Page 164 of Power Play
Me? I’m calm. Because there’s one variable I can’t predict tonight, and it has nothing to do with the guys on the ice.
I don’t know if Sophie’s going to show up.
She’s been texting me every day. Flirty, funny, thoughtful. We’ve been orbiting each other again after date night went well, we’re closer with every pass. But tonight feels like a turning point. Like the kind of night that could mark a before and after. And God, I want her there.
The horn sounds. Time to get out of my head.
The first period is carnage.
These bastards came to play dirty, and I match them hit for hit. One guy tries to elbow Jacko, and I slam him into the boards so hard it rattles his ancestors. The ref gives me a warning, but I don’t care. The Raptors are winning tonight. I’m not letting anyone steal this from us.
A puck comes flying at my face, and I deflect it with my stick by sheer instinct. It scrapes the edge of my helmet, but I don’t flinch. I’ve had worse. Hell, I’vebeenworse.
Dylan scores just before the buzzer, and we hit the bench with a 1-0 lead. I’m gulping water, checking my gloves, trying not to scan the crowd.
But I do.
And then I see her.
Front row, in the corner where she always used to sit. Wrapped in one of my old Raptors hoodies, hair pulled up on top of her head with those wild blonde curls springing out, face fierce and proud like she never left.
My pulse spikes. Not from the game. Not from the adrenaline. Fromher.
She’s here.
Second period? Pure chaos.
They send in their enforcer, a guy built like a fridge with fists to match. He makes a run at Dylan and nearly succeeds until I intercept. Gloves off. Helmet off. We go at it right there on the ice.
He gets in a cheap shot to my ribs, but I return with a brutal uppercut that sends him sprawling. The crowd erupts. My lip is bleeding. My knuckles scream in protest. But I don’t feel it.
All I feel is the rush. The need to win. To be worthy. To prove to everyone,to her, that I’m still the guy she believed in.
We finish the period 3-1. And when I glance back at the stands, she’s still there.
Smiling.
Third period is survival.
Every shift is war. Every breath burns. I block a slapshot with my thigh and limp back to the bench. Coach barks at me to sit out the last two minutes, but I shake my head. Not tonight.
I skate back out. Take my position. We’re up 4-2, but it’s not over.
They pull their goalie in desperation. They know they’re on to a loser.
The puck flies wild. I intercept, sprinting down the ice with everything I’ve got left. One last goal to seal it.
I shoot.
It hits the net.
The horn blows.
5-2.
We did it.
The guys pile on, helmets flying, gloves tossed. Jacko tackles me to the ice, howling like a maniac. Ollie’s sobbing for some reason. Dylan just grins, blood on his teeth.
