Page 42 of Second Shot

Goal.

The Seadragons fans in the building lose their minds, their cheers audible over the stunned silence of twelve thousand Twin Pines supporters. But I’m not listening to any of it. I’m focused on Gabe’s face as he skates toward me, arms raised in celebration, and the smile he gives me is worth more than any crowd noise.

“Fucking beautiful,” he shouts, crashing into me with enough force to almost knock us both off balance. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

The relief is overwhelming. Not just because we scored, but because it was us. Me and Gabe, working together, creating something that neither of us could have done alone.

Petrov joins the celebration, tapping his stick against our helmets with that quiet satisfaction that means more coming from our captain than any grand gesture would. Even Foster’s chirping from the bench sounds different, less forced, more genuine.

“That’s our fucking line,” Foster yells, leaning over the boards. “That’s what championship lines look like.”

It’s a cocky thing to say because it’s only one goal and Twin Pines isn’t going to fold quietly.And as predicted, they come back hard in the final minutes of the second period, throwing everything they have at our net. Niko shuts the door with another impossible stop. When their power forward gets behind Marlowe on a two-on-one, I’m certain they’re going to tie it up. But Rawlins slides across from the weak side, taking away the pass and forcing a shot that Niko handles easily.

Marlowe grins, kicking the bottom of the boards with his skate. “Maybe we should send ‘em a how-to video.”

We go into the second intermission up 1-0, and for the first time in three games, I feel like maybe, just maybe, we’re going to win.

The third period is twenty minutes of pure stress. It’s crushing. Twin Pines throws everything they have at us, pulling out every dirty trick and borderline hit in their playbook. Their fans get louder and more hostile, hurling insults and debris that the referees mostly ignore.

But our team feels different now. More confident. More connected. When Twin Pines gets a power play with eight minutes left, we don’t just survive it, we dominate it. Matsuda and Knox work the penalty kill like they’ve been doing it together for years, clearing the puck and pressuring their power play unit until they can barely set up.

With three minutes left, Gabe and I get another chance.

It starts with a defensive zone faceoff Petrov wins clean back to our defense. Simple breakout, nothing fancy. I hit the gas at the right moment, and suddenly I’m cutting through the neutral zone with speed the Twin Pines defenders can’t match.

Their defenseman tries to step up and cut me off, but Gabe’s calling for the puck from the far wing, drawing attention and creating just enough space for me to slip past.

Two-on-one. Me and Gabe against their last defenseman.

I hold the puck until the last possible second, selling the shot and drawing the defender toward me. When I slide the pass across, Gabe’s stick is waiting exactly where it needs to be.

His shot beats Bennett cleanly, finding the far corner with surgical precision.

2-0.

This time, the celebration is pure joy. No relief, no anxiety about what might happen next, just the pure adrenaline rush of knowing we’ve got this. Gabe barrels into me, grabbing my helmet as we collide, laughing. For a moment we’re tangled together in a way that probablylooks like normal celebration but feels incredibly intimate.

“I fucking love playing with you,” he says directly into my ear, his voice rough with emotion and exertion.

“Same,” I manage, and I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything.

The final three minutes feel like an hour, but we hold on. Twin Pines pulls their goalie and throws everything they have at us, but our defense stands strong. When the final buzzer sounds, the silence in the Timber Dome is deafening.

We won.

We fucking won.

The losing streak is over, and for the first time since joining this team, I feel like I actually belong here. Like I’m not a joke or a disappointment the guys are too polite to call out. I deserve to be here and I just proved that by helping my team win.

As we skate off, even the Twin Pines players seem grudgingly respectful, a few nods, a couple stick taps as we pass. I appreciate that they try. I know how hard it is to be magnanimous when you just lost a game you fought hard to win.

In the locker room afterward, the mood is electric. Guys are laughing and chirping eachother, the tension of the past week finally broken. Niko is already booking reservations for our celebration dinner. Kincaid’s texting someone, probably his girlfriend. Even Coach Donnelly cracks something that might charitably be called a smile.

But it’s Gabe I’m focused on as he sits at his stall, pulling off his gear. When he catches me looking, he gives me a small smile that’s somehow more meaningful than all the celebration around us.

“We did it,” he mouths.

I nod, my throat too tight to speak. I smile, and he returns it, warm and wide. Fuck, my heart stutters at that smile. This guy is really getting to me. I keep telling myself not to fall, not to get too attached. But I seem incapable of stopping the freefall toward him. I barely know Jacobs, yet I feel more attached to him than I ever did to Tam, even after two years together. That’s messed up.

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