Page 324 of Playing With Fire

“Yes, Coach.”

“I don't care what's going on with Beckett. You settle it after the game.”

“Got it.”

He points toward the ice. “Then go lead your team.”

I hop over the boards.

Mercer takes the puck through the neutral zone and sends it across to Jax.

I accelerate.

The Archers are protecting the middle. They know we need a goal. They know I'll look for the pass.

I always look for the pass. It's what makes me good at my job.

Read the ice.

Find the opening.

Make the play.

Jax is moving toward the far post. Mercer is wide open on my left. I've got two good passing options. But the defenseman is already shifting toward Mercer, and the goalie is anticipating the pass.

For once, the opening isn't for somebody else. It's mine. I pull the puck across my body and shoot. The puck hits the back of the net. The horn sounds.

Ignite Arena erupts.

I barely hear it. Because the first thing I do is look for her.

Delaney is on her feet. Both hands over her mouth.

Avery is jumping beside her, grabbing her arm.

Mrs. B is clapping.

Coach is standing with both hands raised.

And Delaney—she's looking right at me. Like she can't quite believe what she's seeing; maybe she can't. Because somewhere along the way, I got so used to making the safe play that I almost missed the best thing that ever happened to me.

I skate toward the glass. Not all the way to the boards. Just close enough that I know she can see me. I tap the number on my chest.

Twenty-two.

Then point toward her.

The crowd gets louder.

Jax slams into me from the side.

Mercer grabs the back of my jersey.

Jackson comes flying in from the bench.

“Holy shit, Bish!”

“About time you shot the damn puck!” Jax yells.