Page 78 of Pucking Secret

There’s a moment of silence. Zander, Jacye, and Wilder all look stunned. Carson’s jaw drops, and he looks like I just told him I was quitting hockey to become a monk. Jensen, on the other hand, grins.

“Well yeah,” he says. “Duh.”

Carson notices and points at Jensen. “Wait. You knew?”

Jensen shrugs. “Why do you think it took me so long to convince Grace that not all hockey players are bad? She was there for Stacey at the beginning.”

Carson stares at him, dumbfounded. “What the hell? I thought I was doing my job as the older brother, scaring them away!”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Older by, like, ten seconds, dude. Relax.”

Carson shakes his head, but grins as he turns to look back at me. “Man, I did not see that coming. Millie’s a great kid, though. I can’t even imagine how pumped you must be.”

“Pumped doesn’t even cover it,” I admit. “It’s been… a lot, but Stacey and I are figuring it out, and Millie... man, she’s incredible. I’m not missing another moment of her life.”

“Awww,” Wilder says with a large smile. “Hell yeah, man. Daddy Owen.”

We all look at him with varying looks of confusion at his sentimentality. His eyes bounce around and his face flushes with embarrassment.

“What?” he snaps. “Can’t a guy appreciate a touching moment without you assholes judging? Stop looking at me like that!”

There’s a brief moment of silence before we all burst out laughing.

“All right, enough fucking around!” Coach’s voice suddenly booms through the locker room, snapping us to attention. “It’s time to get out there. Let’s go!”

Not wanting to piss the old man off, we hurry out of the locker room and onto the ice.

The energy in the arena is electric, the crowd’s cheers a constant roar as we take our positions for the face-off. I can feel the tension in the air, thick and charged, and my heart pounds in anticipation.

The puck drops, and it’s like a switch flips. All my focus zeroes in on the game. My skates dig into the ice as I chase the puck, weaving through defenders, dodging a stick aimed to trip me up. A quick pass to Jensen, and he takes the shot. The opposing goalie barely manages to block it. The crowd groans in unison.

We fall back to defense as the other team gains possession. My legs burn as I race back to help, my stick intercepting a passjust before their winger can take a clean shot. I pass it up the boards to Jayce. He charges ahead. The game is fast, brutal, and relentless. Every player throws their weight into every move.

Midway through the second period, the score is tied. Frustration is setting in. I glance at the stands during a brief pause, catching a glimpse of Stacey. I haven’t seen her all day, and it hits me just how much I’ve missed her. She watches intently, her hands clasped in front of her as if she’s physically holding herself back from shouting instructions at me. I push harder, skating faster, digging deeper. When the puck comes my way, I drive it up the ice, dodging defenders left and right. A quick fake to the left throws their goalie off just enough. I fire a wrist shot into the top corner of the net.

The red light flashes. The crowd explodes. My teammates rush to me, smacking my helmet and shoulders, celebrating the goal.

As the third period begins, we’re ahead by one, but the other team isn’t letting up. They’re pressing hard. Their forwards crash the net every chance they get. I block a shot with my stick, the impact vibrating up my arms. They quickly clear the puck out of the zone.

With just minutes left, they pull their goalie, adding an extra skater to the ice. It’s chaos, bodies flying everywhere as they try to even the score. My pulse races. Every second feels like an eternity.

Finally, Jensen intercepts a pass and shoots the puck down the ice into their empty net. The buzzer sounds. We’ve won.

The team floods the ice. The crowd’s on their feet. My chest heaves as I catch my breath, but I can’t stop the grin spreading across my face.

In the stands I see Stacey up high, cheering, jumping up and down. With a start, I realize she’s not wearing a Night Hawks jersey… she’s wearing an old one from high school.

My old jersey.

The sight makes my heart hammer, but it’s not from the adrenaline of the game. Suddenly, she’s all I can focus on. All that matters. Breaking away from the team, I skate toward the boards, my eyes locking with Stacey’s as she moves from her spot with the other PTs to a closer area behind the penalty box to meet me.

“You kept it,” I say, loud enough for her to hear over the crowd.

She glances down at herself, then back at me with a small, almost shy smile.

“I didn’t have one of your new ones,” she says with a shrug, her voice just carrying over the noise. “And I wasn’t sure if I could wear it while I’m working.”

I shake my head, grinning. Pride swells up within me. I love seeing my old jersey on her. I’ve managed to keep the same number since high school, so it’s obvious to anyone watching that she’s wearing it for me. It’s thrilling that she’s staking her claim on me, even in this small way.

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