Page 158 of Game Misconduct
Eli gets the empty-netter in the final thirty seconds.
Final score: 3–1. Vipers.
The crowd explodes.
The horn still echoes through the rafters when Riley launches his stick in the air and whoops like we just won the Cup.
We didn’t.
We won a divisional game on a Thursday night in November.
But right now, to them? It’s everything.
I stay in the crease, crouched, mask on, chest heaving.
My shoulder’s gone numb. The good kind of numb—the kind that means you gave everything and still came out clean.
Finn gets a hard clap on the shoulder from Logan. Jace even grunts out a “nice work” as he passes him on the way to the handshake line.
Cal looks dazed—like he still can’t believe he belongs here—but when Jace lifts a hand, Cal meets it with a quiet, stunned high-five.
The crowd is still on their feet.
And then the announcer’s voice booms over the system.
“Tonight’s First Star of the Game… Number thirty-three, your Vipers goalie, Maddox Lasker!”
I glance up once—top right, Owner’s Suite.
She’s already gone.
Applause swells. I raise one glove, give the barest nod, and skate toward the bench. My teammates bang their sticks in rhythm on the boards.
I should feel something.
Pride. Relief. Satisfaction.
Instead, my shoulder throbs. My lungs burn. And all I can think about is the empty space behind the glass where she used to be.
The locker room is chaos.
Steam rising. Music thumping. Beers cracked open and half-spilled on the floor.
Riley’s dancing shirtless in front of his stall. Finn’s trying to convince Jace to wear his lucky boxers next game. Eli’s arm is slung around Cal’s neck like they’ve been teammates for a decade.
Laughter bounces off the tile walls.
I sit in silence.
Still in my gear, pads unstrapped but not removed. Tape hanging loose from one glove. Helmet at my feet.
My shoulder’s a firestorm, but it’s the hollow in my chest that hurts more.
She saw the game.
She sawme.
And still—nothing.
