Page 71 of Pucking the Grump

“But I wouldn’t worry too much about head games,” he adds. “That last goal was pure luck. They’re already getting tired and sloppy, but we’ve got conditioning on our side. You’re still going strong as their reserves begin to flag. Just get back out there, keep applying pressure and working as a team, and we’ll make sure this series never sees a Game 7.”

“Because we’ll be taking that cup back to Portland tonight!” Justin shouts, summoning a cheer from the room.

I’m on my feet with the rest of them, riding the wave as our various battle cries vibrate the walls.

For a beat, Lauder meets my gaze. He shoots me a thumbs up, a small sign that if this turns out to be my last time on the ice as a pro, I’m having a game I can be proud of. We’ve come a long way since the start of the season. I don’t know if we’ll ever reach the “hugging goodbye after weekly family dinner” stage of our relationship, but he’s made it clear he’s decided I’m good enough for his daughter, after all.

I’m sure it helped that I made it clear that I intend to prioritize Remy’s career, moving forward. And that I put in an offer on a condo in Seattle to prove it, the moment we knew she’d landed the coaching job with the Seattle Sirens. The fact that I make her happier and more relaxed than she’s ever been doesn’t hurt, either.

And yes, Coach seemed to find it offensive that I pulled him aside to ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage a couple days back—correctly observing that Remy would kick us both in the nuts if she thought we were doing bogus patriarchal shit behind her back. But if I hadn’t done things the old-fashioned way, I wouldn’t have her mother’s engagement ring in my bag right now, something I know is going to mean so much to her.

I’m going to propose tonight, a fact that’s got me nearly as ramped up as this game.

I’m surer of the outcome of the proposal than of Game 6, but I’m also even more determined to not fuck up the second momentous event of the evening. Playing in the NHL has been one of the best parts of my past, but Remy’s my future, and I can’t wait to know she’s going to be mine.

Forever.

“Now get out there and show Seattle why you should never underestimate Stumptown,” Lauder barks, sending another rush of fighting spirit through the team.

The energy carries us back onto the ice, where the roar of the crowd hits like a physical force. Seattle’s arena is packed to the rafters, a sea of teal and navy that makes my old home ice feel like the enemy territory it’s become.

But that’s okay. I’ve never been the kind of player who needs the hometown advantage to thrive.

Besides, my girl is up there in the box watching.

Her eyes on me are the only ones I need.

The first ten minutes of the period are a battle of wills, both teams amped up after the break, and neither giving an inch. But Tank is a wall between the pipes, swallowing up everything they throw at him.

A one-timer from the point? Glove save. Redirected shot through traffic? He somehow gets a pad on it. And when their star center—a blond guy named Silver, who has the nerve to look so much like a younger version of me that the commentators have called it out more than once—crashes the net hard enough to knock the goal off its moorings, Tank bounces back up, adjusting his mask with a disdainful glance over his shoulder.

“You good?” I call out on my way back to center ice.

“Better than good,” he says. “I’m untouchable tonight, and it looks like they’re finally getting the message.”

He’s not wrong. But their goalie is standing on his head too, making save after impossible save. Our offense is cooking—Grammercy’s speed creates chaos in their defense, and Justin’s setting up some brilliant opportunities for the rest of us—but nothing’s going in.

Until the fourteen-minute mark…

It starts with Tank absolutely robbing their captain on a point-blank chance. The rebound kicks out hard to Nowicki, who spots Justin streaking up the wing. The pass hits him in stride, and suddenly we’re on a three-on-two rush.

“Go high!” I shout, cutting through the neutral zone. “I’m with you!”

Justin threads a perfect pass through their defenseman’s legs, finding me lurking in the high slot. The puck hits my tape, and time seems to slow.

I can see the opening, top corner, where Mama keeps the peanut butter...

My stick flexes as I lean into the shot, putting everything I have behind it. The puck whistles through the air, a blur of black rubber. Their goalie never sees it coming.

A beat later, it’s over his head, tickling the twine.

The arena erupts in a mix of groans from locals and cheers from the Badger fans who made the trip north.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Justin roars, crushing me in a hug as our teammates pile on. “Two more and we end this!”

The momentum shifts after that.

We’re relentless, applying wave after wave of pressure. Every line that hits the ice is flying, forechecking like demons, making Seattle look like they’re skating through mud. Nowicki nearly ties it up with a rocket from the point that rings off the post. Then Justin gets robbed on a wraparound attempt that has their goalie doing the splits.

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