Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I would say there’s a 60/40 chance right now.
60 percent you’ll go out with me? I reply, my heart racing a bit.
Maybe, is all she says.
What a brat, but it makes me laugh. You’re killing me here. And you know that’s not good for my game.
This will in no way affect my game. When I’m on the ice, I’m all in—nothing else matters. But right now, off the ice, this matters a lot.
Those dots tease me with anticipation of what she’ll say. When it comes, it’s more than I had hoped for. Fine. I don’t want to ruin your game. I’ll go out with you.
Yes!!!! I text back, then punch the air slightly. I’ll figure out plans. Got to go.
A wave of relief and excitement washes over me, even as I stash my phone. It’s time to focus on the game now, to channel this energy into every stride, every shot.
As I head toward the ice for warm-ups, a new kind of determination sets in. Tonight, I’m playing not just for my team, but for something more—a future that suddenly seems filled with incredible possibilities. Mazzy said yes. That’s all the motivation I need.
♦
The game against the Atlanta Sting is intense, the ice a symphony of speed and skill. I’m centering the second line with Atlas on my left and North on my right. Camden and Hendrix hold the line as our defensemen, solid as rocks. My legs burn with exertion, but it’s a good burn, the kind that tells me I’m right where I need to be.
We’re in the third period, the score tied. The energy in the arena is electric, every move, every shot by the Sting met with roars from their home crowd. The Titans, however, have a good traveling fan base. Ever since the plane went down, we’ve gained fans who’d never been interested in hockey before. It’s like we’ve become America’s team, and there’s a good showing of purple and gray jerseys in the stands. But the cheers of the few Titans fans here can’t compete with the Sting’s. I itch to score, end this game, and force the crowd to go silent.
We’re nearing the end of our line’s shift with just a little more than three minutes left in the game. I’m skating hard, my breath clouding in the cold arena air. North passes the puck to Atlas, who’s darting down the left side. I see my opening and position myself, slapping my stick on the ground to call for the puck.
He flicks it across the ice with precision. I catch it on the curved blade, feeling the familiar weight and power of the biscuit. My heart pounds in my chest, adrenaline surging through my veins.
I glance up, eyes scanning the play. The Sting’s defense is tight, but there’s a gap. I dart toward it, the puck like an extension of my body. Camden and Hendrix create a diversion, pulling the defenders away. I see my chance.
With a burst of speed, I weave through the defense until it’s just me and the goalie. He’s good, I know that, but so am I. I fake left, see him bite, and then pull back to my right. My body moves on instinct, years of training and games distilled into this single moment.
I unleash a quick backhanded shot, the puck flying off my stick. Time seems to slow as it hurtles toward the goal. The goalie lunges, but he’s a fraction of a second too late. The puck slams into the back of the net, the sound echoing through the arena like a cannon blast.
For a moment, everything is still. Then the realization hits the fans we have here—goal. The roar of that small group is actually deafening in the quiet space left behind by speechless Sting fans, a wave of sound that washes over me. My teammates are on me in an instant, a flurry of pats and shouts.
I raise my arms in triumph, skating back toward our side of the rink. The exhilaration is overwhelming, a rush like no other. Scoring a goal is always a thrill, but this one feels different. This one feels like it’s for Mazzy, for Bowie Jane, for the future I’m starting to see unfold.
As I glide over the ice, my heart still racing, I know I won’t forget this moment. Not just for the goal, but for everything it represents. In this game, on this night, everything feels possible.
The game isn’t over yet and we have to hold off the Sting for another few minutes. It’s time to tighten up defensively and help Drake protect our goal. When there are two minutes left, the Sting pull their goalie. We watch as he races to the bench and his replacement hops the boards so they go up by one offensive player on the ice.