Page 134 of On Ice

“Every damn day,” I say gruffly, emotions surging inside of me. “We’d never take a moment like this for granted.”

As the frenzy continues around me, I find myself taking in the scene, my teammates embracing, fans pressing against the glass, the gleam of the Cup as it passes from player to player. The culmination of thousands of early mornings, countless bruises, broken bones, and battles lost and won exists in a perfect bubble of time that’s already slipping away.

Tomorrow will bring parades and parties, interviews and obligations. Some of these men won’t wear this jersey again. The team that fought and bled together for this trophy will never be the same. We’ll never be this team again, not exactly. Players get traded, retire, or leave in free agency after the season. And that might be the hardest thing to accept.

But right now, with the roar of the crowd washing over us and the Cup making its journey through outstretched hands, none of that matters. We did the impossible. Together.Wedid that. This exact lineup of men. We wrote our names in history. And no matter what comes next, they can never take this night away from us.

As I watch Noah kiss the Cup with tears streaming down his face, I realize that every sacrifice, every moment of doubt, every painful stride on tired legs, it was all worth it for this.

To outsiders, it’s just a game. Grown men chasing a puck around the ice, looking for glory.

But to us? To the ones who’ve bled for it, who’ve battled every damn day to stay in the fight, this victory is everything.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Luca

I don’t know how to tell Evan his mother is gone.

Just as the game started, I got a call from his brother, Matt. Catherine wasn’t doing well. I left immediately, not because I thought I could help, but because someone needed to represent Evan. He couldn’t be there, so I needed to be his eyes and ears. He needed someone to see it, to remember everything for him.

When I got to the facility, Matt and his father, Sam, welcomed me into the room. I’d never officially met his family before. It was surreal, recognizing Matt as the sandy-haired guy from Evan’s Instagram. I’ll admit I was relieved, at least now I knew Evan’s “mystery guy” wasn’t an ex still hanging around. I just wish I hadn’t had to make that discovery under such grim circumstances.

Catherine was propped up in bed, IVs in her arms and wires attached to her bony chest, her body thin and fragile under a blanket. Her hair was black, threaded with silver, wispy around her temples. Her skin looked almost translucent. She seemed distant, staring blankly at the small TV playing the game. But her eyes were green, exactly like Evan’s. I recognized her from the photo on his refrigerator.

After the stilted introductions, we didn’t talk much. It wasn’t the time for conversation, not with Catherine so clearly fading, and the game unfolding in the background. All three of us watched in silence. I’d wanted to be at the arena, standing inthe box, seeing Evan win in person. But it felt wrong not to be here.

In the last few minutes of the game, Catherine seemed to have a moment of clarity. She sat up straighter in bed and smiled at the TV. When the final buzzer went off and the Ice Hawks won, she pointed at the screen when Evan appeared. He pulled off his helmet, his face flushed, sweaty, hair matted to his head, but he was grinning. He looked so young and joyful.

“That’s my boy, Evan.” She looked right at me. “I’m so proud of him. I knew he’d win the Cup one day. I always told him, just never give up and you’ll get that trophy one day.” She gave a soft laugh. “He did it. My boy did it.”

“He sure did, honey. Just like you said he would,” her husband Sam said, moving over to hold her hand. They smiled at each other as tears streamed down his face.

“That’s my boy,” she murmured. “My youngest boy Evan.”

Her breathing changed then, becoming more shallow, less labored. None of us said anything else, I think we were afraid to break whatever miracle had granted her that moment of clarity. Her eyes remained open, fixed on the screen, on her son’s triumph.

Twenty minutes later, when she stopped breathing, it happened so quietly, it was a blessing. There was no struggle, no final gasp, just a gentle cessation, as if she’d decided that having seen her youngest son achieve his dream, she could finally rest.

Now, I wait just outside the players’ entrance, tucked into the shadow of a loading bay pillar. The air smells like exhaust and damp concrete. My phone buzzes again, another text from Derek, asking where I went. I don’t answer.

I can hear the fans still cheering inside. The roar of victory, the anthem of a lifetime achievement. The team’s name echoing in the stands. Somewhere inside that building, Evan is still grinning. Celebrating. Thinking this is the greatest night of his life.

And I’m about to break his heart.

Eventually, the door swings open, and for a moment, all I hear is laughter and voices echoing off concrete. Evan steps out into the loading bay, flanked by a few teammates, Jackson, Rodriguez, and Noah, a champagne bottle dangling from one hand. They’re glowing, all of them, flushed with triumph and booze and adrenaline. Jackson’s yelling something about a group photo. Rodriguez is already halfway through lighting a cigar.

Evan’s smiling. God, he’s radiating joy. He’s wearing his championship cap backward, and he spots me immediately, his grin widening.

But then he sees my expression.

The smile falters. Fades. His steps slow.

Rodriguez says something to him, nudging his arm, but Evan doesn’t respond. His eyes stay locked on mine, the color draining from his face. His shoulders stiffen. The buzz of celebration dies in him like a fuse cut mid-spark.

He knows.

I take a step forward, throat thick. His teammates don’t seem to notice anything is wrong, their voices dimming as Evan peels away from them, walking toward me like a zombie.

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