Page 47 of Rookie Attraction

“Anything else? Are you sure you don’t want to install a tracking device on my phone so you can monitor my conversations?”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

Thankfully, Hugo’s phone begins to ring.

“Best of luck,” he comments as he walks away.

I know he’s not talking about our next game.

Chapter Ten

FINN

THURSDAY

I’ve been working my freckled ass off in preparation for today’s game against Boston. This time when I enter the Apex, I have my headphones on with music blaring, and it helps me ignore the throng of press that are camped out everywhere. I’ve got tunnel vision, and the only thing I’m focused on is winning. It’s only the second game of the season, but it holds a lot of weight, expectations, and pressure, so much so that I can feel it reverberating in my bones.

The locker room atmosphere is more intense too, and there’s no joking around. We all know what’s at stake. Sel and I stand side by side and share a brief hello as he reaches for his helmet. I can feel his gaze on me when I reach up to tap Biscuit on the nose and then grab my stick. Nerves take flight in my belly and they’re not settling anytime soon. Coach Range enters the room for a pre-game pep talk, and I like the fact he keeps it short. We’re too amped up to listen to a long speech because everyone’s ready to unleash.

As we line up in the queue for the MC to introduce us, I notice that the crowd’s louder than last time, and it’s not surprising. They want this win as much as we do. Starting out the season with a loss was a letdown, for us, and for the fans, and no one wants to repeat that mistake.

The first period feels like a test.

One we pass with flying colors.

Boston has bigger enforcers, but we’ve got speed and skilled guys like Makela, who scores halfway through the period, thanks to a beauty of an assist by Berg. And every time I hit the ice alongside Sel, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. It reminds me of playing with Silas back in college. Only the game here is faster, the crowd louder, the hits harder. But no matter where I am, or what’s going on, I know Sel’s got my back. And I have his.

It all comes together in the third period.

We’re up 2–1, thanks to a scrappy rebound goal from Makela, his second of the night. Less than two minutes left, and the crowd’s on edge. Boston’s fans are sprinkled here and there, and they might be loud, but our fans drown them out. Every shift is a battle, the air thick with adrenaline and sweat. Boston’s pushing hard, desperate for a comeback. Their top line is ruthless, cycling the puck deep, forcing us to chase. My legs burn, but I track the play. Their winger tries to thread a pass through the slot, but I read it a second before it happens. My stick snaps out, the puck bounces off the blade.

Our forwards are surrounded, so I’m off.

I cut across the blue line, ice spraying under my skates. The cheers from the crowd swells around me, and my training takes over. Boston’s roughest defenseman, Landry, closes in on me, but I fake left, slip right, and spot Sel breaking free down the wing.

For a heartbeat, everything slows down and I see it.

One clean pass.

I go for it and watch as the puck slides across the ice, perfect weight, perfect angle. Sel snags it in his stride, no hesitation. He pulls back and makes his shot in one fluid motion. The puck whistles past the goalie’s glove and slams into the top corner of the net.

Score!!!

The goal light flashes, the horn blares, and I’m shouting in disbelief. It’s 3–1 for the Rush with only twenty seconds remaining. Sel whoops loudly as he skates up to me, his gloved hands gripping my shoulders.

“You did that!” he shouts.

I laugh, breathless.

“You did that!” I correct him.

“Team effort or it didn’t happen.”

I nod. “Jesus, that was incredible.”

“Sometimes the play opens up like that. Perfect timing.”

There’s no time to savor the moment since there’s only seconds on the clock. We ride it out, and when the final buzzer sounds, it’s game over for Boston.