Page 81 of The Swan and the Sentinel
The avalanche comes next. My teammates pour over the boards, crashing into me in a chaotic blur of bodies, sticks, and gloves.
Dewey gets to me first, tackling me onto the ice. “Clerky, you did it! You goddamn ballerina beauty!” he roars, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me like a ragdoll.
I laugh, breathless and exhilarated, still trying to process what just happened. Before I can respond, more bodies slam into us—gloves slapping my helmet, arms hauling me upright, gripping me tightly.
Rocky’s shouting something from the bench. “The ballet worked, you son of a bitch! It worked!”
The sound and the tumult—it’s all too much and not enough. I barely notice any of it.
The only thing I can really feel is the ache in my lungs, the burn in my legs, the heavy, thundering beat of my own heart. I’ve played in thousands of games, fought through dozens of injuries, clawed my way back from the brink of irrelevance.
But this? This moment? This is everything. Through the blur of arms and sticks and helmets, I lift my head.
And that’s when I see them. Up in the stands. Zoe and Lila are jumping up and down, screaming, their faces flushed and wild with joy.
And next to them is her.
Petra. Still in her Sugar Plum Fairy costume, the soft mint-green fabric catching the glow of the arena lights. She’s beaming, hands clasped over her mouth, her blue eyes shining bright and wide.
She’s laughing now, shaking her head, her blonde hair falling loose from their stage-perfect pins. I skate towards her, cupping my hands around my mouth.
“Did you see that!?” I shout over the madness.
Petra’s chest rises and falls, her breath visible in the frigid air of the rink.
Then, slowly, she mouths the two words I never thought I’d hear.
“Nice pirouette.”
