Chapter Nineteen
Maren
The problem with knowing the trap is that you still have to watch someone step near it.
Ridgeview semifinal day arrived like weather.
Heavy.
Low.
Charged.
By noon, the arena felt less like a rink and more like a building holding its breath.
The capstone wall was still up, but people passed it differently now.
Less celebration.
More ritual.
Students touched the Wolves logo before heading toward the stands. Alumni took quick photos, then looked toward the ice like the past could only help if the present held.
The tournament bracket hung above the media table.
Lakeview State versus Ridgeview.
Winner to the championship.
Loser done.
I hated that word.
Done.
It was too sharp for a season that had held this much life.
I checked batteries.
Then checked them again.
Then checked the audio card because anxiety liked variety.
Patty appeared beside me holding two clipboards and one iced coffee.
“Breathe.”
“Coach Adler already does that.”
“He sent me.”
“I hate this building.”
“No, you don’t.”
Accurate.
Annoying.
She handed me the iced coffee.
“Drink.”
“I have coffee.”
“This one has less emotional damage.”
“Questionable.”
She looked toward the rink.
“Carter okay?”
I followed her gaze.
He was on the ice for warmups.
Helmet on.
Jaw set.
Not smiling.
Not stiff either.
Rhett skated beside him for one lap, speaking low.
Mason tapped his stick against Carter’s shin pad when they passed.
Jace said nothing because Jace often communicated by existing like a warning sign.
Nolan made a face at Carter.
Carter made one back.
Good.
Not too loose.
Not too tight.
Alive.
“I think so,” I said.
“Good yes?”
I looked at Patty.
She smiled.
“I hear things.”
“This arena is a surveillance state.”
“Correct.”
Ridgeview took the ice two minutes later.
The boos started immediately.
Blake Soren led their line.
Of course he did.
He skated like he knew every eye in the building had already given him power.
Tall.
Fast.
Sharp grin.
The kind of player cameras loved until they caught what lived under the charm.
He circled near center ice and looked toward Carter.
Carter did not look back.
Good.
Very good.
I lifted my camera.
Warmups were not nothing.
They were a language.
Ridgeview shot hard and loud.
Lakeview moved clean and contained.
Coach Adler watched from the bench with his arms folded, expression carved from stone and mild disappointment.
Tournament hockey did not care about emotional growth.
It cared about the next shift.
Carter had said he was ready.
I believed him.
That did not mean I was calm.
At puck drop, the arena exploded.
Ridgeview came hard.
Not reckless.
Worse.
Intentional.
First shift, they finished every check.
Second shift, they dragged Lakeview into the corners and made them fight for every inch.
Third shift, Soren lined up against Carter.
There it was.
My hand tightened around the camera.
The puck dropped.
Carter won the faceoff back to Rhett.
Soren leaned in as they separated.
Said something.
Carter’s jaw moved once.
No smile.
No laugh.
He skated into the play.
Good.
I exhaled.
Barely.
The first period was brutal and scoreless.
Lakeview had chances.
Ridgeview blocked them.
Ridgeview had chances.
Jace tried to remove pucks from existence with his body.
The crowd hated every whistle.
Coach Adler hated every uncontrolled pass.
I hated that my job required seeing everything and doing nothing.
With three minutes left in the first, Green took a bad angle under pressure and coughed the puck up near the blue line.
Ridgeview nearly scored.
Green came back to the bench pale.
Carter slid down beside him.
Not dramatic.
Not camera-aware.
He said something.
Green nodded.
Then Carter tapped the board twice.
Ugly safe.
I could almost hear it.
At intermission, I moved down to the tunnel for hallway footage.
The Lakeview players filed past.
Rhett focused.
Mason breathing hard.
Jace with a red mark on one cheek.
Nolan muttering to himself.
Green looking scared but not broken.
Carter last.
He saw me.
Did not stop.
Did not make it about us.
But his glove brushed the wall near my sleeve as he passed.
Almost nothing.
Enough.
A second later, Ridgeview’s tunnel door opened.
Soren’s voice carried.
“Still making documentaries, Vance? Or did they upgrade you to inspirational mascot?”
Carter kept walking.
Good.
Soren laughed.
“Careful. They’ll cut your sad mom story into the championship montage.”
The hallway went still.
My stomach dropped.
There it was.
Not near the bruise.
On it.
Carter stopped.
Just for half a second.
Rhett turned.
Coach Adler’s eyes sharpened.
I could not breathe.
Carter’s shoulders rose once.
Fell.
Then he looked back.
No grin.
No laugh.
No blade smile.
Just Carter.
“Soren,” he said.
The hallway froze around his voice.
Soren lifted his eyebrows.
Carter continued, calm.
“My mother is proud of me. Yours probably would be too if you stopped confusing cruelty with personality.”
The Ridgeview players went silent.
Nolan made a sound like he had swallowed a firework.
Coach Adler said, “Vance.”
Not warning.
Anchor.
Carter nodded once.
Then turned and walked into the locker room.
No penalty.
No performance.
No laughter to make the room comfortable.
Just a clean hit in words.
I lowered the camera.
I had not filmed it.
Good.
Some things were not content.
My hands were shaking.
Patty, standing near the media table, whispered, “Well.”
“Yes.”
“That was...”
“Yes.”
“Good?”
I looked at the locker room door.
“Good yes.”
The second period began with Ridgeview angry.
Dangerous.
They pressed hard.
Lakeview absorbed it.
Mostly.
At four minutes in, Ridgeview scored on a deflection.
The arena groaned like a body taking a punch.
Carter leaned over on the bench, breathing hard, eyes on the ice.
Not panicked.
Thinking.
Lakeview answered six minutes later.
Rhett carried wide.
Mason crashed.
Carter screened instead of drifting for the pretty option.
The shot came from Jace.
Rebound.
Nolan jammed it in.
Tie game.
The crowd roared.
Nolan celebrated like a man personally attacked by restraint.
Carter grabbed him by the shoulders and yelled something in his face that made Nolan laugh.
Good laugh.
Safe laugh.
Team laugh.
I filmed that.
Because that mattered.
Late second period, Soren hit Carter along the boards.
Clean enough.
Hard enough.
Carter went down.
Got up.
Soren said something in his ear.
Carter smiled.
My heart dropped.
Then I saw it.
Not the old smile.
Not armor.
Something else.
A tired little smile that said, I know what you are doing.
He skated away.
Ridgeview took the next penalty out of frustration.
Coach Adler looked almost pleased.
Almost.
Lakeview did not score on the power play, but the momentum shifted.
The building felt it.
Ridgeview felt it.
So did I.
Third period.
Tie game.
A season sitting on a knife.
Carter’s line started.
He looked up toward the media platform once.
Not searching.
Checking.
I was there.
He saw.
That was all.
The period moved fast.
Too fast.
My footage would probably be shaky in places because my body had opinions my job did not approve.
Five minutes left.
Still tied.
Green made the ugly safe play behind the net under pressure.
The crowd did not notice.
Coach Adler did.
Carter did.
I did.
Four minutes.
Ridgeview rush.
Jace block.
Three minutes.
Mason shot wide.
Two minutes.
Soren nearly scored on a breakaway and the entire arena lost oxygen.
One minute.
Rhett won a board battle that should have belonged to Ridgeview.
The puck kicked loose.
Carter had it.
Soren closed.
The shot was there.
Not perfect.
Good enough.
The room wanted it.
I could feel it rise.
Carter Vance.
Senior.
Semifinal.
Redemption shot.
The entire story begging for the loud choice.
Carter held.
One beat.
Two.
Soren dropped to block.
Carter slipped the puck sideways.
Green again.
No.
Not Green.
Mason.
Mason buried it.
Lakeview led.
The arena came apart.
I screamed.
Actually screamed.
Into no microphone, thank God.
The camera dipped.
I recovered.
Probably.
Carter did not celebrate himself.
He slammed into Mason, then pointed at Rhett, then grabbed Green when the freshman nearly toppled into the pile.
Joy everywhere.
Ridgeview pulled the goalie.
Final minute.
Chaos.
Ridgeview threw everything at the net.
Pucks through traffic.
Bodies in front.
Sticks tangled.
Carter blocked one with his shin and went down.
Got up.
Kept playing.
Soren got the puck near the circle with twelve seconds left.
Shot.
Deflected.
Loose puck.
I saw it before almost anyone.
Carter dove.
Not elegant.
Not pretty.
He knocked the puck out of danger with one hand on his stick and half his body on the ice.
Buzzer.
Lakeview won.
For one second, there was no sound.
Then there was only sound.
The bench emptied.
The crowd exploded.
Gloves.
Bodies.
The Wolves logo swallowed by celebration.
Lakeview was going to the championship.
I filmed until I could not see through tears.
Professional tears.
Deeply professional.
After the handshake line, Soren barely touched Carter’s glove.
Carter said something.
Soren’s face tightened.
Then he moved on.
I wanted to know.
I did not.
Maybe.
No.
Work first.
The hallway after was wild.
Players shouting.
Staff crying.
Parents hugging anyone in team colors.
Patty holding her clipboard to her chest like a shield.
Coach Adler looked like a man who had experienced happiness against his will.
I captured reaction shots.
Rhett and Tessa.
Mason and Eden.
Jace and Sloane.
Hazel and Grady.
Nolan spinning Green until Green begged for oxygen.
Carter with his mother on FaceTime because she had not been able to stay through the tournament week in person.
His face was softer than the celebration around him.
I did not intrude.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from the ice programs director.