Page 22 of My Athlete Neighbor

Oliver's reply was instant:No, but he wants you here. Different thing.

The second period ended with no change in score, but plenty of change in momentum. The Chill looked disjointed, frustrated. Even Dmitri had stopped his usual celebratory flourishes after good plays.

Allison found herself reaching for the puck without thinking. It was cool and smooth in her palm, the engraving of her grandfather's Olympic victory date barely visible after years of handling. What would he think of all this? His practical, methodical granddaughter caught up in hockey superstitions and complicated feelings for a player?

Her reverie was broken by the start of the third period. The Chill came out looking determined, but something was still off. Kane got the puck on a breakaway, exactly the kind of situation he usually lived for, but his shot was easily saved.

"Stop thinking," Allison told his image on the screen. "Just play your game."

As if he'd heard her, Kane's next shift was different. He was skating faster, hitting harder. When Oliver sent him a perfectpass, he buried it top shelf where mama keeps the cookies, as her grandfather used to say.

The celebration was subdued—they were still down by one—but something had shifted. The team found their rhythm, started connecting passes, forechecking with purpose. Even from her couch, Allison could feel the change in energy.

Her phone buzzed again:

Mrs. Peterson:There's our boy! Whatever you did, keep doing it!

Jenny:KANE GOAL KANE GOAL

Mr. Collins:The curse is broken!

But it wasn't over. With two minutes left, Pittsburgh nearly scored on a scramble in front of the net. Liam made an impossible save, and suddenly the Chill were rushing the other way. Marcus to Dmitri to Oliver to Kane...

Allison was on her feet without realizing it, the puck clutched to her chest, as Kane deked around one defender, then another. The clock showed thirty seconds. The defenseman was closing in. Kane had no angle...

He passed.

The camera barely caught Dmitri streaking in from the other side...

"YES!" Allison shouted, then clapped a hand over her mouth, aware of how thin the apartment walls were. But her phone told her she wasn't the only one celebrating:

Mrs. Martinez:GOOOOOAAAALLL

Jenny:Did you see that pass???

Mr. Collins:What a play!

Mrs. Peterson:Is anyone else crying? I'm definitely crying.

The game went to overtime, then a shootout. Allison's voice was hoarse from yelling at the TV. She'd never experienced a game like this—not even her grandfather's old videos had made her feel so invested, so connected to every play.

In the end, Liam missed the shot that won the game for the Blitz.

“Shit.”

She should have brought the puck to the game.

Chapter Nine

Kane's hotel room felt too small for the weight of tonight's loss. He'd stripped off his game day suit, leaving it crumpled on a chair in a way that would have his mother scolding about wrinkles, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The standard team dinner had been canceled. Nobody felt like celebrating Pittsburgh's last-minute goal that had crushed their streak.

His body ached in familiar ways: the bone-deep throb of a hard check into the boards, the burning in his legs from too many desperate rushes up ice, the tension in his shoulders from shots that hadn't found their mark. But it was his head that wouldn't let him rest, replaying every mistake, every missed opportunity, every moment he'd let his focus slip.

The local sports station played quietly on the TV, analyzing their performance with brutal efficiency.

"—unusual number of turnovers from Norris tonight," one commentator was saying. "The Chill's captain seemed off his game, especially in the neutral zone—"

Kane clicked it off. They weren't saying anything he hadn't already torn himself apart over in the locker room. His phone lit up with a text from Oliver:

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