“And Knox?”
I straighten, my eyes finding his. “Yes, Coach?”
“I’d like you to address the team before we take the ice tonight.”
My pulse quickens. I’ve addressed the team before, but this feels different. Heavier, somehow.
Probably because you’re lying to Coach’s face, disrespecting his wishes, and fucking his daughter, which he specifically forbade.
Yeah, that’ll do it. I scrub a hand over my face.
I can’t give Ava up—I’m in way too deep—but I can win games.
“You’ve got it, Coach.”
By the time I hit the ice for warmups, the guys are stretching and Chippy is busting a move at center ice, shaking his tail for all he’s worth. The fans are chanting his name, and I can’t fault them, but fuck, they don’t chant for us like that.
Because you’re not giving them a reason to scream your name.
Yeah, well, that’s about to change.
Twenty minutes later, I’m staring down my team in the locker room. My nerves are taut, and I have no idea what I’m going to say, but I need to make it count.
“When I take the ice tonight, I’m not playing for the fans, or the organization, or the standings. I’m playing for the guys on this team.” I pause, scanning the room and making eye contact with each of my teammates. “I believe in each one of you, and I believe in this team, even if I haven’t done a good job showing it. That’s on me, but I want to be clear. We have the talent to win games. We’ve done the work. So, tonight, let’s take the ice and win it for ourselves.”
A deafening cheer reverberates off the walls, and shouts of “Fuck the Rangers!” and “Let’s do this!” fill the air.
The energy is palpable, and for the first time this season, I feel like the game is ours to lose.
By the time I square up for the puck drop, my hair is damp with sweat, and adrenaline courses through my veins. I draw a steadying breath as I get into position, bending my knees and lowering my center of gravity.
We need this win.
Coach’s words echo in my head, but I shove them aside. The only thing I need to worry about right now is the puck.
“You sure you wanna do this, St. James?” McAllister, the Rangers’ captain, asks. “I’ve seen better hands on a snake.”
I ignore him, watching the ref, just like in my pre-game visualization.
He releases the puck and I swipe it back to D-Vo. We’ve played together so long that our timing is flawless.
I skate hard, but the Rangers’ pressure is solid. D-Vo gets tripped up and has to rim the puck. I pivot as it glides behind the net, moving fast along the boards.
I pick it up and push off the boards before McAllister can make contact. He skids to a stop, but I’m already moving, advancing on the goal.
I feint left, turning my entire chest toward D-Vo like I’m looking to pass, but it’s a deke. I shoot, using the middle of myblade to send the puck flying. It hits the bar and drops into the goal.
Just like that, we take the lead.
Gliders 1- Rangers 0.
Forey and D-Vo rush me, and then I skate along the bench, celebrating with my team as McGinnis leads the second line onto the ice.
“Let’s go!” I call after them. “We need to keep up the momentum.”
I take my place on the bench, grab a water bottle, and take a drink.
As McGinnis prepares for the face-off, my gaze drifts to the stands. To the section reserved for player’s families and special guests. Ava is there, and she’s wearing a Gliders jersey. There’s no number on it, which is probably to avoid showing favoritism, but I’m not too proud to admit I wish she was wearing my number.