Chapter 50 #2
Five minutes into the third period, I get my chance when Maddox swings around the goal, the puck firmly under his control, and he backhands it into the Sharks’ net.
The crowd goes absolutely wild, but I don’t hear or see anything besides Indie and her excited face when she looks at me and mouths, “Oh my god!”
Grinning at her while my teammates race down the ice to celebrate with me, I let go of more of the pressure that’s been weighing me down.
The game becomes a true battle. Now down two to one, the Sharks come out swinging, both literally and figuratively. They check our guys against the boards, shove, and even get away with a couple of cross-checks when the refs aren’t paying attention.
“Don’t give them what they want,” I warn Griffin as his face contorts with rage after one of the Sharks’ wingers shoves him from behind with a stick. “They want a power play.”
“I know,” Griffin growls, shoulder checking the winger into the plexi, but otherwise ignoring the chirps being thrown his way.
Fifteen minutes into the third, Logan scores on a rebound, and the crowd goes wild. Indie jumps up and down with Lola and Megan, and my heart jumps with her. The air electrifies, and we celebrate being up by two.
The Sharks could still come back and tie it up, forcing us into overtime, but with fifteen minutes left of the game, and some serious momentum behind us, the Rogues don’t rest—we push harder.
Ten minutes left in the period, and I stop a shot attempt while one of Florida’s wingers encroaches on my ice.
I send the puck to Maddox, who skates toward the neutral zone but loses the puck to Florida’s center near the red line.
Their winger crowds my crease, the blades of his skate right on the blue line that marks my territory.
As the Sharks move the puck down the ice, he inches back into my goal, and I shove him out.
Nine minutes left in the game. The Sharks’ center taps the puck to their right wing, who taps it back to the center.
Their left wing crosses the blue line again, and I shove him harder this time.
When his teammates pass him the puck, he turns his body wildly.
I manage to slap the puck away from his stick, but he slams into me with his shoulder.
“Hey!” Logan skates up to the winger and shoves him away from me. Hard. “Get the fuck out of the crease, asshole.”
Florida’s winger shoves Logan back. “What are you going to do about it, bitch?”
Griffin joins Logan and squares up against the winger. Florida’s center and right wing join the fray, followed by Maddox. They shout at each other, shoving and chirping, tensions and the pressure of the game shortening everyone’s nerves and temper.
When I glance over at Indie, she’s frowning. She watches the ice with her body pitched forward. Like she’s prepared to hop the boards and defend me if anyone else dares hit me.
Fuck, I love her.
Florida’s center throws a punch at Maddox, and the ice explodes into a massive scrum.
I stand off to the side, forcing my feet to stay still, when all I want is to jump into the melee, as the refs pull Florida players off our guys, and our guys off Sharks players.
Florida loses two players to the penalty box, while we only lose one.
Eight minutes left in the game, and the Rogues are on the power play.
It doesn’t take long for our offense to gain control of the puck, then our O-line is flying down the ice in an odd-man rush while Florida scrambles.
Seven minutes and twenty seconds left in the game, and Griffin scores.
The arena goes wild.
“Oh my god!” Indie mouths to me. “Oh my god!”
My heart hammers in my chest. We’re up by three with a minute and a half left on the power play.
Are we actually going to do this?
We battle it out after another face-off, but the Sharks hold our guys back from scoring again, then they’re back to full strength, and they come out swinging.
I block six more shot attempts, while their goalie does the same.
One minute left in the game.
Florida presses through the neutral zone and into my territory. I can hear Indie screaming encouragements from her seat as I block another shot attempt.
Thirty seconds.
Our guys fight for possession of the puck behind my net, two of them battling it out with three Sharks against the boards. They call their goalie out, adding an offensive player and leaving their net empty.
Twenty seconds.
The Sharks manage to extract the puck, swinging around the net and passing it from winger to center, back to winger.
Ten seconds.
A shot attempt bounces off my leg pads.
Five seconds.
Maddox checks a Shark against the boards, keeping him from taking a rebound shot.
Three seconds.
Desperate, the Sharks swarm me, trying to dodge the five first-line Rogues who will do whatever it takes to keep them from scoring another goal.
Two seconds.
The Sharks’ center takes a shot that bounces off the post to my left.
One second.
Griffin chips the puck away from the defensive zone. Maddox shoves their center. The wingers race after the puck.
The buzzer sounds.
There’s a singular moment of absolute silence, then it’s chaos.
Lights flash, sirens sound, and the crowd goes wild. My teammates surround me, slamming into each other, arms out, creating a pile of shouting, excited men who embrace each other as we all realize what we just did.
We won the fucking Cup.
“We did it!” Griffin shouts, wrapping his arms around me. “We fucking did it, Bashy-cakes. Ho-ly shit!”
I return his smile, but my eyes go to the pink-haired woman in the seats behind him. The woman I’ve loved for half my life. The one I’d all but given up hope would ever be present for a moment like this.
She stares at me, tears in her eyes, the biggest, most beautiful smile on her face as she mouths, “I’m so proud of you.”
I’m so tempted to mouth back that I love her, but then I’m jostled by another teammate and another. I watch as an employee of the team approaches Indie, motioning to the tunnel where the family members will gather to walk out on the ice and celebrate with us.
She catches my eye one more time as she heads for the tunnel, and I line up with my team to shake hands with the Sharks. Then they’ll present us with the Cup.
It’s a surreal moment. It’s everything I ever wanted. And yet, I find myself looking forward to my girl running into my arms more than holding the trophy. Winning the Cup is the pinnacle of any hockey player’s career.
Winning Indie is the pinnacle of my life.