Page 55 of Heartfelt Goals

“Holy cow, they freakin’ booed him?” Coeur muttered beside him.

Dustin smacked Coeur’s arm without hesitation. “Shut up, man. You’ve got a hot mic.”

The next name was called.

“Now, introducing number thirty-one, Kenneth Salas!”

A wall of cheers nearly drowned out the announcer’s voice, and Dustin let out a slow breath, feeling a ripple of relief move through the team.

“I’m up,” Coeur muttered, his voice taut with nerves. He stared out toward the ice like a man about to charge into battle. “I got this… I got this…oh gosh...”

“And number twelve, the heart of the team—Barrett Coeur!”

The arena exploded in response, the crowd seizing onto the wordplay of his name. “Coeur” meant “heart” in French, and Quebec had officially claimed him as their own. The rhythmic stomping began, shaking the very boards beneath their skates.

“I love you too!” Coeur called out, pounding his chest as he soaked in the energy before he signed to someone in the crowd – and Dustin smiled proudly. The man truly was growing up, becoming a father and a fantastic friend to them all. He watched as Coeur signed to his new stepson in the stands, who was deaf… and the crowd ate it up.

Dustin turned to Matthieu Larsson, the youngest member of the team, who looked like he might throw up. His face was pale, his jaw clenched tight. The other goalie bragged a lot, talked a good game, but he was still green – still fairly new – and knew the kid had to be thinking about how he could be the reason they lost. For him to toss that out earlier had been so telling…

“You’ve got this, Matthieu,” Dustin said, making sure to catch his gaze. “You hear me? When they call your name, do something—work the crowd. They’ll love you, kid.”

“I got booed last year,” Matthieu said quietly, his eyes full of fear.

“You might again. But this is a new team. A fresh start. Ignore the noise andown that ice, brother.”

Larsson swallowed hard, nodded, and disappeared down the tunnel as his name was called. The crowd’s reaction? A mix of scattered boos and hesitant cheers. A work in progress. Next to Dustin, Boucher shifted, his expression grim.

“Got any advice for me?”

Dustin eyed him. Boucher was carrying more weight than anyone else on the team. His reputation had been dragged through the mud, and this was his last shot at redemption. He was the oldest on the team, and both of them knew his time was limited – just like Dustin’s.

“Yeah,” Dustin said, voice steady. “Show them you care. Show them you’re a family man. Skate out there and find your wife in the stands. Let them see the guy that I do, my friend.”

Boucher gave a slow nod, his lips pressing into a thin line. But as soon as his name rang through the speakers—“And number one, Keith Boucher!”—the booing came down like a hammer.

Louder than Jett’s.

Boucher paled, meeting Dustin’s eyes for half a second.

“You got this,” Dustin urged. “Go.”

Boucher hesitated, then raised his stick high and scanned the crowd as he burst onto the ice. He was just out of view when a sudden burst of applause broke through the jeers.

When Boucher circled the arena, his entire demeanor had changed. A smile cracked his serious expression, and he waved, drawing a stronger response. The tide was shifting, and Boucher had won them over—at least for tonight.

Dustin exhaled. That was a darn good start.

“And number thirteen… Dustin Lafrenière!”

He didn’t hesitate. He burst onto the ice, cutting hard across the rink, his skates carving deep lines into the fresh surface. The atmosphere was electric, the crowd a frenzied mass of energy. He lifted a hand, waving as he circled the rink, searching—and then he saw them.

Laurel. Kendall. His entire world sitting in the stands, eyes locked on him. His wife’s proud smile shone brighter than the arena lights, and there, right on her chest, was his number.

His throat tightened.

Gosh, helovedher.

He tapped his helmet, knowing she’d recognize the design. A silent message just for her.

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