Page 75 of Flashback for the Forward

“We still gonna get tomorrow off even though they didn’t count Levi’s game-winning goal?” someone shouted from further down the bench.

“Find a way to secure those two points, and we have a deal.”

“All right, boys. Looks like we’ve got a job to do,” I shouted before dragging an annoyed Levi to join me for the face-off. Crew would act as the lone defenseman, since we were only allowed three players on the ice.

The puck was poised over center ice, ready to be dropped, when the ref withdrew suddenly. Both the Crusaders’ center and I straightened, looking at him expectantly.

Pressing the button on his mic pack, the man’s voice boomed through the arena speakers. “We have an official review to determine whether the puck went into the net.”

Cheers came from the home crowd; the hope that we’d won this game in regulation renewed.

The refs gathered at the video review area, donning headphones as they spoke with league officials in Toronto.

Levi’s gaze was firmly fixed on their backs, and unless my eyes were playing tricks on me, his chest wasn’t expanding.

I nudged him with my shoulder. “Breathe, man. No matter which way this goes, we’ll find a way to win.”

His lungs emptied. “It’s a good goal.”

“I agree, but you know how finicky the review process can be. There has to be definitive video evidence to overturn a call on the ice.”

My teammate grumbled something under his breath to the effect that the league was out to screw us because we were their least profitable franchise, and they were looking for an excuse to relocate the team to a market that would make them more money.

He wasn’t wrong on either count. There were enough calls that should have gone our way and hadn’t to raise suspicion. And there was no denying that Southern California wasn’t exactly a hockey hotbed, and two teams in the area was possibly one too many. The Cougars claimed most of the tiny fanbase, while the Surf had struggled for decades to fill their arena. The only reason we had a packed house now was because people showed up hoping to catch an in-person glimpse of Coach’s legendary shenanigans.

It wasn’t long before the refs shucked their headphones, and it felt as though every one of the fifteen thousand people in attendance held their breath as the lead official returned to center ice to deliver the verdict.

“After further review, the puck went through the net. Therefore, it is a good goal.”

The entire arena erupted in celebration so loud that it drowned out the second part of the official’s announcement that the clock would reset to two seconds remaining in the third period—the time at which the goal had been scored.

Jagger and Dylan hopped the boards to join us for the puck drop that would now take place in regulation instead of overtime, with the Surf having all but secured the win.

I gave Levi a playful punch to the shoulder. “Feel better?”

He shook his head, a relieved smile on his lips. “You have no idea. That call was the difference between me being seen as a hero to my fifteen-year-old or having him troll me for weeks on end.”

My laughter couldn’t be contained. Austin was a brutal critic on the best of days, and he was exactly what my formerly cocky teammate needed to bring him back down to earth.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Just wait until you have a kid. Won’t be so funny anymore.”

I clapped him on the back. “Sorry to disappoint, but that’s not in the cards for me.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I thought that once too. Now look at me.”

Levi had been arguably one of the league’s biggest playboys. By the law of averages, it wasn’t too surprising that one of his countless trysts had resulted in a child. As for me, I’d only slept with two women in my entire life, so the odds of a kid showing up on my doorstep claiming to be mine were nonexistent. Throw in the fact that I’d taken matters into my own hands and had a procedure a few years back, and I was confident that I would remain childfree.

Kids were great—Levi’s in particular held a special place in my heart—but I’d never felt the desire to have any of my own.

The ref blew his whistle, drawing our attention.

“Let’s get this win and go home,” I tossed over my shoulder as I skated toward center ice.

Both teams lined up, and within a heartbeat of the puck being dropped, the final buzzer echoed throughout the arena.

Every member of the Surf jumped off the bench to celebrate, swarming Levi for scoring the game-winner while the crowd around us went wild.

Someone shouted that we needed to go out for drinks, but there was only one person I wanted to spend the rest of my night with.