Page 189 of Game Misconduct
I sit back down slowly, hands folded in my lap like that will keep them from shaking.
The PA announcer’s voice echoes across the arena, booming over the noise.
“With a game-saving stop in the final seconds, tonight’s First Star…number thirty-three—Maddox Lasker!”
The cheers erupt again, louder this time. Deafening. Wild.
I barely hear it.
All I can do is watch him skate to center ice as the lights drop and the spotlight finds him.
Alone in the glow.
Stick raised.
A king with no crown.
He nods once.
And something in my gut twists.
He’s planning something.
I don’t know what. But I feel it in the way the tension shifts. The way the players give him space.
The way Holt stands back with his arms folded, watching like he already knows what’s coming.
Maddox is about to do something dangerous.
And I’m terrified I won’t survive it.
But the crowd doesn’t settle after the save.
They swell.
Voices chant his name over and over, and Maddox doesn’t move. He stands at center ice, helmet off now, stick at his side, steam curling off his skin like smoke in the cold.
A storm building.
The spotlight stays locked on him even after the scoreboard rolls into postgame highlights.
The crew doesn’t drop the lights. The music doesn’t kick on. No one calls the players off the ice.
Something’s happening.
And the Pit knows it.
Maddox skates to the nearest ref and mutters something.There’s a brief exchange—sharp nods, clipped words—and then the announcer’s mic crackles again, fuzzed with feedback.
“Ladies and gentlemen…” The PA voice drops low, curious. “If you’d give your attention to center ice, Maddox Lasker has something to say.”
The noise in the arena crests, then quiets like a wave pulling back.
My heart stops. My lungs lock.
No.
He wouldn’t announce his retirement like this.
