Chapter 22 Colby
Chapter twenty-two
Colby
“Keep your feet moving.”
Coach’s voice cuts through the bench noise, sharp and steady, the kind that doesn’t need to be loud to carry weight.
I nod once, visor fogged, lungs burning, adrenaline still crawling under my skin as I get onto the ice.
Third period.
Tie game.
Everything tight.
The crowd is on its feet, and it feels like the whole building is breathing with us. I take my place at center ice, flex my gloves once, and lock in.
This is the part I understand.
The ice doesn’t lie.
The puck doesn’t care who’s mad at who or what’s going on off it.
It just wants speed.
Focus.
Execution.
The ref drops the puck.
We explode forward.
Bryce drives wide. Mason crashes the slot. I angle back, read the breakout, adjust on instinct.
Anger is easy to skate with.
It gives you edge.
It gives you bite.
It’s the other stuff that messes you up. The questions. The second-guessing. The part of me that keeps circling the same damn thought no matter how hard I try to outrun it.
Did she plan it?
I shove the thought away as I chase the puck into the corner, shoulders slamming into glass, crowd cheering with approval. The boards rattle. My legs hum.
We cycle.
We grind.
Coach barks from the bench.
“Again! Again!”
I pivot, call for the puck, fire it back to the point. Shot goes wide. Rebound pops loose.
The goalie covers.
Whistle.
I skate past our bench, Dex chirping something that earns a shove from Mason.
“Focus,” I mutter.
Dex grins. “Always, Cap.”
Liar.
Next shift, we push harder.
This game feels like it’s waiting for something to crack.
Bryce takes a pass and snaps it on net. The goalie blocks it. Puck squirts free.
I crash.
Stick down.
Shot.
Saved again.
The crowd groans in unison.
I skate back, chest heaving, jaw tight behind my mouthguard.
Tie games do that.
They sit in your bones.
Across the ice, their center lines up and smirks.
I don’t smirk back.
I just nod.
Faceoff.
We battle.
Time bleeds off the clock.
Two minutes left.
Everything sharpens.
This is where leaders show.
I win the draw clean back to Gabriel. He sends it wide. Mason crashes. Chaos in front of the net.
The puck pops loose.
I don’t think.
I react.
I step into space and rip it.
The sound of the post rings like a gunshot.
The crowd screams.
So close it hurts.
The opposing team clears.
I skate back hard, lungs on fire, refusing to slow.
Another shift.
Another chance.
With forty seconds left, Bryce chips it deep. Dex beats his man to the puck and centers it blindly.
I’m already there.
I bury it.
Red light.
The building detonates.
My arms shoot up before I even realize it. My teammates crash into me, sticks banging, gloves slamming into my helmet.
That rush… God, it never gets old.
The horn blares.
We hold the line.
Final seconds tick down.
When it’s over, the noise is unreal.
We did it.
I skate toward the bench, breathing hard, heart hammering, letting the sound wash over me.
Win secured.
Then the music kicks up.
Not our goal song.
Something lighter.
More pop.
The kind of music they play when the night isn’t done yet.
The announcer’s voice booms through the arena.
“Nashville! Don’t go anywhere just yet!”
The crowd cheers even louder.
“Tonight is Fan Appreciation Night! Some of our players will be on the ice throwing jerseys and t-shirts into the stands. And, we’ve got one more performance for you. Our own Raina is about to take the stage again to perform her brand-new single, dropping next week!”
Applause rolls.
“And since it’s a love song…” he pauses deliberately, “we’re turning on the Kiss Cam!”
The jumbotron flares to life.
The crowd cheers.
I laugh under my breath.
Of course they are.
Helmets come off. Gloves loosen. A few of us spread out across the ice, grabbing bins of T-shirts to toss into the stands.
This part’s fun, especially after a win and everyone's juiced.
The song starts.
Lights sweep the arena.
The kiss cam cuts to a couple in the lower bowl.
They freeze.
Crowd laughs.
Then Dex’s voice blasts from the announcer booth.
“ALRIGHT NASHVILLE, THAT WAS CUTE, but I’ve seen stronger chemistry between two water bottles!”
The arena loses it.
"What the..." I shake my head, grinning despite myself.
Bryce’s voice, on a microphone, cuts in from the bench.
“YOU’RE ON THE JUMBOTRON, MAN. COMMIT.”
The couple kisses harder.
Crowd roars.
Dex again. “THAT’S WHAT WE CALL A MID-GAME ADJUSTMENT.”
Eli’s voice cuts in, flat and unimpressed.
“Acceptable.”
Bryce’s voice booms right after, delighted.
“WHEN THE GOALIE APPROVES, YOU CAN PUT THAT ONE ON THE SCOREBOARD.”
I fire a shirt into the stands, watching a kid scramble for it.
The cam jumps.
Another couple.
Barely a peck.
Mason’s voice comes through.
“NOPE. THAT WAS A PRACTICE REP. WE NEED GAME SPEED.”
Laughter rolls like thunder.
Dex piles on. “OKAY, THAT WAS CUTE BUT YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN THAT.”
Bryce howls. “COME ON, MAN. YOU’RE ON THE KISS CAM, NOT A JOB INTERVIEW.”
They kiss harder.
Crowd ROARS.
Dex cheers. “Yeah,” I say. “He’s hired.”
I’m laughing now, full-on, chest loose for the first time all night.
This is harmless.
Just the guys being idiots.
The cam jumps again.
Two Friends. Panic.
Dex: “HEY, you don’t have to panic. Just pick a person... to the left, to the right.”
Mason: “ANY PERSON. STATISTICALLY THIS ENDS WELL.”
Eli’s voice drops in, calm as ever.
“That's not accurate.”
The crowd goes wild.
The camera cuts again.
An older couple appears on the screen, gray hair, arms wrapped around each other like they’ve been doing it for decades.
Dex’s voice softens, just a beat.
“OH. HOLD UP. NASHVILLE, THESE TWO HAVE BEEN DOING THIS LONGER THAN MOST OF US HAVE BEEN ALIVE.”
The crowd melts.
The couple laughs and shares an easy, unhurried kiss.
Bryce adds, impressed, “WOW. PROFESSIONALS.”
The arena explodes all over again.
Dex whistles. “THAT’S VETERAN PRESENCE, FOLKS. ELITE CHEMISTRY.”
The kiss cam finally moves on.
I toss another shirt.
Dex suddenly shouts, “CAPTAIN, SECTION 114 NEEDS SOME LOVE.”
I don’t think.
I just fire.
Perfect arc.
The camera follows it.
The shirt lands near a woman who startles and laughs as she bends to grab it.
The cam lingers.
My stomach drops.
Because I know that face.
Sloane.
My name hits the arena a second later.
“COL-BY HAYES! COL-BY HAYES!”
I lift my hands, laughing, confused.
“What did I do?” I mouth.
Dex’s voice crackles again. “OKAY, I LOVE THE ENTHUSIASM, BUT WHAT DID HE DO?”
Bryce: “EXIST, APPARENTLY.”
Mason: “STRONG brAND.”
The cam cuts.
Back to her.
Then to me.
Back to her.
Back to me.
The crowd connects the dots in real time.
The chant changes.
“KISS! KISS! KISS!”
My pulse slams.
Oh.
This is about me.
About us.
Dex’s voice goes slightly panicked. “OKAY. THIS JUST TOOK A TURN.”
Bryce yells, “WE HAVE LOST CONTROL OF THE EVENT.”
Mason mutters, “I’D LIKE IT NOTED THIS WAS NOT MY IDEA.”
Eli, calm as ever says, “There is no scenario where this ends quietly.”
I skate toward the bench first, heart pounding, the magnitude of the moment crashing in all at once.
My helmet is already off, sweat cooling against my skin, thoughts racing faster than my skates ever could.
Part of me wants to sit down. Hide. Let this pass.
The other part knows I won’t be able to live with myself if I do.
Coach steps beside me.
“You don’t get many moments where the whole building’s listening,” he says quietly.
Then he walks away.
The chant grows louder.
I’m still angry.
Still hurt.
Still don’t have answers.
But I’m done hiding.
I push toward section 114, blades cutting hard, and slide my stick into the hands of a wide-eyed kid pressed against the glass like I’m passing off the last piece of myself before I jump.
Then I hop the boards.
The crowd explodes.
I stop in front of her.
Up close, her eyes are wide, breath caught, hands shaking around that stupid T-shirt.
“I’m not pretending you don’t matter,” I say.
The crowd is still chanting, the word crashing over us in waves.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
She swallows, eyes flicking to the jumbotron and back to me, like she can’t quite believe this is real.
“Colby…” she starts, breathless.
I don’t let her finish.
I cup her face, feel her hands clutch at my jersey, and then I kiss her hard with no hesitation, no careful distance. It’s intense and unfiltered, the kind of kiss that carries weeks of anger and want and everything we never said.
She melts into it with a soft sound that goes straight through me, and when she kisses me back, it’s just as fierce.
The chant turns into a roar.
Sound crashes in from every direction.
And for the first time all night, I don’t care who’s watching.