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Rafael

We operated like a well-oiled machine during the beginning of the tournament. Team after team fell beneath our might. We skated like pros and passed like we’d played together our whole lives. The semi-finals were a battle for the ages against the Wild Cats, but our team had a newfound syncopation that hadn’t been there before. Everything just clicked, and we skated as if we knew exactly what our teammates would do, predicting their moves and being exactly where we needed to be.

With two minutes left in the second period of the finals, the game was tied against the Hawks, a beast of a team from Delaware.

We skated circles around the other teams, but the Hawks were fast and smart—they’d kept us on our toes the entire game.

We were facing off in their zone. My body ached as I lowered into a ready position. Beads of sweat dripped along my brow and down my face. The throbbing ache in my legs made me wobbly on my skates. I knew that feeling—it meant I was running out of steam. My eyes closed, and I took three deep breaths, summoning every ounce of strength I had.

The puck dropped, and their right winger grabbed it from Asher.

He slapped it to their left winger, but Cody was there. A battle ensued as they fought fiercely for control of the puck. I soared across the ice, and Cody passed it my way. I sped toward the net, but a defenseman checked me just feet from the crease.

I fell back, losing control of the puck, but Asher was there. He battled with the defensemen, finally regaining control and passing it to Cody. He took a shot that bounced off the goaltender’s shin pad.

Their left defenseman took control and carried the puck around the corner. The Hawks’ center was open, and I rushed toward him, ready to engage and keep the puck in the offensive zone.

It was a setup. Their right winger had followed the defensemen around the corner, who quickly reversed the puck to him. Cody and Asher followed, but the winger passed it to the center, who made a swift breakout pass to the defensemen. He soared into our zone.

I backchecked like a motherfucker, hot blood pumping through my veins like lava. Their center was right next to me as we raced down the ice.

Theo charged, but the defenseman passed the puck to the center. Our sticks collided as he and I fought for control. He stole the puck and passed it back to the defensemen.

Rowan had been lurking close to me at the far end of the goal crease. The defensemen capitalized on the opening.

The buzzer rang, signaling the end of the second period. We were down by one.

Cody

The locker room was silent as Coach did everything he could to boost morale. That wasn’t how you wanted to enter the third period, but it wasn’t over yet. We had to pull out of our slump and get it together.

“You’re all fighting like hell out there,” Coach bellowed. “But we gotta get those backchecks when they get the puck. When the game’s this tight, the forwards need to be where the puck is the whole damn game.”

I knew he was right, but I’d heard it all before. These fuckers were fast, and we needed to amp up the speed. I looked over at Rafael, his face twisted with rage and defeat.

Coach finished his talk, and I walked over to him. “Hey. Come talk to me.”

Rafael looked confused but got up and walked to the far end of the space, around a corner, and out of sight from the other players.

“Whatchu thinkin’?” I asked him.

“I’m fucking spent, and I hate it. I shouldn’t be this bushed. Where’s the fucking adrenaline in me? I’m moving slower than you and Asher, and, no offense, but I can skate fucking circles around you two.”

He wasn’t wrong. Rafael was faster than anyone. His downcast eyes narrowed in frustration, jaw clenching as he, no doubt, raged against himself in his mind.”

I scanned to my left, then right. The coast was clear. I grabbed the back of his head, pulled him in, and kissed him passionately. My tongue invaded his mouth, savoring his taste.

I pulled back and whispered, “Do you have any idea how much I fucking love you?”

He looked at me wide-eyed. “Where’d that come from?”

I inched in a little bit closer, praying nobody walked over. “No matter what happens today, I know I’ve already won because you’re mine. I love the game, but nothing beats what we have. So, let’s go out there and play like hell, but don’t forget that this, “ I motioned between the two of us, “is what really matters. You’re amazing, and you’ll be amazing when you get back out on that ice. But it’s up to all of us to win. Not just you.”

Rafael’s eyes glistened. Then, he grabbed me by the jersey and pulled me in for another kiss. His hand wrapped around the back of my body as he pressed me into him.

“I fucking knew it.”

We pulled away, and Asher was there.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Asher glanced at the rest of the team and inched closer. “I want to know everything when this is done,” he whispered.

“Please, don’t say anything,” I begged.

He mimed zipping up his lips. “I have things to confess myself.” He winked.

Huh?

He wrapped his arms around both of us in a big bear hug. “Let’s beat these fuckers then talk about the dicks we’re all sucking back home, shall we?”

Rafael

That heavy lava that flowed through my blood, dragging me down, in the second period, morphed into a nuclear explosion in the third. My body soared down the ice like a rocket. The thrum of the ice against my skates sent a steady vibration through my extremities, and I became one with the sport again. That old feeling returned, and I operated on raw instinct: my movements were crisp, my vision clear, and I predicted plays before they were executed. My hockey brain clicked back on, and I focused on the game, and the game alone.

The torrent of emotions that’d tipped me off-balance for the past two months was gone—it was just the team and me.

Nobody talks openly about what it’s like when you stop using drugs and alcohol to quell your emotions. Well, let me be the one to confirm: feelings are a fucking bitch . Feeling everything in its entirety once the booze was gone was like getting hit by a tidal wave. Fucking greeting cards made me cry!

Your entire being has to adjust to experiencing the world completely without the aid of a foreign substance. When you’re down, you have to push through it instead of using something to numb the pain. Sitting with that shit makes you feel powerless—as if it will never end. But then you start to realize that those feelings dissipate over time.

Between Cody’s love and Asher’s revelation, it was like the storm inside me calmed down. People had my back, and I didn’t need to feel alone anymore.

Even if we lost that game, I’d feel proud because we’d played like monsters the entire time. We fought like hell and never relented.

Inside, though, the yearning for the W was immense. The win wouldn’t be for ego or the scouts in the stands. I wanted to experience that joy unfiltered, and I wanted to experience it with Cody.

My guy.

The puck dropped in the neutral zone. Asher picked it up and shot it to me. I was covered, so I slapped it to Theo. He surveyed the ice and passed it to Cody at the blue line, but the defenseman rushed him. He faked a shot and passed it to me. I sped down the ice and took a shot. It ricocheted off the goalpost and was picked up by a defenseman.

He skated around the corner and passed it to their right winger, but Theo was there to intercept the outlet pass, pinning the puck against the boards. The puck was in play, and the entire Vipers team was in the offensive zone.

With ten seconds remaining, Theo passed the puck from the boards to Henry at the top of the faceoff circle. Henry stepped into a shot, but it was blocked again. The puck broke loose to Cody, who shoved it toward the net as time ran out.

In one last desperate play, Cody screened the goaltender, and the puck squeezed through the scramble, sliding across the goal line just as the buzzer sounded.

I released a scream that ripped my throat to pieces as I barreled toward Cody and wrapped my arms around him.

Together, we fell over with Asher, Theo, and Henry landing on top of us.

Soon, the entire Vipers team was off the bench and on the ice. I let the full impact of what just happened consume me. Cody’s crying in my arms, the roar of the crowd washing over us as I told him how fucking amazing he was over and over again.

Pain is tough, but if you spend your life trying to avoid it, you miss out on the joy that makes it all worth it.

Cody

My heart was in my throat when Coach announced the three shooters for the shootout—Asher, Rafael, and me.

I’d usually toss out some cheesy lines about “it” being “the moment of truth,” but the adrenaline surging through me obliterated my ability to form coherent sentences.

It’s a dream for a hockey player. Your team, the entire arena, everyone’s eyes on you, waiting to see what you do. It’s an absolute honor when a coach puts that kind of confidence in your ability, but it’s also the most terrifying experience imaginable.

The Hawks’ center was up first. This guy was good—I’d noticed him as someone to watch out for during warm-ups.

He skated toward Rowan, slowing down as he approached the goal, while his stickhandling sped up. He deked to the right, and Rowan dove for it. With a quick move to the left, he slid the puck into the net.

Fuck.

Rafael grabbed my hand, his grip tight. Scoring first shifts the energy completely. We were devastated.

The Hawks erupted in jubilation, nearly uncontrollable. That first shot—getting it in—sets the tone. We could see the rush of energy coursing through their team; it was clear they had the momentum now. Asher, Rafael, and I had to fight through that and make our shots count.

Next was Asher. His approach was calm and slow, taking wide strides left and right. He curved into a shot aimed for the right side of the net, curling back as he approached.

Goal.

My heart nearly stopped. The bench erupted in cheers, the noise bursting like a shock wave that nearly knocked me off my feet. Rafael was on his feet, screaming praise. Asher returned to the bench glowing, soaking in the applause.

Now it was the Hawks’ second shooter, their best player. He was big, and his slapshot was deadly. He charged down the ice with purpose, speeding toward the net. Going in a wide arc, he looped, and mid-motion, used the blade of his stick to tip the puck on its side—a lacrosse-style shot—aimed for the top right corner.

Rowan read it perfectly and deflected it with his glove, sending the puck wide.

A surge of adrenaline flooded my body, and my vision blurred. The sounds of cheering around me muffled into a garbled roar, as if I were underwater.

I was up . Here we go. I skated onto the ice. Remember, you’ve got this.

I curved wide rather than charging straight in—the wide arc bringing me close to the boards. I pushed toward the goal, then spun at the last second, aiming for a shot. The goalie dove early, and I slid the puck into the exposed corner—top left, just past his glove.

I dropped to my knees and screamed. Amid the arena’s roar, I heard Rafael yelling. He appeared in my line of sight, standing on the bench, laughing and pumping his fists. I chuckled at the sight. Then he jumped off the bench to meet me on the ice as I headed back. His arms wrapped around me in a tight embrace that lasted longer than it should’ve, but I didn’t care anymore.

We took our seats, and the last Hawks shooter skated to center ice. His style was similar to Asher’s, but faster, and his puck control was incredible—so quick it looked like a black streak. He paused for a moment at the top of the crease, then faked a shot to the right but snapped it left, just squeaking past Rowan’s outstretched glove.

It was tied, and Rafael—our final shooter—had the chance to win the game.