Page 71 of Rookie Attraction

No biggie, my ass.

Chapter Fourteen

FINN

The game against Seattle starts off in a way that hockey dreams are made of. Berg wins the opening faceoff, snapping the puck to Ranken, who wastes no time threading a pass up the boards. Makela is already streaking down the wing, stick low, eyes locked on the net. Seattle’s defense scrambles, but they’re no match for Makela’s speed as he sneaks behind them and roofs it over the goalie’s blocker.

Less than a minute in and it’s first blood.

Rush 1–0.

Our bench erupts in celebration, and I glance at the jumbotron to make sure I didn’t imagine the whole thing. Nope, that goal was real. Real, fast, and fucking awesome.

The Renegades hit back in the second period, and almost tie it up, but we don’t let it rattle us. Our forecheck stays aggressive, our gaps tight. We’re playing smart, disciplined hockey.

Early in the third, Berg and Ranken are at it again, in a give-and-go through the neutral zone, drawing defenders before slipping the puck to Makela. He fakes a shot, and when Seattle’s goalie is out of position, feeds the puck across the crease to Berg. Our captain taps it into the net, restoring our lead.

We hold on to that advantage for the rest of the period. We earn it, working hard, never giving up. The Renegades can’t get past our defense. Sel’s playing his best hockey, I’m sure as fuck giving it everything I’ve got, and Kuz and Tullmore are on fire too. Even Brady and St. Clare up their game.

The Rush closes out Seattle 2–0.

I barely register the sound of the final buzzer before Sel barrels into me, arms banding my waist, both of us smiling, sweaty, and reckless with relief. The scoreboard flashes and the Seattle crowd is stunned into near silence. It’s all white noise anyway. I stare at Sel’s smile, the real one, and I’m hit with emotions that I can’t even put into words.

Until we’re mobbed by our linemates. Then the rest of the team piles over the boards to join us, sticks clattering, gloves tossed. Sorensen yells my name, Berg grabs Sel in a headlock, and for a second, the weight of the last week lifts.

We did it. The sting of our loss to Anaheim is starting to fade.

When we cool down and hit the locker room, the air is loud with laughter and shouts. I get pulled into another hug by Ranken, then Kuz, both guys clapping me on the back, smiling for the first time in days. Even St. Clare, who’s barely spoken to us, nods at Sel and then me.

“Great game,” he mutters. “Both of you.”

Well, holy fucking shit, I wasn’t expecting that. And I don’t trust it.

Sel and I both stand there with our mouths open as Brady stalks off.

“What just happened?” Sel whispers.

“I don’t fucking know. I could’ve sworn he was acting like an actual teammate.”

Sel chuckles and I offer him a wink.

Shit, don’t do that.

He doesn’t seem to notice or care, and I end up sitting side by side with him, jersey off, sweat cooling on my skin. Sel bumps my knee with his, and when I glance over, his eyes are bright.

“Fuck, that win feels awesome.”

“We couldn’t have done it without you,” I admit. “Seriously, in the third, no one got past you, Sel. I’ve never seen you play better.”

“Me? It was all you. You never gave the opposition an inch and you had my back at every turn. Seattle’s forwards were so frustrated, I thought they were gonna start a fist fight.”

For a moment, we’re just two players who love this game. The room is chaos, but in the middle of the noise, something powerful settles in my chest. Tonight, we’re not a headline; we’re a team.

Me and Sel.

“We did good, partner.”

My voice is hoarse, and I know damn well why. I reach for my water bottle as a distraction.