Page 50 of Switching Skates

Peeling my eyes open, I look down and find the puck in my glove, eyeing it as if it were the holy grail.

“Yes!” I cheer loudly—loud enough that the other guys look at me kind of funny but dismiss it after a beat.

“Nice save, Mase,” Ross praises me as he skates by me, tapping me with his stick. “Bet you don’t stop the next one.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” I chirp back with a shit-eating grin on my face.

I can feel Mason’s stare on the back of my head, and I can’t resist the pull to look up at him in the stands.

I find him instantly, wearing a hoodie and sunglasses. He proudly gives me a thumbs-up, and my heart jumps out of my chest with pride.

Turning back around, I check the clock. There’s five minutes and fourteen seconds left until the game is over. We need a goal, and I need to keep the other team from scoring.

They reset at center ice as I toss my bottle back down atop the net after getting a quick drink and spraying my face with cold water, feeling refreshed. “Phew. I got this. I got this.”

We win the face-off, and they fly into the other zone, quickly getting off a shot before finding the rebound and setting back up.

They attempt to score again, passing back and forth and cutting through the slot, trying again and again. But the other goalie is hot right now, and they can’t find an opening.

Damn.

I shake it off as the players skate down the ice toward me.

It’s okay. There’s still three minutes left.

Ryan tries to no-look-score on me, but he fails, hitting one of my posts. Of course, I take a second to thank it afterward whenthe guys skate the other way. The opposing team gets the puck again, their passes clean and precise.

Jake trips Marcus, who falls to the ice. Ryan sees the opportunity and skates toward me, one-on-one, and tries to sink it into the top-right corner. But he’s not getting through.

I stand up enough to seal the gap, and the puck bounces off my shoulder. I catch it, pinning it to my chest and stopping the play.

One minute and twenty-nine seconds left.

The other team wins the face-off again, and I curse as I’m forced to handle defense nearly by myself since my team isn’t in place. Which my opponents take full advantage of.

But again, I stop their two shots, and we finally take control of the puck, flying back toward the other end with thirty-five seconds to go.

“Let’s go! Come on!” I shout at them, nerves building up more and more with every second that ticks away.

We pass it around, but their defense is top-tier, not giving way to any weakness or gaps.

Twenty seconds.

Marcus and Zach pass it back and forth while Chet dekes his defender out and enters the empty slot. Zach dishes it to Chet, who deflects it toward the goal, finding an opening right in the five-hole—between the goalie’s legs.

“Yes!” I scream as the buzzer rings out, sounding victorious and musical to my ears.

My teammates take off for me, shouting and hollering as they pump their fists into the air. They barrel into me, slapping the top of my head with their gloves as we all jump up and down.

“Fuck yeah, Mase!” Chet cheers, bumping the front of my helmet with his, followed by Marcus and Zach.

My heart soars in the arena as I celebrate with the guys, cheering each of them on. The guys start chatting each other up as we head to the bench and down the tunnel to the locker room.

I can certainly see the appeal of playing the sport, especially if a win feelsthisgood every time.

God, I don’t know how I’m going to top a moment like this. I needed this, more than I could’ve realized.

I despise Mason for many reasons, but I’m damn thankful that he pushed me to do this today. Maybe he knew that I needed this too. Somehow, in some weird brain-switch way.