Page 57 of Puck Your Friend

North picks it up and drives forward. He’s all fluid aggression with no wasted motion. I track him as he crosses the blue line, curls wide, then dumps it in deep.

Coach calls another shift. North and Greer skate off. Stratton stays. Logan hops back over the boards to rejoin the rotation, along with Ford, Teo, and Tyrell.

I adjust the zoom. My stomach cramps. I ignore it.

Next shift, the Rooks come in hot, running a dump and chase. Their right wing wraps around the net. Stratton bodies him off the puck and clears it himself.

My vision blurs at the edges. I sway and stumble, reaching out to hold the wall.

“Fran, you all right?” Doug’s voice crackles in my ear.

I grit my teeth. I don’t have time to be feeling like this. “I’m fine. Keep rolling.”

I blink hard and refocus, but I’ve missed something. Stratton no longer has the puck. It’s loose as Logan and their winger chase after it.

Logan snatches it along the half wall and sends it up to Stratton. He fires, but the goalie sprawls and covers it.

No goal.

The Rooks surge down the ice, pushing hard with everything they’ve got, but the Bears lock them out at the blue line. Ford and Stratton close the gap fast, forcing the puck into the corner where Tyrell jams it loose and clears it down the boards. They hold, barely, but enough.

The Rooks press in. Ford’s jaw tenses. His eyes are locked on the puck. It flies toward the slot. Teo drops low and blocks the shot with his shin pad. The puck skitters near the boards.Stratton gets there first and lifts it high off the right-side glass, forcing the Rooks to reset in the neutral zone.

The Rooks pull their goalie, stacking an extra onto the ice.

Jace tracks from just outside the blue paint, knees bent, ready to slide back if the play flips.

Coach calls the final shift. Teo and Tyrell return to the wings, rested. Ford remains on center. Logan sets at left defense, Stratton at right.

Ford steps up to the faceoff dot in the defensive zone. The puck drops. He wins the draw, knocking it back to Logan, who fires the puck down the ice in a long, controlled clear.

The puck rebounds off the boards. Ford sprints forward, catching the Rooks’ defense off-guard and beating their center to the puck through the neutral zone. He scoops the puck, crosses the red line, then sends it toward the empty net.

It makes it.

3-1.

He slides to a stop as his eyes remain on the net for a second. His gaze turns onto the crowd, searching them before he spots me by the boards, my camera up and locked on him. His mouth splits wide in a grin. I raise my hand in a fist, cheering him on silently.

The buzzer hits hard in my chest as the crowd goes wild.

The pressure in my head balloons. My knees dip under me for half a second, just long enough to scare me into bracing. I grip the wall and hold myself steady. I can’t let this show or it will worry them.

I need to keep filming as the team celebrates the win. I’ll fall later when we get back to Heathstead.

The locker room smells like sweat and wet towels. The air is still humid from the after game showers and is loud with post-game energy.

Doug has already set up the second camera on the tripod and angled the main one on his shoulder. It took a while, waiting on the other media to get done, but now we can do the after game interviews.

I cue up the next question. My head has only gotten worse.

Just a few more interviews, then we can wrap and head back to the Airbnb and I’ll lie down. I blink hard, swipe to the next player’s file, and give Doug the nod.

Ford is already finished. Jace talked in circles until Doug cut him off. Now it’s Logan.

He stands across from me, towel looped over his shoulders, blond waves damp, and his Bears jersey sticking to his wet skin. His scent cuts through the humid air: soap, pine, and clove. It’s so fucking distracting, but I need to remain professional.

I cue the next question and lift my chin. “Alright, Logan. Walk me through that third period. You were tied and then took the lead. What changed?”