Page 73 of Rookie Moves

Fuck’s sake, McKay, get your fucking act together.

I avoid Coach’s glare as I return to the bench. Liam gives my knee a slap, letting me know without words that he isn’t mad. My knee bounces frantically until I take my next shift, eager to get back out there and make up for my foolish mistake.

I keep my eyes glued on the puck as I hop over the boards for my next shift, our defenseman controlling the pace in the defensive zone. Fleming passes to me, and I pass over to Nelson to take us into the offensive zone before he sends the puck back to land on my tape. I deke around their waiting defenseman and shoot the puck between my skates. It lands on Liam’s blade with an audible thwack, and then the second Quinnipiac’s focus is redirected to Liam, he passes it to me, and I zero in on the top left corner. It sails in, skimming over the goalie’s blocker, lighting the lamp and putting us back in the lead by 1.

“That was some highlight-reel shit! Holy fuck!” Liam beams as I’m crowded into the boards.

Laughing, I skate back to the bench and watch the replay on the jumbotron. Tyler places his hand on my knee and gives me a shake, his wide grin visible through his bubble.

“That was fucking amazing, Colbs,” he praises, and his words have me floating on the moon.

Quinnipiac are unable to close the gap, and as we go into third period, the anticipation of being so close to the win has us dialing up our efforts. Each pass is coordinated and silky smooth. Each hit is calculated and legal, and every shot we take on the net fractures Quinnipiac’s confidence bit by bit.

With two minutes left, they pull their goalie, and rumbles of excitement echo down the bench.

Nelson takes a shot from the boards, but the puck bounces off the post with an audible ting, and the crowd lets out a collective groan.

Quinnipiac don’t give up fighting. They’re all over our every move, but when Liam passes the puck to me, I kick it with the back of my skate blade, allowing me the chance to dodge around their d-man. I have a clear shot on the empty net, and the thunderous roar of the crowd gets louder. My hands are trembling in my gloves, tears pricking behind my eyes as I shoot. The puck glides over the crease paint and into the back of the net.

My heart is pounding as loud as the crowd stomping their feet in the stands, and as I turn on my skates, arms already in the air to celebrate, my gaze drifts to the clock on the jumbotron.

Five seconds.

Five fucking seconds left in the third period.

My vision turns blurry the second Liam lifts me up off the ice. I can’t hear a word he or anyone else is saying because everything is so loud.

My heartbeat. The crowd.

We did it.

We fucking did it.

The bench is already going nuts. Coach Vaughn is jumping on the bench, his tie halfway around his head as he celebrates with our assistant coach.

I’m shaking as I line up for the face-off, hands sweating buckets in my gloves. I watch the official’s hand as he drops the puck, quickly passing it back to Nelson because I’m still a hockey player, after all, and winning the face-off still counts toward my stats.

But there’s no play, Quinnipiac having already accepted defeat.

Five.

Four.

I glance over to Tyler on the bench, where he’s jumping up and down with Anton, wearing the widest grin I’ve ever seen on his face.

Three.

Two.

The buzzer is barely audible over the sound of the blood pounding in my ears and my teammates’ raucous cheers. I choke out a sob, realization hitting me like a ton of bricks.

We won the Frozen Four.

It takes me a second to drop my stick and gloves before unclipping my helmet, tossing them to join the others scattered across the ice. I skate over to the others piled in the corner, and suddenly, I’m sucked into the middle, surrounded by twenty of my teammates.

Once everyone separates and splits off for individual celebrations, I search for the face of the person who is becoming everything to me. I spot him hugging Liam, slapping his back as he says something that has Liam squeezing his eyes closed. As soon as they pull away, Tyler’s eyes scan the ice until they land on me, and I skate over to him. We collide together, arms wrapping around each other in a tight embrace. He lifts me off my skates, his own cries muffled into the crook of my neck.

“We did it, Colbs, we did it,” he says, and I squeeze him as tight as I can around all our pads.