and drove.
Defense collapsed. Exactly like I knew they would.
The lane opened…
Clean. Perfect. My shot.
My moment.
I didn’t take it.
I didn’t need to.
Zack was open. Left side. Ready. I could feel him more than see him.
I slid the pass across without thinking. He caught it perfectly, right at the curve of his blade…
… and fired it straight through Sutherland’s legs.
Goal.
3-1.
The place exploded. Cheers. Screams. Boots stomping metal.
That was it. That was the break.
The final horn sounded, and everything hit at once.
Sticks slamming, bodies crashing together. Sebastian ripping off his mask. Ares grabbing me and hauling me in with a grin that looked borderline violent.
“That’s how you do it,” he said.
I barely heard him. I was already looking past him.
Haven didn’t wait. She shouldn’t have been there.
Didn’t matter.
She launched herself at me the second I stepped off the ice, arms wrapping around my neck like she couldn’t stop herself.
I caught her easily. Her breath hit my ear.
“You didn’t take it,” she said.
I exhaled.
“No.”
A beat. Then, quieter—
“You were right.”
She pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes bright, locked in.
“I know,” she said, like it wasn’t even a question.
My eyes slipped over her shoulder, and I saw him:
Sutherland.
Still in the crease. Not moving. Just standing there. Staring at nothing.
At everything.
At something only he could see.
My jaw went tight.
Something happened to you.
I didn’t know what. I told myself I shouldn’t care.
But I did.
And that was going to matter.