Page 109 of The Callahan Effect

Ryan nodded.

"We've got it."

Coach looked directly at me.

"If the opportunity comes..."

He didn't need to finish the sentence.

Take it.

The faceoff came inside our defensive zone after Oscar gloved another dangerous shot through heavy traffic. Ryan won it cleanly, pulling the puck backward to Connor before immediately tying up the opposing center. Connor wasted no time. He banked the puck high off the glass, sending it bouncing safely beyond our blue line while both teams sprinted through the neutral zone.

Lake Superior regrouped quickly.

Their defenseman carried the puck back across center, accelerated over our blue line, and tried forcing a pass through the middle that Ethan intercepted cleanly. The instant the puck touched Ethan's stick, I turned up ice.

He saw me immediately.

The pass reached me just outside our blue line with enough speed that I never needed to break stride. I gathered it smoothly, crossed center ice, and found myself racing toward two retreating defensemen while Ryan and Luca drove hard through the middle lanes, forcing both defenders to respect every option available to me.

The first defenseman stepped toward Ryan.

The second shifted his weight toward Luca.

For one brief moment, the middle of the ice belonged entirely to me.

I lowered my shoulder, accelerated between them, and crossed the blue line with open ice unfolding directly ahead. The arena noise seemed to disappear as instinct replaced conscious thought. Every hour I'd spent shooting pucks as a kid, every practice Coach had ever put me through, and every repetition Ryan and I had shared over the previous months converged into one perfectly familiar moment.

The goaltender challenged aggressively.

I carried the puck another stride before shifting it from forehand to backhand and immediately pulling it across my body again.

He bit.

The opening appeared no wider than a dinner plate.

It was enough.

My wrist snapped through the shot, sending the puck rising cleanly over his blocker before exploding into the back of the net with a sharp crack that somehow cut through thousands of screaming voices.

For the briefest heartbeat I simply stood there watching the net ripple.

Then the red light flashed.

The official pointed decisively toward center ice.

The building erupted.

Ryan hit me first, wrapping both arms around my shoulders before Luca crashed into both of us with enough force to send the three of us stumbling toward the corner boards. Within seconds the rest of the line arrived, followed by our defensemen, gloves pounding against helmets as the Evergreen supporters celebrated the goal that had all but secured another national championship.

Somewhere beyond the pile of green jerseys I caught sight of Coach.

He didn't leap into the air.

He didn't pump his fists.

He folded both arms across his chest, smiled with unmistakable pride, and gave the smallest nod in my direction.