Page 309 of Iced Up Love: Part Two
The game builds quickly after that. Back and forth. Tight. Every save matters, even if it doesn’t. And I feel it in my body more than I used to. The pull in my shoulder when I stretch too far across the crease. The dull ache in my knee when I drop hard to block a low shot. The way my lungs burn just a little faster than they did five years ago.
There was a time I would’ve reached for something to take the edge off.
Would’ve already had something sitting in my system to dull the ache, to keep me moving without feeling the wear and tear.
Now, It doesn’t even cross my mind.
Not once.
Because I don’t need it. Not when I know what I’m going back to. Not when I know she’s here.
Watching.
Waiting.
That thought settles something in me that no medication ever did.
The next play breaks fast.
Too fast.
One of their forwards cuts hard across the crease just as I shift to track the puck, and I see it coming half a second too late. Impact.
His shoulder slams into me as he loses his edge, sending me backward into the net with a sharp jolt that rattles through my entire body.
The whistle blows immediately, but it doesn’t matter.
Because Jackson’s already on him.
“Don’t you fucking touch him!”
Gloves drop.
Of course they do.
The forward barely has time to react before Jackson drives into him, fists already swinging, the crowd roaring instantly as the tension explodes into something physical.
I push myself up, shaking off the hit, my body protesting for a second before settling again.
“I’m good!” I call out, more for my team than anything else.
Jackson doesn’t stop until the refs drag him off, still snapping, still keyed up like he’s looking for someone else to take it out on.
I catch his eye briefly as they pull him back.
A look passes between us.
You good?
Yeah.
The game resets, but the energy shifts after that. Sharper. More aggressive.
Like everyone’s just been reminded that this is still hockey. Still physical. Still a game where one wrong move can turn into something else entirely.
We push through it, minute by minute. Save by save.
And when the final buzzer sounds, we’ve won it. By one.
