Page 111 of The Beautiful Collision
And now she’s out there in the stands, wearing my jersey. The thought of her in it, the way it hangs past her hips, the way she had to roll up the sleeves three times... Christ, I’m getting hard in my cup thinking about it, which is really not ideal timing.
Focus, Hamilton.
But how can I focus when everything in my life has fallen into place?
Chloe’s about to start the experimental treatment.
My parents kept the house.
And I’m nottotallybroke… just alittlebroke.
All because of her.
“All right, boys, bring it in,” Coach Pearson’s voice cuts through the pre-game haze. And, as we gather around him, he looks at each of us, his gaze lingering on the seniors. “I’m not going to give you some big speech, because you know what’s at stake. National championship.”
The guys shout in affirmation.
“For some of you, this is your first shot at it, but for others…” His eyes find mine, then Mike’s, then Rook’s. “This is your last shot. Your last time wearing that jersey. Your last time skating out of that tunnel as Pine Barren Devils before you go on to bigger and better things.”
My throat closes up.
Beside me, Mike’s jaw tightens.
“Four years,” Coach continues, specifically addressing us seniors now. “Four years you’ve given to this program. You’ve bled for it. You’ve sacrificed for it. You came in as boys, and you’re leaving as men. As champions, if you play the way I know you can.”
He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is rougher. “It’s been an honor to coach you. All of you. But especially you two.” He nods at us. “Hamilton, Altman—you’ve been the heart of this team since I got here. You’ve shown these youngerguys what it means to be a Devil. Now go show the rest of the country.”
“YES, COACH!” we roar in unison, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls of the locker room.
“Devils on three,” Mike says, his captain voice steady despite the emotion I can see in his eyes. “One, two, three?—“
“DEVILS!”
The tunnel to the ice is dark, familiar, terrifying, and beloved all at once. I’ve walked it hundreds of times, but never like this. Never knowing it’s the last time. The roar of the crowd builds with each step, a wall of sound that grows from a distant rumble to a deafening tsunami.
When we burst onto the ice, the arena erupts. Thousands of people on their feet, screaming themselves hoarse. The ice girls look great, the a player and I’m a player.
And our time in this beautiful frozen hell is almost over.
The clock keeps ticking. 2:00. 1:59. Each second another grain of sand falling through the hourglass of my college career.
I search for Maya in the stands, my personal North Star.
My parents are crying, of course. Chloe’s clapping her small, weak hands, but her eyes are blazing with pride. Maya’s just standing there, fists clenched, her entire body a tightly coiled spring of hope.
I love you,I mouth at her.Win or lose.
She nods, her eyes full of tears she won’t let fall.I love you, too.
Then Mike is there, clapping me on the shoulder. “One more, Hamilton. For all the marbles.”
“Let’s win this fucking thing,” I say.
We skate back out, the weight of a hundred thousand dreams on our shoulders. The crowd is a single, roaring beast, its heart beating in time with the drums pounding over the loudspeakers. When the puck drops, the explosion of noise is physical. And Iknow,win or lose, we’ll leave it all out on this ice, like we’ve done a thousand times before.
Because we’re Devils. And this is our last dance.
Sixty minutes later, we’re in hell.
