Page 50 of Well Played

COMMITTING TO THE WINGER

BY TL HAMILTON

Our favorite couple from Kicking It With The Winger are back to prove that their love will conquer all obstacles. Including a cursed wedding day.

When “’til death do us part” starts to sound more like a threat than a promise, Mia and Oscar will do anything to make it down the aisle and make their perfect wedding into an unforgettable marriage.

1

Oscar

My knee bounceddouble time to the ticking of the clock as Coach revved us up for what could be our last game ever playing for Fox U. The noise of the crowd was a distant rumble that barely compared to the anxious thoughts crowding my head.

“Don’t think about the scoreboard, man. You and O’Leary are on fire. The scouts will see what you’re capable of,” Foster murmured, knocking his shoulder into mine.

Shit. The scouts were another thing I should be focused on.

Instead, all my nervous energy funneled into one life-changing moment that was due to occur after I made it to the final buzzer.

“Finals may not be in the cards for this year, but we sure as fuck can get out there and make Danthorpe U work for the game,” Coach growled, punching the air.

Bentley hung his head, gripping his hair in miserable hands. He was trying his best, but returning early off a groin injury because our starter goalie came down with the flu was nothing but rotten luck. No one blamed him for our current position, butit would be all on O’Leary and me to find the net and keep the game from being a total lockout.

Luckily, Cian O’Leary and I had the kind of friendship that made us unstoppable on the ice and, if we could get ourselves in the zone, then the real magic could happen.

With a rousing round of butt slaps and all the confidence a college ice hockey team used to winning could muster, we headed back out onto the ice.

We’ve got this.

All the stress of things to come faded to the back of my mind as the chill of the rink air kissed my cheeks. I cast a sidelong look at O’Leary as he bent over his stick and prepared for the puck drop. Across the ice, the Danthorpe players grinned at us like they had it in the bag, but Coach was right. We didn’t have to make this easy for them. We’d go down fighting. It was the Fox U way.

A shrill whistle broke through the screaming of the crowd, and then there was no more time to think. Danthorpe’s center took possession of the puck, slinging it down the line into our defensive zone with Fraser in pursuit. Their winger took the pass, lining up for a shot that Fraser intercepted with a finesse borne of hours of practice. He passed it up the boards to my waiting stick on the red line and I sprinted down the ice, eyes up for O’Leary as he took up position in the slot. I deked and split the D as they made a run at me, then set O’Leary up for a perfect slapshot. The biscuit sailed through the air and bounced off their goalie’s mitt. Cursing, I closed in for the rebound but couldn’t get the shot. Mid-stride, I turned and sent the biscuit back to O’Leary who found the opening I couldn’t and finally put us on the board.

“Yes! That was fucking epic, man!” I screamed at him, tackling him in a hug as best I could in all our bulky gear. Weturned in time to catch Fraser and Bellinger as they hurtled across the ice to join the pile on.

“Get back in position and finish the fucking game!” Coach screamed from the sidelines. With a cheeky wink, I blew him a kiss, laughing at the middle finger I received in return.

The clock ticked down the seconds, and we were all aware that the chances of closing the five point gap were small.

We worked our asses off. O’Leary and I played in sync the way we had since the first time we met on the ice four years earlier and, with two minutes left on the clock, we were down by two.

And Fraser headed off the ice for some time in the penalty box.

“Shit. We can’t let them through,” O’Leary said, breathing hard.

Danthorpe set up for their power play, and I focused on what I could control. We only had one defenseman with Fraser in the box, but if we could get possession of the puck early, that wouldn’t matter. We couldn’t let Danthorpe score again.

The puck dropped and O’Leary took immediate possession, turning toward Danthorpe’s goal and just managing to get the puck away before their D-man checked him hard. I ran down the biscuit, sparing a quick glance over my shoulder to confirm that O’Leary was back with me and closed the distance to the goals. Without breaking stride, I sent the biscuit skimming across the ice and cursed as the goalie stoned me with a butterfly. I hooked around the back of the net as O’Leary caught the rebound and passed it back to me with a speed that was hard to follow. Luckily, I was faster than the goalie, and as he shifted to defend against O’Leary’s attack, I dropped the puck in the basket behind him. The lamp lit up just as the buzzer sounded full time.

“Nice comeback, boys,” Coach hollered.

The noise in the stadium was deafening as Fox players yelled their support for the team, while Danthorpe’s supporters whooped in victory. I was sweating through my padding and adrenaline pounded through my veins as I realized that with the game done and dusted, it was time.

While the opposition left the rink to get showered and changed, Foster hit the ice to bring me a microphone.

I searched the crowd for a head of long, black hair and a jersey with my name on the back.

“Oscar!”

---