“Marco, Marco!” Rourke starts to chant. And pretty soon they’re all chanting my name.
At least my uncle isn’t here to witness this. He’d say it was highly unprofessional for a coach to engage like this. But these players aren’t just my team—they’re my brothers.
When they let go, I’m shaking my head. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Coach Marco, you’re supposed to tell us to go kick some hockey butt,” Miles says proudly.
“All right.” I straighten my jacket, trying to look like the coachI’m supposed to be. “You want to do this for me? Then get out there and show everyone why the Carolina Crushers are the best team in this league.”
The roar that follows is deafening.
I expect the guys to play hard. What I don’t expect is San Diego dominating the first period, 2–0, before we come roaring back in the second to tie it up. By the time we hit the third period, it’s anyone’s game. If there’s one thing this team does well, it’s saving the best for last.
Jaxon heads off the ice on a change, his replacement already jumping over the boards. The moment he hits the bench, he’s reaching for an ice pack.
“Chance,” I yell. “Are you sure you don’t need a longer break?”
He inhales half of his water bottle. “I’m good, Coach. This knee just needs a minute.”
His bravado makes me think he’s in more pain than he’s letting on, and my gut instinct tells me to bench him for the remaining time left.
But the second his shift ends, he’s already leaning over the boards, ready to get back in the game. And I admire that kind of hunger to play, a refusal to quit, even when your body’s screaming at you to stop. I know the feeling. I spent most of my childhood on the sidelines watching other kids play while my lungs made the decision for me.
After a line change, MacPherson has the puck, taking it down the ice while Jaxon Chance hustles to block one of the San Diego players. The defender comes in hard, and Chance braces for the impact. The hit sends him crashing into the boards with a sickening thud as MacPherson sends the puck to Anderson.
I’m caught between two things happening at once: Leo goingfor the shot, while Jaxon’s leg twists the wrong way. He collapses on the ice just as the shot hits the back of the net.
Our fans erupt, their attention on the goal. But my eyes stay on Jaxon. He’s curled into himself on the ice, holding his knee in pain.
Get up, Jaxon. Come on. You gotta get up.
Gabriella rushes to his side to check the extent of his injuries. From this distance, I can’t hear anything they’re saying, but judging by the fact that Jaxon isn’t moving, I don’t have a good feeling about this.
Brax glances over and shakes his head, the subtle gesture telling me everything I need to know.
Rourke and Leo help him to his feet, but as soon as he tries to put weight on that leg, his face contorts.
It’s his bad knee.The one that was injured.
I drop my head and sigh. I knew I shouldn’t have let him go back out in the game.
When he passes me, our eyes meet for a brief second. “Don’t even give me that look, Coach,” he grits out. “You know I’d do it again for the win.”
“I know you would.” I clap his shoulder as Gabriella takes over, guiding him toward the tunnel.
Our players head back to their positions, battered and bruised, but there’s something in their eyes—a refusal to give up, now that Jaxon just sacrificed his knee for this. They already know that if we don’t win this game, we’re out of the playoffs, and his offering will be in vain.
We’re ahead by one with a minute left in the game. So when one of the San Diego forwards grabs a loose puck and breaks away down the ice, our goalie takes his position, crouched and ready.
Everything has come down to this moment. The winger launches the shot, and after thousands of practice blocks, Morgan knows exactly where that shot is going.
He blocks the puck with only seconds remaining, leaving us with a 3–2 win over San Diego.
We did it—the first round of playoffs has been secured.
The team mobs Miles, who gets buried under a pile of elated Crushers.
As we leave the rink, Coach Jenkins slaps me on the shoulder. “Good game, Marco.” Jenkins doesn’t show a lot of emotions, but I can see that he’s actually smiling. “I’m looking forward to the playoffs.”