Griffin’s heartfelt words sink into my skin and fill me up. Like helium, they expand and make me buoyant. They counteract some of the weight I’ve been struggling under. Not all of it, but enough that there’s a renewed pep in my step as I hit the ice.
I’m focused as I rough up my crease and the guys square up against Florida at center ice. When the puck drops, my heart is steady and my eyes track everything easily. The Sharks get the puck, making an immediate drive toward my territory. Ryder and Javier are there, ready to meet them, as they fight to keep the puck away from the net. But Florida is hungry and relentless, and their left wing breaks through our blockade.
Time slows, my heart rate slows, and I take deliberate breaths.
I won’t let anything through.
The winger pulls his stick back and sends the puck flying, but I’m ready. The crowd roars when I catch it, and the teams get ready to face off at the circle closest to me at my right. I scan the crowd as I wait for the ref to drop the puck, and my breath catches in my throat.
Because there, in the third row from the boards, is a grinning Indie, with Lola and Megan flanking her.
“How?” I ask, even though she can’t hear me.
“Tell you later,” she mouths, those beautiful hazel eyes of her glittering with pleasure at my reaction.
She’s safe. Happy. And right there.
My lungs expand fully for the first time since I heard her ex showed up, and peace fills me, along with an unshakeable determination to win this game with the love of my life sitting less than a hundred feet away.
This is everything I’ve ever hoped for. Well, almost. But the rest of it will come. I know that now.
The puck drops, and I return my attention to the ice.
Every time I stop a shot, I swear I can pick Indie’s cheers out above the rest of the crowd. It spurs me on, along with the growing excitement of my teammates. And when Logan scores a goal ten minutes into the second, tying the game, I turn to watch Indie jump up and down with excitement, her arms around Lola and Megan, the three of them cheering and laughing.
I want to see them celebrate like that again.
Five minutes into the third period, I get my chance when Maddox swings around the goal, the puck firmly under his control, and he backhands it into the Sharks’ net. The crowd goes absolutely wild, but I don’t hear or see anything besides Indie and her excited face when she looks at me and mouths, “Oh my god!”
Grinning at her while my teammates race down the ice to celebrate with me, I let go of more of the pressure that’s been weighing me down.
The game becomes a true battle. Now down two to one, the Sharks come out swinging, both literally and figuratively. They check our guys against the boards, shove, and even get away with a couple of cross-checks when the refs aren’t paying attention.
“Don’t give them what they want,” I warn Griffin as his face contorts with rage after one of the Sharks’ wingers shoves him from behind with a stick. “They want a power play.”
“I know,” Griffin growls, shoulder checking the winger into the plexi, but otherwise ignoring the chirps being thrown his way.
Fifteen minutes into the third, Logan scores on a rebound, and the crowd goes wild. Indie jumps up and down with Lola and Megan, and my heart jumps with her. The air electrifies, and we celebrate being up by two.
The Sharks could still come back and tie it up, forcing us into overtime, but with fifteen minutes left of the game, and someserious momentum behind us, the Rogues don’t rest—we push harder.
Ten minutes left in the period, and I stop a shot attempt while one of Florida’s wingers encroaches on my ice. I send the puck to Maddox, who skates toward the neutral zone but loses the puck to Florida’s center near the red line. Their winger crowds my crease, the blades of his skate right on the blue line that marks my territory.
As the Sharks move the puck down the ice, he inches back into my goal, and I shove him out. Nine minutes left in the game. The Sharks’ center taps the puck to their right wing, who taps it back to the center. Their left wing crosses the blue line again, and I shove him harder this time. When his teammates pass him the puck, he turns his body wildly. I manage to slap the puck away from his stick, but he slams into me with his shoulder.
“Hey!” Logan skates up to the winger and shoves him away from me. Hard. “Get the fuck out of the crease, asshole.”
Florida’s winger shoves Logan back. “What are you going to do about it, bitch?”
Griffin joins Logan and squares up against the winger. Florida’s center and right wing join the fray, followed by Maddox. They shout at each other, shoving and chirping, tensions and the pressure of the game shortening everyone’s nerves and temper.
When I glance over at Indie, she’s frowning. She watches the ice with her body pitched forward. Like she’s prepared to hop the boards and defend me if anyone else dares hit me.
Fuck, I love her.
Florida’s center throws a punch at Maddox, and the ice explodes into a massive scrum. I stand off to the side, forcing my feet to stay still, when all I want is to jump into the melee, as the refs pull Florida players off our guys, and our guys off Sharksplayers. Florida loses two players to the penalty box, while we only lose one.
Eight minutes left in the game, and the Rogues are on the power play.