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She's smiling.

Then she turns the notebook around. Two words are written across the cover in thick black marker.

PLOT TWIST.

I almost laugh. Of course. Of fucking course. Only Delaney Beckett would bring a notebook to a hockey game and somehow make it feel like the most important thing in the world.

She points at the words.

Then at me.

I don't know what it means.

Not yet.

But I know that smile.

And for the first time all day, I can breathe.

The puck drops.

Thirty seconds.

Mercer wins a battle along the boards and sends the puck toward me.

I catch it just inside the blue line. Jax is cutting toward the net—their defenseman shifts to cover him. The goalie moves left.

And suddenly, there's an opening.

Read the ice. Find the opening. Make the play.

I could pass.

Normally, I would.

But not tonight.

I pull the puck across my body. Take the shot. And watch it sail past the goalie's glove.

The horn sounds.

Ignite Arena explodes.

Three to two. Phoenixes.With twelve seconds left.

Jax crashes into me. Mercer grabs my jersey and shakes me hard enough to rattle my teeth. “Hell of a shot, Captain!”

I laugh, but my eyes go straight back to the glass.

Delaney is jumping up and down, notebook pressed to her chest.

Twelve seconds later, the final horn sounds.

We win.

Ibarely get through the handshakes before I'm looking for her.

Declan catches my arm at center ice.