Page 152 of The Fine Line
Rags snorts. “They need to start calling that Brittwall kid Brick Wall. He’s not letting anything through.”
“Yeah,” R2 sighs, “we can’t seem to beat him. We gotta switch something up.” He looks to me, hopeful. “Whatcha think, Cap? What do we need to do?”
I rub the back of my neck, trying to think like the leader they expect me to be. But my brain’s fog.
“Well, I think… I think that we need to…”
And then I hear her.
“The Storm need to back off the blue paint. Scott Brittwall has been rock-solid tonight in proving he’ll win a battle at the net time after time. But if you take a step back, he’s leaving the top shelf every time…”
I freeze. My spine goes rigid, like my whole body’s just snapped to attention.
“…If they haven’t already, the Storm need to notice that quickly and take full advantage of it. I think if they just open up their shooting lanes and get a little more strategic with their plays, they can break through and get something going here.”
That voice. Clear, confident, razor-sharp.
I lift my eyes and realize everyone’s looking past me now, over my head toward the TV mounted in the corner of the locker room.
“What?” Bear barks, turning to follow their gazes. “What is everyone—Oh my God.”
“Sutty,” Buck says, nodding toward the screen. “You’re gonna want to see this.”
I turn.
And there she is.
Caroline. In a headset, sitting in the NHN broadcast booth like she owns the damn place. Fire in her eyes. Poise in her posture. She’s speaking with Tom Dunn like she’s been doing this her whole life—and for all intents and purposes, she has.
I don’t know how she got up there. I don’t know why she’s up there. But holy hell.
Then I hear Dunn ask, “I know you obviously have some bias, but how do you feel about the captain’s performance so far tonight?”
And Caroline answers,“Rhett will be the first to tell you—I never sugarcoat anything when it comes to his game. I’m his most critical fan. He’s playing hard, but I’d like to see him clean it up. When the intensity ramps up, he tends to overthink. He gets more aggressive, but he stops trusting himself. With that opening in goal, his signature slapshot from the left point is exactly what the team needs right now. If he can just get there—and trust his team to feed him the puck—I think that’s all it’ll take to get the Storm rolling.”
My chest pulls tight.
“That’s my girl,” Bear mutters beside me.
Mine too.
thirty-five
CAROLINE
“Caroline?”
I hear my name just as I’m pulling away from my father’s congratulatory hug, seconds before he heads off to a post-game press interview.
I turn to find Tom Dunn approaching.
“Tom,” I say, still processing the surreal feeling of having just called a live NHL game next to one of the most respected voices in hockey. “Hi. Thank you so much—for tonight, for your help, your patience, and for being so kind. This opportunity meant the world to me.”
“You earned it,” he replies with an easy smile. “That was all you. I’ve worked with career broadcasters who’ve been in this business for decades and still don’t come that prepared—especially stepping in at the last minute.”
I nod, a flicker of pride stirring in my chest. “Thank you. My goal is to always be ready. I’m just glad I could support the broadcast.”
“It showed,” he says. “And you didn’t just supportthe broadcast—you carried it.” He pauses, crossing his arms before adding, “Can I be honest?”
