Page 145 of Make the Play

“That’s our boy!” Logan yells, helmet half-off, lip bleeding and grinning like a maniac.

Coach shakes his head, muttering something to the trainer, but he’s smiling.

By the time the final buzzer sounds, we’ve closed it out 4–2, and I’ve earned first star of the game.

Afterwards, I strip off my gear in the locker room with a towel around my neck, sweat still cooling on my skin. Benson strides in, claps a hand on this whiteboard, and gives us a rundown of the next morning’s schedule.

Then his gaze lands on me.

“Walton.”

I lift my head. “Coach.”

He gives me a long once-over, then nods.

“Whatever the hell you did this weekend…” He pauses. “Do it again. You looked like a fuckin’ sniper out there.”

Jake snorts from two stalls down. “Pretty sure hewassniping. Just not on the ice.”

Laughter breaks out around the room.

I grin, wiping sweat from my neck. “Just got a good night’s sleep, Coach.”

Benson rolls his eyes but doesn’t push. “Well, rest up while you can, Walton. Media’s gonna be up your ass after that game.”

***

The post-game buzz is still humming under my skin by the time I step out of the shower, towel slung low around my hips, hair wet and curling at the ends. My knuckles are a little bruised, my jaw’s sore from that one half-assed jab he managed to land, and my ribs ache in a way that reminds me I played hard and left it all out there.

I fucking needed that game.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand as I collapse back on the hotel bed, flipping it open to see the group chat lighting up.

Sticks out for the boys??

Logan: first star of the game? who the fuck are you and what did you do with Chase

Jake: man’s been getting it regular. he’s fully reformed

Eli: you mean whipped

Logan: nah, he’s domestic now. bet he makes her tea and shit

Jake: tea?? he probably folds her laundry and fluffs her pillows too

Me: i will fight all of you. with my bare hands

Eli: bold of you to talk violence after that celly. my guy nearly blew kisses to the crowd

Ryan: be honest though. was that for the fans or for Zoe?

Me: depends… will the fans wear my jersey and sit rinkside looking like a fuckin snack?

Reid: i’m gonna be sick

Jake: Zoe deserves a medal. we need to rescue her

Me: she’s not complaining

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