Page 37 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie (Second Chance Hockey Players #2)

Chapter twenty-six

Blake

T he time leap has been crazy.

Yes. I said time leap because the days have been moving too fast. It’s like I blink and it’s a new day and suddenly, it’s been two weeks. Two whole weeks since I held Whitney, crying in my arms that day.

I’ve talked to her dad and Edward. Well, “talked” is a stretch. More like got chewed out. They were upset - still are. As for Keith? He’s not talking to me.

Mom is back with Rachel. They were livid when we told them, but they’ve gotten over it.

Mom’s always loved Whitney, and now, they’re practically inseparable.

It’s like they’ve formed their little squad - Mum, Whitney, Rachel, and the kids.

They’re always together, even joining her in some of her videos.

They even tagged along when Whitney traveled to Bora City, a quiet coastal city, for her content. They should be back today.

I need them back. It’s been lonely without any of them. The guys have practically been having sleepovers in my house since they left.

Bunch of loud mouths…

Right now, my focus is on the ice.

We’re up against the Ironbacks in the Conference Finals. Game 7. Best-of-seven series, tied at 3-3. When we win this, we move on to the Kelly’s Cup. Lose, and the season ends right here, right now.

Well, it is not happening.

The air inside the arena is electric - packed house, screaming fans, and banners waving. Every shift, every hit, every second on the clock matters.

And I’m on the bench.

I should be on the net. I’m the starting goalie, the Avalanche’s anchor between the pipes, the guy who’s led us through battle all season. But after that brutal collision in Game 5, Coach benched me for Game 6 and gave the nod to Jace for tonight.

Jace is solid. Quick glove, and great lateral movement. But this game? This is big for him. This is war.

The puck drops. The Ironbacks come out flying. I sit on the bench, gripping my stick, my mask resting on my knee as I track every movement on the ice.

The first five minutes are chaotic. Jace kicks out a big save on a breakaway, shutting down their winger with a quick right pad. Thirty seconds later, another rush - he gloves it, no rebound.

We barely get possession before they’re cycling hard in our zone again. Their captain, Henderson, winds up for a slapshot from the blue line. Jace sees it and reacts -ping.

Crossbar.

The crowd gasps. That was close.

But they don’t let up. Another shot comes flying in - Jace drops into the butterfly and sticks it aside. A rebound pops loose in the crease, but he scrambles, diving across to cover it.

This is insane.

Then, ten minutes in, the crack we were hoping wouldn’t come - Henderson finds space and rips a one-timer from the point. Jace reacts a second too late.

Ping.

The red light flashes behind him.

0–1.

I grit my teeth.

Ironbacks keep pressing, and Jace is fighting off rebounds, scrambling. We finally got some momentum back. Logan levels a guy against the boards, Nate steals the puck, and Tomas dangles past a defender before burying the puck into the net.

1–1.

YES.

We start gaining momentum. A few minutes later, we got a power play. Liam moves the puck well - quick passes to Logan who ducks so low he looks like an ice stake ballerina. He finds space at the top of the circle and fires a laser. It’s going on.

But their goalie, Roy Whitaker, flashes his glove at the last second, snatching the puck out of the air.

Faceoff in their zone. Nate wins it clean, tapping the puck back to Riley, who winds up - a slapshot. Rebound. Chaos in front of the net. Carson tries to shove it past Whitaker, but he sprawls, getting his pad on it.

Before I know it, it’s the second period. See? Time is flying.

We start slow. Too slow. And if you think it can’t get worse, it gets worse.

We take a penalty early - slashing. Jace stands tall, sliding post to post, kicking out two massive saves before freezing the puck. But they keep coming. The Ironbacks are buzzing, working the puck around cleanly.

Their speed is insane. Honestly, they make us look like amateurs with the way they play. How they always get their opening and maneuver their way around us to fire shot after shot after shot is insane.

But then, we are no quitters or letdowns. We hold our own.

A two-on-one break - Jace stretches post to post, pad save.

A high shot through traffic - snagged with a quick glove.

A loose rebound, bodies crash into the crease - he sprawls, covering it up.

But then, Jace faces an onslaught, and I can see it happening before it does. Their captain rips a shot off from the point.

Boom. Goal.

1-2.

Jace’s shaking his head, stretching his legs like something’s off.

Coach notices. I notice. Everyone notices. Like it happened in quick succession.

One minute later, another rush. Their winger cuts inside and snaps a fast shot. Jace drops late.

Puck in.

1-3.

Carson finds an opening and breaks free on a partial breakaway.

He fakes a shot, pulling the puck back with the tip of his stick and swooshes right past two Ironbacks and passes to James on his left, who skates towards the Ironbacks's net, dribbling his way past the defenders. He makes a move to shoot it into the net and pulls Whitaker out of position, only to pass it to Logan, who’s already there, open and ready to puck the shot.

And puck the shot he did. The opening we needed. In it goes…

GOOOAAALLL…

2-3.

Thirty seconds later, another Ironbacks’ rush. Their forward gets loose, sneaks inside, and fires a shot - Jace makes a brilliant stop. But the rebound is there. Scramble in front.

Bodies crash. The puck trickles behind him.

2–4.

The bench is silent. The arena is roaring. Jace skates toward the crease slowly, breathing heavily.

Then, he waves toward the bench.

Coach yells. "Blake! Get in there!"

I’m up in an instant, pulling my mask down, and stepping over the boards. The second my skates hit the ice, everything else fades.

Not to brag but this is my net now.

I drop into a quick butterfly, stretching my legs, tuning out the deafening roar of the crowd. The ref skates by, scooping up the puck from our crease, and I bang my stick against the post twice. My pulse is steady.

Coach leans over the boards, shouting to the guys, telling them to play smart, and keep the tempo up. It's the third period and we are down 2-4. We need a miracle.

The Ironbacks win the face off at center ice and dump the puck deep into our zone, trying to pin us down. It rims hard around the boards behind me. Their forecheckers are already closing in, looking to force a turnover.

I see it all happening before it does.

Their winger is flying in, hungry to steal the puck. Our defense is still pivoting, not quite in position yet. But Carson - fast as hell - is already breaking up the ice, cutting through the neutral zone like a bullet.

I have one second to make a decision.

I push off the post, sprinting behind the net to stop the puck. The Ironbacks winger is almost on me. I can feel the pressure, hear the blades cutting into the ice, the boards shaking from the crowd’s energy.

Then, in one smooth motion, I fire a rocket of a pass up the ice.

Not just a chip-off-the-glass kind of clear. A tape-to-tape, perfect stretch pass.

Carson catches it in full stride.

He’s gone.

Breakaway.

The Ironbacks scramble, their defense trying to catch him, but Carson’s already ahead, cutting in on Whitaker, faking a forehand shot before pulling the puck backhand…

He buries it.

Goal.

3–4.

The crowd explodes, and Carson skates straight toward me, smacking my helmet. “Blake! That was perfect.”

I tap my stick against the ice, grinning beneath my mask.

The momentum has shifted. You can feel it. We’re faster, sharper, pushing harder. The Ironbacks? They looked rattled for the first time since the game started.

They try to respond quickly, storming into our zone. A winger cuts inside - poke-check, puck out of danger. They play tight. #15, Edmond rushes in, gets loose, makes his way inside, fires a shot.

Blocked. Saved. The rebound kicked to the corner.

Logan wins a board battle, chips the puck up to Nate, who dangles past a defender and snipes one top corner to Riley who finds an opening and rips a shot through traffic—goal.

Yes… 4-4. Equalized.

One more to end this.

The arena is shaking. The Ironbacks are scrambling, pushing forward as we push back. Three minutes left, and the Ironbacks pull Whitaker. It’s now six against five…

Seriously, all the teams we’ve played against have done this.

It’s chaos. A race against time. A race to win.

The Ironbacks come at me immediately. One-timer - glove save. A wrister from the circle - I kick it away. A messy rebound - I dive, smothering it.

A loose puck rolls behind my net. I race out, stop it clean, scan the ice…

Logan is streaking up the ice past a defender, cuts inside, sends it to Thomas, then Liam—

GOAL.

We win.

5-4.

The horn sounds.

Victory. The Avalanche are moving on. We are moving on to the finals.

Helmets fly. Gloves hit the ice. My teammates swarm me, pounding my helmet, and yelling in my ear. The crowd is losing their minds.

But my mind?

It’s on her.

And I can’t wait to see her.

****

The victory buzz is still lingering when I step out of the arena, my duffel bag slung over my shoulder. The parking lot is mostly empty now, save for a few reporters still hanging around, looking for quotes or reactions.

I ignore them.

I just want to go home. But then, the sight of someone up ahead makes me pause. That someone is sitting on the hood of my car like he owns the thing, arms crossed.

I sigh and keep walking.

Stopping in front of him, I meet his gaze. “Keith.”

“Blake.”

We don’t say anything for a moment.

Then Keith exhales, looking away briefly before nodding. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

He slides off the hood, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Can we talk? Please?”