Page 41 of Ice Melts

“What now?” he muttered, pushing up from the bench.

When he got closer, he froze.

Taped to his locker door, right above his jersey, was a printed article.

Her article.

For a second, his heart nearly stopped. But then he saw the headline:

“The Heart Behind the Helmet: How Hockey Shapes Heroes On and Off the Ice”

His chest tightened as his eyes darted over the words.

It wasn’t just about the scandal. Sure, Sarah had covered the negative—the parties, the mistakes, the accountability—but the article wasn’t about tearing them down. It was about balance. About how hockey players weren’t just athletes—they were mentors, leaders, examples for the next generation.

And right in the center of it all was him.

She’d written about his work at the YMCA, how he volunteered with kids, how he used his platform to give back. She talked about the responsibility that came with being a rolemodel and how Travis embodied that better than anyone she knew.

Travis felt his throat tighten, the weight in his chest lifting, replaced by something warmer, lighter.

She’d done it. She’d found a way to be true to herself and to him.

Jake clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Looks like someone’s got a fan.”

Logan smirked, nudging him. “Guess you’re more than just a pretty face, huh?”

Travis chuckled, shaking his head. For the first time all day, he felt centered.

He took a deep breath, pulling his jersey over his head. It was game time.

The roar of the crowd hit him like a wave as he stepped onto the ice, the sound vibrating in his chest. The arena was packed, a sea of faces, signs, and team colors. But Travis didn’t hear any of it.

He felt the ice under his skates, the familiar glide, the crisp chill in the air. He let it settle him, the chaos outside fading until all that mattered was the game.

The puck dropped, and the game was on.

Travis played like a man on fire. Every pass was sharp, every shot precise. He skated faster, hit harder, pushed deeper than he ever had. The team fed off his energy, their plays tight, their movements fluid.

But the opposing team was just as hungry.

The game was brutal, bodies slamming against the boards, sticks clashing in a symphony of controlled violence. Every goal was hard-earned, every save a heartbeat skipped.

By the third period, the score was tied. The tension in the arena was palpable, every fan on the edge of their seat.

And when the final buzzer sounded without a winner, it was clear:

Shootout.

Back in the bench, Travis’s heart pounded in his chest. Coach rattled off the lineup for the shootout, but Travis knew before his name was called.

It would come down to him.

He pulled his helmet off for a second, wiping the sweat from his brow, his mind racing. He tried to focus on the goalie, on his angles, on everything he’d practiced. But his thoughts drifted.

To Sarah.

She used to practice with him, standing in as the goalie when they were kids, her laughter echoing off the lake as he missed shot after shot. She’d tease him, but then she’d help him adjust his aim, give him tips, believe in him in a way no one else had.

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