Page 176 of Shots & Echoes

But as I stepped onto the ice and glided out for warm-ups, something felt off.

It was wrong.

Because he wasn’t there.

The one person who made me believe I deserved this—the one who pushed me through every bruise and tear—was missing from this moment that should have been filled with joy.

As I skated across the surface, adrenaline coursing through me, all I could think about was Knox and his absence like a phantom limb. The cheers from my teammates faded into a dull roar as my focus wavered; it felt hollow without him witnessing this triumph.

Each pass and shot felt like an echo of something incomplete—a reminder that while this dream came true on paper, it didn’t feel whole without him by my side.

I fought against the feeling tightening in my chest—this overwhelming urge to turn around and search for him. But he wasn’t coming. Not now.

Instead of strength flowing through me, doubt crept in like an unwelcome shadow—a constant reminder that despite wearing this jersey, something crucial was missing from the picture of success I'd always envisioned.

The weight of it bore down harder than any loss I'd ever experienced on the ice.

When the game started, I pushed myself harder than ever, each stride cutting through the ice with purpose. The puck felt like an extension of my body, gliding smoothly as I maneuvered past defenders. My teammates shouted encouragement, and I could hear the crowd buzzing with anticipation.

Every time I touched the puck, adrenaline surged through me. I danced around a defender, eyes locked on the goal ahead. My heart raced, not from fear but from the fire inside me—the drive to prove that I belonged here. This was my moment.

As I skated toward the net, everything fell away—the noise of the crowd, the weight of expectations—until there was just me and that small piece of rubber. I wound up for a shot, focusing solely on where I wanted it to go.

The crack of my stick against the puck echoed in my ears as it soared past the goalie’s outstretched glove and into the back of the net.

The arena erupted in cheers—shouts of my name mingling with applause and roars that reverberated through my bones. I raised my arms in celebration, allowing myself a moment to bask in the glory.

But even as my teammates rushed to congratulate me, all I felt was a hollow echo deep inside me.

This victory should have felt monumental; it should have filled me with pride and joy because I scored for my country. But instead, all that buzz faded into an empty ache that swallowed me whole. The high from scoring dissolved quickly, replaced by an overwhelming absence that settled heavily on my chest.

Knox wasn’t there to share this triumph with me—to see what we’d built together on and off the ice. All those early mornings, those late-night conversations about dreams and fears—they suddenly felt meaningless without him standing by my side.

I had scored a goal, but without him here to witness it? It left an ache so profound it overshadowed every cheer and every congratulatory slap on the back.

I glanced at the bench again, searching for his familiar face among all those watching us play—his expression proud yet guarded—but he remained absent. And in that moment of victory surrounded by noise and light, all I could feel was darkness creeping in.

What did it matter if I played well when he wasn’t here?

The atmosphere was electric; the ice glistening under the arena lights as we prepared for the face-off against Canada. The buzz of the crowd faded into a low hum in my ears as I focused on my breathing, letting the rhythm steady me.

“Guess sleeping with the coach paid off, huh?” one of them sneered, her eyes sparkling with malice. The other girls laughed, and I could feel their gaze boring into me like daggers.

“Hope you’re better on your knees than on skates,” another chimed in, smirking as she adjusted her helmet.

I clenched my jaw, every word stinging more than I cared to admit. I had prepared for this; I had steeled myself against it. They thought they could get under my skin with their petty taunts and jabs. But they didn’t know me—not really.

Knox had taught me better than to let their words affect me. Every session he’d pushed me in practice, every battle drill we’d gone through together—it had hardened me. He showed me how to take a hit and keep moving forward without flinching.

“Nice try, America Junior,” I shot back coolly, forcing a confident smile even though my heart raced beneath my gear. “But it’s clear you’re just jealous you can’t keep up.”

The Canadian girl narrowed her eyes at me, momentarily taken aback by my composure before she quickly masked it with a haughty laugh that echoed through the rink. I knew I couldn’tlet them see how much their words cut deep. If they sensed any weakness, they would pounce.

As we lined up for the puck drop, I focused on the game—the rhythm of skating beneath my feet, the feel of the stick in my hands—and not on their jibes or taunts.

The referee’s whistle pierced the air, and we were off—skating hard and fast across the ice like our futures depended on it. And in that moment? It felt like they did.

Late in the second period,the score remained tied.

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