Page 97 of Hearts on Ice
The locker room emptied in slow motion.
Velcro tore, blades clinked against tile, showers hissed somewhere down the hall. Most of the guys dressed in silence, eyes hollow, shoulders slumped.
We’d come so damn far. And still—it ended here.
I gave them what I could: a voice that didn’t crack, words that didn’t show the fracture underneath.
You gave everything you had out there. Every damn shift, every bruise—that’s hockey. Sometimes you do everything right, and it still breaks your heart.
I told them to hold their heads high.
Said I was proud. The truth? I was wrecked. Pride and heartbreak have a way of sounding the same when you’re trying not to lose your voice.
The bus was waiting. PR wanted quotes. The world was already spinning the story of how close we’d come.
But Miguel hadn’t come out yet.
I lingered, pretending to check my phone, pretending to organize a clipboard that didn’t need organizing. When the last voice faded, I crossed the quiet room toward the showers.
Steam hung heavy in the air.
He sat on the wooden bench, towel slung low around his waist, elbows on his knees. His head hung low, wet hair dripping onto his hands.
“Bus leaves in ten,” I said softly.
He didn’t move.
When he finally spoke, his voice was raw. “I should’ve stopped it,” he said finally. “That third goal—I didn’t see it until it was too late.”
“You made forty saves tonight.”
“Forty-one would’ve kept us alive.”
I crouched in front of him, the smell of ice and sweat and loss sharp in my throat.
His eyes lifted, red-rimmed, hollow.
He pressed a palm to his chest, fingers tapping twice over his heart—glove long gone, the ritual the same.
“Una por la familia, una por mi,” he whispered. “That’s what I say before every game. My mom taught me. But tonight…” His voice cracked. “Tonight it wasuna por ti.One for you.”
The words landed like a body check.
I swallowed hard. “Miguel—”
He shook his head. “You made this team believe again. Gave us something to fight for. Believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.Youdeserved the finals more than I did.”
“Hey.” I reached out before I could stop myself, my hand finding his jaw, thumb brushing the stubble there. “Don’t do that. Nobody gets here alone. Every guy on the team gave something. You just happened to give a little more when it counted.”
His eyes softened, breaking something in me.
“Then why does it feel like I failed you?”
I didn’t have an answer, not one that would make sense to anyone outside this room.
All I knew was that I wanted to pull him in, to tell him that none of it mattered—contracts, standings, the noise. That I’d trade every win just to ease the pain written across his face.
“You didn’t fail me,” I said finally. My voice came out low, rough. “You gave me something I thought I’d never have again. You made me—” I stopped myself, the wordalivehanging unsaid between us.
