Page 87 of Chasing The Goal
Mal Baby
You looked hot scoring that goal. Just saying.
I smiled so hard I didn’t even care that I still had sweat running down my neck or that my lower back was screaming.
You saying I should score more often?
I’m saying you should bring that cocky grin home.
Home. Jesus.
She’d started saying it casually—back home, when you’re home, waiting for you at home—but every time it hit me in the sternum. Like maybe this wasn’t temporary. Like maybe we’d built something real in the middle of all this chaos.
Game Two was a different beast. The Thunder adjusted. Got faster. Dirtier. They wanted the cup just as badly as we did. I took a blindside hit five minutes into the first that left me seeing stars and chewing on the inside of my cheek just to stay grounded.
Logan helped me up, eyes scanning my face. “You good?”
“Better when we bury these assholes,” I muttered.
He grinned. “That’s my guy.”
It took overtime to close it. Darren buried a rocket after I drew two defenders wide and dished it off just before the goalie cut the angle. The puck hit twine and the crowd lost its mind.
Thelocker room was chaos—sweaty hugs, towels whipping, Logan blaring his “playoff magic” playlist which was, as usual, terrible.
But even in the middle of all that noise, I pulled out my phone.
Miss you.
She replied fast.
Mal Baby
Miss you more. Be safe. Don’t get cocky.
Safe flight home
God, I wanted to be home with her. Feet tangled on the couch. Her head on my shoulder, belly snug against my side. That quiet, domestic kind of peace we never talked about but had somehow slipped into like a second skin.
We were going straight into game three once we got off the plane, if 10 minutes could have been excused to sneak away to her I would have tried. The guys could tell I was pissed off I couldn't go home quick. But once we hit the arena all jokes left the building and we put our game faces back on. Just 60 minutes of gameplay stood between me and seeing my girl for the first time in four days.
Connor scored short-handed in the first. Logan fought their top defenseman after a dirty hit on Darren. I picked up a goal in the second—stole a pass off the blue line, skated it in, faked the backhand and flipped it top shelf.
The puck hit the net with a clean snap.
That sound. That rush.
I lived for it.
Chasing the puck. Chasing the goal. Chasing the Cup.
But lately, it was more than that.
It wasn’t just about chasing the game anymore. It was chasing her—chasing what it felt like to be hers.
I loved this. The game. The grind. The blood and sweat and bruises. I loved chasing the goal.
But even as we swept the Thunder, three games to none, and the guys hooted and hollered around me like we’d already won the damn Cup… my head was somewhere else.
