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The rest of the first period was a chess match. Both teams trading chances, both goalies making saves that kept the game tight. I stopped a redirect in the crease that I had no right getting a piece of. It had been pure instinct, my glove shooting out before my brain registered the deflection. Their bench slammed their sticks against the boards in frustration. My guys tapped my pads on the next whistle, and I gave them nothing more than a nod.

The second period was where things got physical. Montana State’s defenseman ran Eric into the boards behind my net on his first shift, and the hit was late enough that it drew a penalty. Eric popped up immediately, but I caught the flash of fury in Drew’s eyes from the bench. Liam put his hand on Drew’s shoulder to stop him, but I knew Drew well enough to know he’d be out for blood on his next shift.

On the power play, our unit cycled the puck low until the penalty killers started cheating toward the half-wall. Foster saw the lane open up through the middle and threaded a pass to Eric, who’d parked himself at the top of the crease. Eric tipped it out of the air and past the goalie’s blocker before anyone on Montana State could react. The arena went loud and Eric pumped his fist on the way back to the bench while Drew reached over the boards to slap his helmet.

Montana State responded by throwing everything at us for the rest of the period. They crashed my crease on every rush, jamming sticks at loose pucks and parking bodies in my sightlines. One of their wingers tried a wraparound that I read early, sealing my post with my pad before he could get the puck across the goal line. He jammed at the rebound twice, but I covered it both times. On the next shift, their defenseman wound up from the point and I lost the puck completely behind a wall of bodies. I dropped into a butterfly and made myself as wide as possible, and the shot hit me square in the chest. I had no idea where it had come from, but my body knew what to do even when my eyes couldn’t follow.

Their best chance came on a three-on-two rush that developed off a turnover at our blue line. Three Montana State forwards bore down on Liam and Drew, passing the puck between them in quick one-touch passes designed to pull us apart. The center dished it to the winger on my left, and I committed to the near post. The winger didn’t shoot. He sauced it back across the crease to the trailing forward, and I had to throw myself laterally to get any piece of it. My pad caught the bottom half of the puck and redirected it into the glass.

Foster tapped my pads on the next whistle. “They’re not getting past you tonight.”

The third period opened with Montana State tying it up on a scramble in front of my net where the puck changed direction three times before squeezing through a gap between my arm and my body. I never saw the final touch. It was the kind of goal that was nobody’s fault and everybody’s frustration, and it stung worse because I’d been playing so well. That tied up the game, and the energy in the arena shifted from celebration to tension.

The next ten minutes were the best hockey I’d ever been part of. Both teams played with an urgency that made every shift feel like overtime. Montana State’s goalie sprawled across his crease to rob Liam on a tap-in that looked like a sure goal. Drew took a puck off the ankle blocking a shot and limped to the bench before coming right back out on the next shift like nothing had happened. I made a save on a knucklepuck from the blue line that dipped and wobbled so unpredictably I had to kick my leg out at the last second because my glove was in the wrong position entirely.

With four minutes left, Foster won a crucial draw in our offensive zone. Liam collected the puck along the boards and fired it toward the net, but the shot was partially blocked by a defenseman and the puck changed direction, floating lazily toward the far side of the crease. Eric was the first one to react. He charged the net from the weak side and got his stick on the puck before the goalie could slide across, poking it over the goal line with his whole body crashing into the post behind it.

Eric pulled himself off the ice and the guys mobbed him against the boards. This was his moment, and he’d earned every second of it.

We had four minutes to protect the lead. Four minutes between us and the last home win for the seniors.

Montana State threw everything at us. They pulled their goalie with ninety seconds left, giving them an extra attacker, and the final stretch turned into controlled chaos. I stopped a wrister from the circle with my pad. Liam blocked the next attempt with his body, and the puck ricocheted off the boards behind me. Drew cleared it before their forward could collect it, lifting the puck over his stick and out of the zone. They regrouped and came right back, firing from the point, and I caught it in my glove and held it until the ref blew the whistle and the clock ticked under thirty seconds.

They won the next face-off and got one more chance. Their center ripped a shot from the slot that I stopped with my chest, and I fell forward on the rebound, covering it with my body as players from both teams crashed the net around me. The ref’s whistle cut through the noise, and the clock showed eight seconds.

The final face-off was in our zone and Foster won it cleanly, sending the puck back to the corner where Drew held it against the boards as the last seconds drained away.

The buzzer sounded and the arena erupted.

We’d won.

My last game as a senior and we’d won. The feeling was indescribable.

I stayed in my crease for one more second with my glove resting on top of the net and let the roar of the cheering wash over me. The crowd was on their feet, and the bench was emptying as my teammates streamed toward me.

Foster hit me first, wrapping me in a hug that nearly knocked me off my skates. I grabbed his pads, pulling him back slightly so I could look at his grinning face. “I’m in. Let’s open the restaurant.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

He hugged me again, clapping me on the back before Drew came rushing toward me, then Liam, then Eric and the rest of the team piling on in a mass of maroon. Someone was yelling and someone was crying. I was fairly certain it was Liam, but I’d never confirm it.

I looked up through the tangle of bodies toward the stands. Sam was on her feet with both hands around her mouth screaming for us. Viv was next to her, clapping with a grin that matched Sam’s on her face. While Pop stood beside them both, smiling wide.

As the pile loosened and guys started peeling off to salute the crowd, Foster grabbed Drew by the collar and pulled him in close. I couldn’t hear what he said over the noise, but I knew what it probably was. I watched Drew’s grin fall away, his eyes going wide and then teary. Drew grabbed the back of Foster’s neck and pulled him into a hug so fierce it nearly took them both off their feet.

Drew was the new captain now. Liam would be his alternate.

It was time to pass the torch, and no one deserved it more than these two.

FORTY-SEVEN

Graduation was finally here, and all I could think about was how much I’d changed in the four years I’d been at Clark Fork University.

I’d come to this school a broken girl trying to hide all the cracks in her façade. I’d been determined to pay penance by always smiling and never being a burden to anyone. But more importantly to never let anyone see the scars I was hiding underneath.

And yet somewhere along the way, I’d found people who truly loved me, even when I felt like I didn’t deserve it. Who had never once held it against me that I’d lied to them for so long. They’d shown me what real unconditional love was and in the process had healed the lonely, broken girl I’d been.