Page 68 of My Pucked Up Enemy

Third period. Game on.

Colorado comes out swinging. They score fast due to a sloppy rebound we can’t clear. Then again, off a deflection. Suddenly, it’s tied 2-2 with eight minutes left.

Tension coils in my gut.

Alex’s posture doesn’t change. He’s calm, steady, crouched low with eyes like steel.

“Let’s see what they’re made of,” Derek says in my ear.

In the final two minutes, Colorado crashes the net. A shot rockets through traffic. Alex dives, glove outstretched and makes the save. Another shot comes from the blue line and he blocks it with his chest and smothers the rebound.

Sixty seconds. Still tied.

“Push it,” Max says into the mic.

And they do.

Off the face-off, Mikey wins the puck. He passes to James, who scans the ice, fakes left, and intercepts a Colorado pass mid-stride. The crowd roars.

James doesn’t hesitate. He cuts right, slicing past a defender, and snaps a perfect feed to Connor.

Connor doesn’t miss.

The puck flies past the goalie’s blocker, top shelf, ripping into the net with a satisfyingclang.

The arena detonates.

I jump to my feet, headset sliding askew. My voice is lost in the sea of noise, fans chanting, arms thrown in the air. On the ice, the team swarms Connor, sticks raised, bodies crashing into each other in celebration.

Alex skates down from the crease, helmet off, and joins the pile with a rare grin.

From the box, I can’t stop smiling. Every second of the mental work, the tension, the push—it’s paying off. They didn’t just survive the pressure. Theythrivedin it.

As the final horn sounds, I lower the headset and make my way down toward the tunnel.

The energy near the locker room is electric. Reporters crowd one side, cameras flashing. The guys file through, still high from the win, jerseys soaked and hair wild. Laughter bounces off the walls.

Derek finds me just as I’m slipping out of the way.

He fist bumps me, eyes lit. “That,” he says, “was another breakthrough. Whatever you did, it worked.”

I grin, breathless and proud. “We trusted the process.”

He nods once, already half-turned to field a reporter’s question.

I pause, watching the players walk past…James tossing his gloves in the air, Parker mock-punching Mikey’s arm, Connor still glowing from the winning goal. Even Alex throws a smirk my way before disappearing into the locker room.

And for the first time, I don’t just feel like someone helping from the sidelines.

I feel like part of this team.

And that changes everything.

Chapter twenty

Alex

Thetireshumbeneathus as we fly down the highway toward the retreat, the morning sun spilling gold over the dash. Parker’s driving like he’s got something to prove, weaving through traffic with one hand on the wheel and the other gripping a gas station coffee like it’s something precious.

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