Page 37 of Pucking One Night Stand

He shoves again, but I step into it, ready to swing.

The ref’s whistle cuts through, and thank the lord, Foster’s sent off.

I breathe out. That really was about to blow up.

Thumper’s back.

He slaps gloves with Davis, eyes blazing.

“Let’s finish this,” he mutters, voice like gravel.

Next shift, we push, and the puck tumbles loose near my skates. I lock eyes with Brody. Send it.

Fuck...the pass misses.Shit!

But no one touches it, and somehow, don’t ask me how, it slides straight between the goalie’s legs.

“BRRRROOONNNK!” GOAL. 2-2.

Bishy skates past, shaking his head like he can’t believe it. “That wasn’t even YOUR shot, you lucky bastard!”

The arena gasps in a beat of stunned silence.

Then we explode, gloves raised, fists in the air, we pound each other’s backs.

But we can’t breathe yet. Twenty seconds to go, and the Stormhawks rush one final time. Their winger curls and shoots.

Their winger curls, shoots.

McAvoy dives.

Too late.

“BRRRROOONNNK!” 2-3.

NO!

I freeze as the ref blows the final whistle, the arena erupts, and they win.

The Stormhawks swarm at the bench, sticks raised and gloves flying.

We skate off, just us and the cold crawl back to the tunnel. My helmet is in my hand. Sweat is freezing on my neck, and the taste of defeat is as bitter as blood.

Nobody speaks. Not one word. Just the hollow drag of skates on concrete, and the click of a stick tapping the ground. We file through the corridor, heads low, our jerseys clinging to our backs like dead weight.

Vegas has never felt so far away.

***

Three days now. We’ve been back three days, and it’s been… quiet. Still. Like the whole team hit mute. Two nights ago, McCullum called. Told us to come in. Now. Didn’t say why. Just, “Emergency meeting. No excuses.”

I’d barely been home an hour from practice. Still had my duffel by the door when I turned right back around and drove back to the arena.

We were all there. Every one of us. Bishy, Brody, Danny, Peters, McAvoy, the whole team and coaching staff, everyone.

The look on McCullum’s face should’ve told us. But what he said hit like a freight train. Thumper, our Captain. Gone.

High-speed collision. Drunk driver blew a light. Thumper was killed on impact.