Page 83 of Bad Pucking Roommate

“Hold up.” I stick my palm out like I’m signaling him to stop. “I know this stopped being about hockey a long time ago, and I agree hiding isn’t ideal, but I don’t think I could forgive myself if I’m the reason you don’t finish your contract.”

“And I’m not sure I could forgivemyselfif I put my life on hold for the game. I’ve done that ever since I entered the league, and while I don’t regret it, I am ready to do things differently.”

If Luca’s goal was to get me out of my head before the biggest game of my career, he did it, but now I have a whole other set of worries.

“Why are you asking now? On our way to the rink?”

“So I know if I can kiss you after we win.” The sweet smile on Luca’s face has me melting into my seat.

Oh my gosh, kissing Luca after a win, in front of millions of people? Yes, please. Hoisting the cup together, holding hands during press conferences…shoot! No one would ask about the game.

“That would be amazing,” I sigh. “But as much as I want that, whether you play your final year or not, coming out now would take away from the rest of the team, and they deserve to have the spotlight on their achievements, not our relationship.”

My boyfriend seems to deflate a little. “Shit, you’re right.”

I reach for his hand and take it in mine. “I’d have loved that though. Thank you for thinking of it.”

When we get to the rink, we walk side-by-side and head to our lockers to get ready for our practice skate. The atmosphere is slightly subdued compared to normal, though not in a bad way. The guys are still happy and anxious, just a little quieter, and without the usual ribbing we typically give each other.

Once we take the ice everyone seems to be in their own head. Muscle memory takes over, as they circle the rink methodically, visualizing the game. I suspect everyone is also trying not to let their minds wander to holding the cup lest we jinx ourselves.

After our warmup, it’s a different scene entirely. My teammates barely say a word as we get dressed and, our restless energy is all-consuming that it both keeps us from sitting still and from joking around like we’d usually do. We’re all keenly aware of how close we are to the cup, and trying desperately not to lose focus due to our excitement. You can tell by the way everyone goes through their pregame motions, meticulously knotting laces and wrapping our sticks with tape.

Not that I’m the picture of calm before a game. My stomach tends to do a few flips prior to taking the ice for the first time, and today isno different. But in addition to that, my muscles are coiled in a state of permanent rigor, and it feels like I’d be slogging through concrete if I had to move them. Logically, I know that will go away once my skates hit the rink, but until then, the simple act of putting my pads on feels like I’m fighting gravity for every inch.

“Listen up,” Coach barks as he enters the room, where we’re all waiting anxiously for the clock to signal it’s time to go. “I’m not going to blow a bunch of smoke up your ass about how you deserve this win since you’ve been leading the league all year and you’re the number one seed. Your record doesn’t mean anything today. It doesn’t guarantee you a win.” He pauses to look around the room, emphasizing his point. “If you want this win, you have to take it. You can’t wait for your opponent to make a mistake. You have to force the mistake. You can’t wait for the perfect shot, you have tomakethe perfect shot. Get to the puck first, control it, and you control the game. Now, let’s go get that cup!”

The room erupts into cheers as we collectively release the pent-up tension that’s been building for hours. We spring off the benches, fist-bumping and high-fiving each other, and make our way to the door that will take us to the rink.

Whether by luck or by design, I’m not sure, but Luca and I bring up the tail end of the group, and before I step into the hallway, he grabs my arm, holding me back. As I spin to face him, his soft lips meet mine in a brief yet searing kiss.

My heart kicks into overdrive, and not because I fear getting caught. That’s just how my body reacts to Luca’s touch. Even when I expect it, it never fails to excite me.

“What was that for?” I ask breathlessly. We’ve never—ever—shared a locker room kiss, and while I loved it, I’m not sure whyhe’d risk it.

“You said I couldn’t do it after, so…” He flashes me a flirty grin and smacks my ass. “Get out there. Let’s win this thing.”

On legs that feel like jelly—Luca isfarmore romantic than I ever expected—I make my way to the rink and take the ice.

***

Halfway through the third period and we’re up by one, but that’s not a comfortable lead. Not in a game this important.

While a close game isn’t unexpected—teams seem to find an extra gear during the playoffs, proving Coach’s point about our record meaning nothing—I had hoped to have more than just one goal separating us by now.

Truthfully, we should be up by at least three. We’ve dominated the entire game, taking more than double their shots on goal and keeping the game on their end of the ice two-thirds of the time. In many ways they’re barely hanging on, but to their credit they refuse to give up.

More than once, a defender has sacrificed his body to keep the puck out of the net, and one of them left mid-way through the second with an ankle injury after he tried to slide in front of Niko’s shot, taking it right in the crook of his skate. Based on the speed of that shot and the way he barely put any weight on it when he went to the locker room, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s broken. Given that he saved a goal, he’d probably say it was a worthy sacrifice. If they take this game, he’d be right.

But they won’t take this game if we have anything to say about it.

Just as they’re relentless in their defense of the goal, we’re relentless in our offense. As Coach instructed, we’re winning the battle to get tothe puck first, controlling its trajectory. Occasionally, they get a lucky stick on it, breaking up a pass and sending it to our end of the rink, only for us to regroup and take it back to their end.

At this point, we’re frustrated by our inability to score yet feeling good about the pressure we’re putting on our opponent. As long as we don’t falter, we’ll either hold them off or score again, resulting in a win.

And then it happens. Our worst fear comes true as they get a stick on the puck and knock it toward our goal right as our defense is in the midst of a line change. By the time we get fresh legs on the ice, they’ve got a breakaway shot at the goal, and while Noah manages to get a glove on it it’s not enough. The puck bounces off, right into the back of the net.

The light behind our goal twirls as their players converge at center rink, hugging and cheering the fact they’ve tied it up while our team retreats to our bench.

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