Page 7 of King

King

We line upfor the face-off, my heart pounding in my chest. There are only twenty seconds left in the game against the Carolina Cold Fury, and the score is tied 2–2. It’s been a hard-fought battle, as expected. Stone is taking the face-off and we need to win this. On the line with him are Penn, Boone, Bain and me. Drake is ready in goal, but we’re hoping he remains uninvolved.

As I position myself in the circle, I glance at the player next to me, my old teammate, Rick Kourakis from the Houston Jam, who was traded to the Cold Fury this year. We’ve always had a friendly rivalry, and I can’t resist the opportunity to mess with him a little.

“Nice new colors and logo,” I say, smirking. “Blue, black and white. You guys look so pretty!”

“Fuck off, King,” he growls, giving me a sharp nudge.

I nudge back, jockeying for position. “What’s with the tornado with the growling face and sharp fangs? Looks like something out of a bad comic book.”

He shoots me a glare, but I can see the corner of his mouth twitch, trying not to laugh. “Jealous, King? At least we look fierce.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Fierce? More like a bad Halloween costume. Focus on the game, buddy.”

The referee drops the puck, and Stone reacts with lightning speed, winning the face-off cleanly. He sends it back to Boone,who immediately passes it to Bain. The Cold Fury defense closes in, but Bain maneuvers skillfully, skating past them with ease.

I tap my stick sharply on the ice and he backhands a pass to me. I take a quick snap shot, aiming for the top corner, but Fournier knocks it away with his glove. The puck rebounds, bouncing toward Penn.

There’s a reason he’s the best in the league. Penn grabs the puck, dodging a Cold Fury defenseman. He glances up, sees an opening, and with a flick of his wrist, he sends a short chip shot over Fournier’s shoulder. The puck sails into the net and the red light blazes, signaling our goal.

The arena erupts in a cacophony of cheers and my line swarms together, Drake racing out of goal to slam into us for a group hug.

The locker room buzzes with energy and the sweet smell of victory. I step out of the sleek teakwood shower, the warm water still fresh on my skin, and grab a towel from the nearby rack. The mosaic floor tiles shimmer with the Titans logo, and I can’t help but feel a surge of pride. A gratitude to be on this championship-bound team. I can just feel that we’re going to do it this year.

I walk over the thick, dark gray carpeting with its purple border and the massive Titans logo embroidered in the center. It’s pristine, almost like the ice we just dominated. I head to my cubby, stained a deep charcoal gray and spacious enough to house all my gear. The chrome lettering at the top—backlit in a purple glow—spells outKINGSTON, and there’s no doubt that I feel like I truly belong here.

“You killed it out there,” Rafferty says, wrapping a towel around his waist as he strides over from the showers. His wet hair drips onto the floor, but the high-end carpet absorbs it without a trace.

His cubby sits next to mine, his own last name ofABRAMSdone in chrome and subtle purple lighting designating it as his home away from home.

“That game-winner from Penn was ridiculous,” I reply, pulling on a pair of fresh boxer briefs and reaching for my suit pants. Gotta love a sweet little chip shot over the goalie’s shoulder with barely an inch all around to squeak through.

North, already half dressed, leans against his cubby that sits opposite mine, his suit jacket hanging neatly on a hook. “That guy has some sort of unicorn magic going on.”

I nod, buttoning up my shirt. “Don’t know how he does it but I’m glad he does.”

Rafferty chuckles, grabbing his comb and running it through his hair. “They didn’t know what hit them. You should’ve seen Fournier’s face. Pure shock.”

Max Fournier is the Cold Fury goalie and one of the best in the league. But that doesn’t seem to matter against a once-in-a-lifetime player like Penn Navarro.

I sit on the built-in bench in my cubby and lace up my dress shoes. “We deserved this win. We played our hearts out.”

North straightens his tie, his expression turning serious for a moment. “It’s more than that. We played like a team. Everyone gave their best, from defense to offense. And Penn… he just sealed the deal.”

We are on fucking fire.

“You guys feel it, right?” I put on my jacket, ignoring my tie.

Rafferty grins, eyes sparkling. “You mean that feeling like we’re going to go all the way this season?”

I grab my phone and wallet from the shelf in my cubby, glancing around the locker room at all of my teammates as they dress, joy on their faces and swagger in their steps. Laughter, excitement, the shuffling of gear being stowed away—all sounds of victory. Not overly cocky, but yeah… they know it too.

“Yeah,” I say as I turn back to Rafferty. “We’re going all the way this year.”

“Let’s not jinx it,” North grumbles, pocketing his phone.

“Not jinxing it,” I clarify. “Just fucking stating truth.”

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