Page 154 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

My glove snaps up, catching the puck mid-air like it’s second nature. The play ends, and the horn blares, signaling the end of the period.

I skate out of the goal box, chest heaving as adrenaline courses through me. The crowd goes wild!

I glance over to the spot in the front row, where Austin and my sister will be sitting tonight, setting it in my sights.

Already distracted.

I love seeing Austin so damn much.

Can’t get enough of her…

When we’re done warming up I follow my teammates to the bench, skates cutting sharp lines into the ice. Coach is already shouting, clipboard in hand, giving orders about tightening up defense.

Yeah, yeah, yeah—I’ve heard it all before,not to get cocky.

I nod along but the truth is, I’m riding a high straight into the first period.

My reflexes are sharp.

My confidence is soaring.

We’re up by two, andI’ll be damned if I let anyone close that gap.

I sit on the bench alongside my teammates, pulling a water bottle and taking a long sip, letting the cool water wash away the heat building under my mask.

Coach is yapping away.

As he does, my mind drifts back to those empty seats.

I trust Austin to show—she said she was coming—but the nagging thought that something might have held them up eats at me. It’s not like her to miss the start of a game, not when she’s been so consistent about showing up, screaming her lungs out every time I make a save.

The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the timeout.

We’re back on the ice, the energy electric as we take our positions; gloves are secure, mask snug.

I block out the noise of the crowd, everything except the puck and the players surrounding it…

My heart pounds as I track the puck—left, right, left. The forward winds up,and I know what’s coming.

The slap shot is hard and fast, but I’m faster. I drop low, my pads taking the brunt of the hit as the puck bounces off and ricochets into the corner. The crowd roars, and I hear my teammates shouting through the thunder.

And then I see them.

My sister and Austin, sidestepping people as they make their way to their seats, bright blue and yellow jerseys on—I couldn’t miss them if I tried.

I grin. “It’s about fucking time.”

I’m fighting for my life here!

Zing!

A puck nearly flies past me, snapping me out of my daydream.

Another forward barrels toward me, stick angled, looking for a rebound shot.

“Not today, motherfucker.”

My mind clears in an instant, instincts taking over. I crouch low, scanning every movement like a hawk, ready for the next play.

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