Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
BETTSY
I live for moments like this; they’re part of the reason I was so keen to pursue hockey professionally. The crowd, all chanting in unison. The prospect of winning a cup. The way my lungs burn from the effort.
But my favourite thing?
The perfect first stride when the ice is smooth—untouched. For a second, everything fades away. No noise. No lights. No chaos.
That moment of clarity. Where everything is as it should be.
Just me and the ice.
Except today it’s different. It doesn’t feel the same. I’m unsettled. Anxious. And it’s got nothing to do with this being the cup final.
“Ready?” Johnny asks.
I nod, trying to convince myself I’m focused, confident and fired up. As I take my place on the blueline for my first shift of the final period, I channel all my energy on one thing: defence. Forty-five seconds of high-intensity concentration and defence .
“Smart plays only,” Johnny says before taking his position on the left. I find my spot on the right, waiting for Liam to lean in to take the face-off.
There’s a pause. Then the ref blows his whistle. Then the puck drops.
The moment it hits the ice, Lee gains control and flicks it towards me with no hesitation.
I accept the pass and play it back, keeping the puck close to the blade of my stick as I move in reverse.
I’m letting the guys find their places, assessing the opposition.
I wait for their positions to stabilise before I decide on my next move: a pass to Jani, waiting in the neutral zone.
It ricochets off the shin pad of one of their defencemen as Jani attempts a forward pass to Prez, right into the stick of an opposition winger, who takes control, moving in my direction.
“On me,” I call, and Johnny and I quickly adjust, falling back to cover the attack.
I fight to keep focus. Desperate to keep my head in the game.
The next few moments are a blur of motion.
The opposing forward, trying to gain an edge, dangles the puck, trying to lure me in.
But I stay patient, my body tense, knees bent.
As he attempts a quick pass, I extend my stick to intercept, but he skates around me, sending the puck wide.
The shot comes off his stick fast and slams into my shin guard with a jarring thud, knocking me off balance.
Okay, I may be a little distracted. There’s a tiny part of me thinking about that text message.
But I get back to my feet, wincing in pain, using that to concentrate on the game. I follow the direction of the puck, but there’s a rush, and I have no choice but to charge, knocking a forward into the boards with a satisfying rumble.
The volume of the crowd intensifies.
“Good block, bud, but let’s clear those rebounds faster,” Johnny says as we skate back to the bench half a minute later. “Remember, they’re looking for mistakes. Keep your focus and we’ve got this. ”
He’s right. My focus is not what it should be. And I can’t afford to carry on this way. We’re tied 2-2 with around eighteen minutes left. It’s crucial I live in the moment.
Johnny and I take our places on the bench, leaning forward to watch the play progress, watching the movements of the opposition’s defence. But I’m struggling to invest.
Concentrate, Bettsy. Concentrate.
“He’s heavy on the forecheck today,” I say to Johnny, pointing towards their number four. But I only say it to keep on topic and to stop my mind from wandering.
“Ah shit,” Johnny says, leaning further forward. “This is our chance.”
We watch the sequence of play, keeping our attention on the ice as our attack moves up the ice, forcing their defence into action.
Clink.
The crowd makes a unanimous groan as the puck rebounds.
“Good pressure, though,” he says. “And now it’s up to us to keep it going.”
He nods his head towards the returning pair of defenceman, swinging his legs over the shelf as he waits for Jonesy to coast to the bench, and I do the same, hovering for a second longer until Yatesy is clear.
I hit the ice, joining the play on the transition to the offensive zone.
“Cover the slot,” Johnny shouts back at me as he breaches the blue line.
And I do. Focus and concentration.
I throw my body against my mark as I survey the play, trying to work out his next move. All it takes is a rogue pass in my direction and I shift my weight, leaning forward and diverting the puck, sending it through the air back towards Johnny, who whacks it around the boards to a waiting Prez.
“Good job,” he says, as we fall back, positioning ourselves on the point .
Lee sends it out of play, and we’re forced to take a face-off in the neutral zone.
Focus, Betts. Focus.
“If Lee gets it, I’ll quick up,” Johnny says before he circles into position. “Follow my lead.”
And of course, Lee flicks it back towards Johnny, who executes as planned, sending a sharp pass towards Prez to initiate a rush. I watch Prez move forward for a split second before I clock their right defenceman, watching his reaction.
He pinches aggressively, trying to disrupt Prez. But Prez is fast—too fast for him. Prez pokes it past him. The footrace for possession is on, and I know I need to stay back—wait for the turnover I can feel coming.
Focus, Betts. Focus.
It’s Johnny who gets my attention next. He’s calling for support, and I have to push forward to protect against a counterattack.
But that’s when Prez takes a heavy check into the boards, losing the battle as he crashes to the ice.
My eyes widen as I watch him, waiting for him to move, relieved as he clambers to his skates as the puck is snatched away, an opposing forward gaining possession.
He breaks away, flying at speed towards the neutral zone.
This is on me. This is my play.
I barely have a second to react. I burst to life, keeping up pace with him as I aim to cut him off. I use my body to block his movement, creating a barrier. I hold him off just long enough for Johnny to get there, taking position close enough to Ffordey.
Mr Offensive fires it, and Johnny’s shin becomes the point of deflection, sending it into the air and out of play.
That’s our sign to change up. I glide back to the bench with Johnny on my heel.
“Nice play, bud,” he says. “Honestly, it surprises me you had to wait so long for a Team GB slot. ”
I look up at the clock, checking how long I need to keep things cool before replying to Johnny.
“Well, yeah, I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not all sunshine and roses.”
Our backup nettie holds the bench door open and we hustle, taking our seats as the play resets. I reach for a towel, running it over my visor before tossing it aside and grabbing a water bottle, keen to keep myself busy.
“Langdon? I thought you said practices were fine?” he says. “He’s not been giving you shit, has he?”
“Well, they’ve been bearable. He’s hardly said a word, if I’m honest. And that’s probably what’s putting me on edge. He doesn’t seem his usual shitty self. It’s like waiting for a ticking time-bomb to detonate.”
Johnny shrugs. “He’s probably feeling the pressure.”
We lean forward, looking out on the ice as the face-off is taken, watching in eager anticipation as Danny wins the battle and sends it back to the third line defenceman on his left.
“Maybe. But I don’t care enough to think about it. I guess I’ll see how things go.”
The truth is, I can’t think about it. My mental capacity is teetering on the edge. I’m using all my energy to focus on the game, not what the Team GB schedule looks like, nor what?—
“This is it…” Johnny says, snapping me back to the game. I blink, expecting to see something triumphant, but instead, I realise that this is very much not it.
The puck flies in slow motion, connecting with the crossbar and rebounding off with a clink and it lands at the feet of an opposing forward. He takes a beat to react, looking between the puck and the empty stretch of ice in front of him, then he bursts at speed, breaking away.
Right up the ice towards a lonely-looking Ffordey.