Page 78 of One Pucking Secret
Moving past the bench, I nod at my teammates, a silent pact among us. We’ve bled together, sweated through losses, and soared through wins. And now, we’re united for something greater than ourselves. The team initiative—our pledge against the snares of drugs and alcohol—it’s not just talk. It’s action, it’s commitment. It’s personal.
The puck drops, and I lunge forward, the rest of the world narrowing to a pinpoint. Every stride, every pass is measured and precise. There’s no room for error, not tonight. The LA Knights, my team, my family—we’re all in this together.
Muscles burn and breaths come in ragged gasps. The chill of the ice beneath contrasts the heat of battle above. The clock’s ticking down the final seconds of the third period, and it’s now or never. My stick feels like an extension of my own body as I weave through defenders, poised to strike.
The puck glides across the ice, a frozen comet that I’m chasing with every ounce of willpower left in me. The goal looms ahead, a gapingmaw ready to swallow my attempt at glory. With a flick of my wrist, I send the puck hurtling toward destiny. But the goalie—a wall of pads and determination—snatches it from the air just as the buzzer sounds, a harsh blare that signals both relief and tension. Tie game. Overtime.
I peer up at the private box suite where Chloe, Jasper, and Lainey are standing together, watching, just as much on edge as we are. I wave at Chloe and blow her a quick kiss.
“Come on, Loverboy,” Zach jokes. “Let’s get this show on the road and bring home that trophy.”
Overtime is a blur of motion, a dance of desperation. We’re shadows on the ice, flickering between triumph and defeat. The minutes peel away, and with each passing second, the pressure mounts. It’s tangible, a weight pressing down on us all.
Then, like a break in the clouds, there’s a flash of opportunity. Zach gains possession, his green eyes locked on the prize. He breaks away, a streak of color against the white expanse. I push myself harder, skating ahead to be the open man. Our teammates form a barrier, holding back the tide of the opposing team.
Heart pounding, I find my spot just as Zach looks up. Our eyes meet, and without a word, the decision’s made. The puck sails across the ice, a perfect arc from his stick to mine. Time slows, the world hushes to a whisper. With a slap, the puck meets the net, and suddenly, everything erupts.
The roar of the crowd is deafening, overwhelming. It mingles with the shouts of my teammates as they pile on top of me. The weight of their bodies is nothing compared to the elation that fills my chest. We’ve done it. The LA Knights have claimed the Stanley Cup, a first in team history.
“Fuck, yes!” I call out. “Yes!”
“Champions!” Zach yells. His grin is wide enough to span the rink.
I look up, past the lights, past the stands, to the banner that will bear our names. We didn’t just win a trophy tonight. We won a fight for something greater, a victory not just for us, but for those who supported us. Tonight, the City of Angels has found new heroes, and I’ve found redemption on a sheet of ice.
Ice clings to my skates, a testament to the battle waged, as I glide amid a sea of Knights jerseys. The cheers from the stands cascade down like an avalanche of pure joy, but it’s thesound of blades cutting through the rink that anchors me to this moment.
“Jasper!” Zach’s voice cuts through the din as he hoists my son onto his shoulders.
Lainey stands at their side, a proud smile on her face.
“Where’s Chloe?” I ask.
“She’s headed down with Mark. Told her I’d run ahead with Jasper… just like you asked.”
I give her a single nod, a knowing smile creeping up on my face. “Thanks.”
“We won!” Jasper, clad in a jersey too big for his small frame, punches the air with his tiny fists, his cheer cutting through the noise—a pure, joyful shout that melts my heart. I can’t help but smile.
“We sure did, buddy,” I tell him, tugging playfully at his oversized jersey.
“Come on, Jasper, let’s do a victory lap around the rink,” Zach says, skating with ease despite Jasper still cheering on his shoulders.
“Hey, Wyatt.” Mark’s hand claps my shoulder, pulling me out of my reverie. His eyes are watery, but they hold the fierce pride of a man who has seen more than his share of losses and victories. “You did good, son.”
“Couldn’t have done any of it without you,” I say, the words rough in my throat. Mark’s beenmore than an agent—he’s been a steady anchor in the chaos of my life.
“Remember, it’s always about the next play, not the last one.” His voice wavers, revealing a softness he usually keeps locked away.
“Couldn’t agree more.”
We pull each other into a hug—a quick exchange of gratitude and respect—before Mark steps back, his hand lingering in mine for just a moment longer. When he pulls away, he leaves something cool and small in my palm. I close my fingers around it, the metal both foreign and familiar: the ring. A promise of what’s to come.
I look up, and there’s Chloe, her green eyes meeting mine, steady and bright, reflecting every storm we’ve weathered together.
“Hey,” I say, my heart swelling with joy as she makes her way over to me.
“Congratulations!” she cheers, throwing her arms around me, and I pull her in closer. “You killed it out there!”
