Page 23 of Stand Your Ground

I needed that energy right now.

I needed to channel that determination, that drive to fight against every bruised and battered part of my body begging me to stop skating and fall into a heap on the bench.

Finish strong,I chanted.

Don’t fuck up,the voice of my old coach echoed.

I shook him off just as the puck went sliding down the ice toward our zone and the penalty kill ended.

Jaxson Brittain and Dimitri Volkov were ready, kicking into defense as Daddy P braced himself in the crease. And when Jaxson sliced the puck hard and fast to where I was at the center of the ice, I was ready, too.

I caught the pass, zipping toward the goal, but one of their wingers took advantage of a slight hesitation in which direction I was going to go and stole the puck away.

As soon as he crossed the blue line, their goalie bolted for the bench.

It was six on five, open net, less than two minutes to go.

It was all we could do then, working as a line to prevent San Francisco from scoring. We fought like we wereallon defense, blades digging into the ice, bodies thrown against the glass, thighs screaming, lungs on fire. The stadium was roaring with noise, Sea Dawgs fans screaming for their team.

But when the final buzzer sounded and we’d managed to fend them off, all that noise died in an instant.

“Fuck yeah!” Vince toted his stick overhead as he skated around in a victory lap, Jaxson on his heels. They ended up in a tackle-hug as I bent at the waist next to Daddy P, gloved hands on my knees, wheezing like I had fucking asthma.

Will removed his helmet, squirting water into his mouth as he arched a brow at me. His long hair was dripping wet with sweat, but he was breathing normally, like those last few minutes hadn’t fazed him at all. That was the mark of a true veteran. He wasn’t even celebrating. This was just another game for him, and he wouldn’t let himself hit a celly dance until we had the Cup in our hands.

“You good, Fabio?” he asked with a sly smirk. “Look like you might puke.”

“I haven’t ruled it out.” I managed to stand on a wince, nodding at him. “How the fuck are you so calm?”

He shrugged. “I knew we had them.”

A laugh burst from me then, making my stomach cramp more. “Cocky bastard.”

“Take notes. We need you to have that same confidence,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder with a gloved hand. Then, we were skating toward the bench to join the rest of our team.

And all I could think was that we were halfway through the season now. And with this win, we had solidified ourselves as a division leader.

We had a shot at the playoffs.

My nerve endings danced like I hadn’t just played three periods of grueling hockey with just the notion that we might make it again, that we might find ourselves in position to play for the Cup. But on the tails of that buzz came the ever-present doubt.

Would I be an asset to the team, help us get to the playoffs?

Or would I hold us back?

I’d played decently in the game tonight — but that was just it. Decent. Not great, not terrible, just somewhere in-between. I’d won the majority of my face-offs, holding strong in key moments like when we were on the penalty kill. I’d set up Aleks Suter with a slick pass that led to a goal, our chemistry effortless, vision clear.

But I’d also tried to dangle through two defensemen and lost the puck in the process.

I’d whiffed a one-timer, a wide-open slot and great pass that should have equated to an easy goal. Instead, I’d straight up fanned on it.

It was those little mistakes that frustrated me most, the ones that could have been avoided if I held a bit more confidence, if I thought less and felt into the rhythm of the game more. When my adrenaline spiked and I felt the hum of an opportunity vibrating through me, it was tough to tune out the voice in my head telling me I was going to blow it.

And then, half the time, I would.

I tried to focus on what I’d done well as we made our way to the locker room, which quickly turned into a chamber of noise — equipment shuffling, pads hitting the floor, guys laughing and razzing one another.

The energy after a win was always palpable. It was impossible not to float on that cloud, not to feel unstoppable even if we all knew one bad period could have had the game swinging the other way. All that mattered right now was that we’d secured the win.