Page 93 of My Pucked Up Enemy

I find the spot I always do—just behind the tunnel where the team enters the ice. From here, I can see them line up, helmets gleaming under fluorescent light, gloves tapping shoulders, and last-minute chirps exchanged. And then, I’m right there for the rush forward onto the ice.

It never gets old.

The sound, the energy, the way the building comes alive.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Another email. The subject line glows bright: Response Required: League Office Offer.

I don’t open it.

I just hold it in my hand, heart pounding.

This is where I feel like myself. In the chaos, the motion, the heartbeat of something alive and unfiltered. But is that enough?

Elias’s voice echoes back to me:“Maybe you’re afraid to stay because it’s too close to joy.”

Maybe. Or maybe I’m afraid of waking up one day and wondering what I could have been if I’d taken the leap. The big stage. The seat at the table I always thought I was climbing toward.

My gaze finds Alex as he takes the ice, all speed and focus, his stick cutting smooth arcs, his stance powerful. Like he was made to be there.

He glances toward the tunnel. Briefly. Just once.

And I know he’s looking for me.

My fingers tighten around the phone.

I feel like myself here. In this rink, with this team. But how do I walk away from the career move I’ve been working toward for a decade? What kind of fool turns down everything they thought they wanted, just because something real snuck in and made them question it all?

Relationships don’t always last. You never make a life decision because of a guy. That’s what everyone says. That’s what I say.

But right now, I don’t know what scares me more: refusing the job I’ve wanted for years, or staying in the place that’s starting to feel like home.

And worse... what if I make the wrong choice?

Chapter twenty-six

Alex

Theroarofthecrowd hits me like a wave the second we walk out of the tunnel.

The sound’s deafening—cheers, horns, the pulse of our entrance track vibrating through the ice under my skates.

This game matters.

It’s not just about the win. It’s round one of the playoffs. It’s about pride. Momentum. Making a statement. We’re not sneaking in—we’re here to dominate.

Warmups are fast and focused. The guys are dialed in. I make a few glove saves just to feel the puck, tracking it clean. Before we line up for the National Anthem, Coach calls us in at the bench, his voice calm but loaded with intent.

"Bring it in," Coach Stephens says, and we form a half-circle, eyes locked.

"We’ve been building toward this all season. Through the noise, the injuries, the media circus, and the pressure. You’ve fought every step. Now it’s time to show them who we are."

He looks each of us in the eye, slow and deliberate.

"This game—this series—it won’t define who you are forever. But it will show everyone watching what you’re made of. And I’d bet on your heart over theirs every damn time."

A few nods ripple through the group. James elbows Ethan. Ethan rolls his neck like he’s ready to throw hands.

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