Page 112 of My Pucked Up Enemy

I don’t celebrate. Not yet. I lock in harder.

They come at us like hell unleashed.

Every shift. Every rebound. I slide, kick, snag, block.

Then: Final whistle.

1–0. Shutout. We just forced a Game 7 on home ice.

Everything we fought for, bled for, crawled back from—it’s all coming down to one more game in our barn.

I rip my helmet off as my teammates crash into me, screams echoing in my ears.

They mob me, tackling, roaring, slapping helmets and pads. Coach yells something triumphant in the mix, but I can’t hear it over my own pulse.

I find the glass and slam my fist against it once. Fans go wild.

In the middle of it all, I look up toward the box.

I don’t know why.

She’s not there.

But I look anyway.

I’m still sweating, high on adrenaline and victory when I head for the locker room. The music’s already blasting. We’re winners tonight.

Coach claps me on the back. “That’s the grit of a true champion, Chadwick.”

I grin, finally letting myself relax a fraction.

Sweaty jerseys half off. Guys laughing, chest bumping, dumping protein powder into shake bottles like confetti. Someone’s blasting AC/DC. Ethan’s already shirtless, trying to convince the rookie to let him Sharpie “WE’RE NOT DONE” on his back.

Coach Derek’s voice slices through the noise. “Bring it in!”

Everyone huddles up, still buzzing.

“That’s the grit I love to see from this team!” he roars, voice hoarse but proud. “That’s Acers fucking hockey!”

Cheers erupt.

Coach claps once, loud enough to cut through the buzz. “Alright, everyone get decent. Nina’s coming in any second.”

Within a few minutes, the door opens and in walks Nina, casual but composed in her black Acers pullover and jeans, her ponytail looped high and sharp like always. No clipboard. No towels. Just her presence and the instant shift in the energy when the guys notice her.

James smirks and calls out, “Well, well, look who timed her entrance like a pro. Two minutes earlier and you may have seen Mikey in a jock strap.”

The guys laugh and then get quiet.

Coach grins and nods toward her. “Come on, Doc, give the boys a few words. They’ll actually listen to you.”

She clears her throat, voice professional but warm. “That’s the mental strength we built all season. Proud of you guys. You've just earned yourselves Game 7. Congratulations.”

Coach slings an arm around her shoulder and grins. “She’s the unsung MVP, boys.”

More cheers. Someone yells, “Doc for president!”

She laughs and shakes her head, already backing toward the door. “Keep hydrating. You’ve got one more war to win.”

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