The Wrong Picking Number

CHAPTER 34

LINCOLN

First game of the second round, and it was going fucking awful. New York hadn't been a particularly hard opponent during the regular season, but tonight they were playing like their balls were on fire.

I'd blinked and we were down by four goals. Bender, our goalie, was having the literal worst game of his life.

We were trying to rally when Ari was checked hard, slamming into the boards so forcefully, I was shocked he wasn't knocked out. As he fell to the ice, my blood boiled. I rushed over to Andrews, one of New York's douchebag forwards, and our sticks clattered against each other, the sound echoing through the arena. I threw my first punch and it connected with his jaw, sending him stumbling backwards. He recovered quickly, landing a hit to my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.

I gritted my teeth and charged back at him, as more players pushed into the fight. Someone hit me from behind and I stumbled forward. The crowd was a powder keg, their cheers a roar around us. Their energy pulsed through me.

Suddenly, the refs intervened, pulling us apart and dragging us to the penalty box. As I sat there, catching my breath, I glanced at Ari who'd managed to somehow not get a penalty in the ruckus. He was grinning from ear to ear, like he'd just been to Disneyland instead of given a black eye. He gave me a head nod, because that was fucking fun, and then play started again.

After the fight, the team was fucking fired up. I was out of the penalty box in two minutes–the "superstar" special treatment I guess–and then we went to work, slowly but surely, starting to chip away at New York's lead. The crowd was going berserk with every goal, giving us new life with every roar.

As the clock wound down in the third period, we tied the game up, 4-4.

And then it was overtime.

The minutes dragged on, with neither team giving an inch. At least Bender had figured out how to stop a fucking puck. He was playing like a new man.

Finally, in the last minute of overtime, I got a breakaway. I skated towards the net, New York's goalie coming out to challenge me. It was a terrible mistake on his part, because I lived for that shit. I feinted left, flicked my wrist, and sent the puck...soaring into the net.

The next few minutes were brief flashes of ecstasy. My teammates rushed onto the ice in a flurry of screams and shouts. I felt hands on my back, pushing me forward as the weight of everyone piled on top of me in celebration. The sound of sticks hitting the ice and skates clattering together filled the air as we all jumped up and down in elation.

If I had known the end was coming, I would have held onto that moment for just a little longer. Taken a picture of it in my head to take with me...

Before everything changed.