Page 110 of Rules

Take that, motherfucker. Just one more goal. One more and we’re going to the tournament.

Derek skates by as we go back to the line. He lifts his stick, and I give it a tap with mine. If it were a different situation, we’d probably celebrate the goal, but too much is on the line, and there’s not enough time. One misstep, that’s all it takes to fuck everything up, and we’ve come too far for that.

The buzzing of the crowd standing on their feet and the loud music are almost deafening. We meet at the line. I can see lips moving, but I don’t hear any words as players trash-talk.

Jonah’s players have the puck, and they start the attack. In the back of my mind, I can hear the clock tick, time slowly running out. We skate backward, ready to stop anybody who wants to go through because if they score, it’s game over for us.

I’m looking for a way to get my stick on the puck when a commotion erupts. Making a sharp turn, I see Andrew going at a St. Jonah’s player. He shoves the guy into the glass.

From the corner of my eye, I see Derek; we exchange a look and get into motion. Crossing the distance in a few short seconds, we’re there, our hands wrapped around Andrew’s forearms, pulling him away.

“Think about the game,” I grit through my teeth.

“We need you to win this thing.”

Just as we have them separated, the ref comes to us, looking wearily between Andrew and who I now realize is Ethan Williams. My sister’s date to the charity gala and Andrew’s rival. The ref assesses the situation. “All good?”

“Good.” Andrew nods stiffly, and we get back to the game.

My eyes dart to the clock.

Less than sixty seconds to go.

Swallowing, I force myself to turn off my brain.

Play; don’t think. At this point, it’s the best we can do. Let go of all the worries and possibilities and rely on our muscle memory and luck.

If I thought this game was intense before, it’s nothing like these last seconds. Jonah’s players are doing their best to break through our ranks, which thankfully hold strong.

Until they don’t.

One of our guys is shoved away, making an opening. I curse, forcing my screaming body to move as I see one of the Jonah players moving through.

I’m not going to make it.

He pulls the stick back, getting ready to shoot.

There is no fucking—But I don’t slow down. No way I’m going down without a fight—way...

The familiar weight hits the tip of my stick.

I blink my eyes open, not even aware I closed them, and see the puck in front of me.

My lips curl in a grin, as all hell breaks loose.

I do a wide arc, trying to avoid all Jonah’s players as I go for the kill.

For the most part, our defense holds the lines, but somebody must get through because I feel them reach for me. I shove them off, almost losing the puck in the process.

Scanning the ice, my eyes meet Andrew’s.

I feel the movement behind me.

React.

I send the puck flying.

Weight crashes into my body, making me fall to the ground.

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