Page 95 of Hearts on Ice
We reset. Tried to breathe.
Then Sam, already boiling, took a roughing penalty after getting cross-checked in front of the net. He shoved the guy back—too hard, too obvious.
“Rodriguez, hang tight!” Drew called as the penalty kill lined up.
I nodded once, adrenaline flooding my body.
Chicago’s top line moved the puck like magicians—passes clean and tape-to-tape, effortless, like they could play this game in their sleep. The shot came from the blue line through traffic. I saw it too late.
2–1, Chicago.
The horn blasted, shaking the boards. I hit the post once with my stick, the clang swallowed by the crowd.
One breath. Reset. Forget it or it’ll eat you alive.
When Sam came out of the box, he skated past me, guilt written all over his face. I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.
But near the end of the period, we found life. Justin again—scrapping for a rebound, jamming it home through a pile of legs.
2–2.
We’d earned the tie.
Drew caught my eye as the horn blew, and his expression was pure fire. “One more,” he mouthed.
I nodded.
Third period. Every breath hurt. Every muscle screamed.
We’d traded rushes for fifteen straight minutes. No whistles. No breaks. The ice was a graveyard of sticks and bodies.
Tank blocked a slapshot with his ribs and barely made it to the bench. Devin limped after taking a knee-on-knee hit. Drew’s voice cut through it all—steady, commanding.
“Shift by shift. Stay calm, play smart!”
The clock wound down.
Four minutes.
Two.
Chicago fans were chantingOVERTIMElike the outcome was guaranteed.
But hockey’s cruel like that. It doesn’t wait for what’s fair. It turns on one bad bounce, one unlucky skate.
With forty-five seconds left, there was a face-off in our zone. Their captain won it clean—no scramble, no chance to reset—pulled it back, drove wide, and threw a blind pass to the slot.
The puck clipped Tank’s skate—just a whisper of contact—and changed direction.
I dropped, glove flashing low to catch it—too late.
The red light burned behind me. The horn screamed.
3–2, Chicago.
Eight seconds left on the clock.
Technically, there was time for one more face-off.
