Page 12 of Your Biggest Downfall (Ravens Hockey #3)
austin
Seconds remained in the third period. The score was tied, but their offense was relentless, pressing us hard.
This game was crucial; we needed a win to stay in the Conference and keep our dreams of the Cup alive.
The tension was palpable as the right winger from the Dallas Loves team sped down the right side, checking Jeremy into the boards and pushing the puck toward our goalie, Dirks.
Dirks made a stellar save, deflecting the puck back to the corner.
But the danger was far from over. The other team skillfully worked the puck in a triangle, setting up another attack.
Desperate to prevent them from advancing, I lunged forward, trying to intercept their passes.
I stretched out my stick, attempting to disrupt their rhythm, but they were dancing on the ice, weaving around my efforts with precision and speed.
Jeremy recovered and tried to cut them off, but it appeared they were reversing the puck, passing it back and forth until they fit their strategy perfectly.
Down low, they passed it back into the slot.
Dirks left the crease, desperate to block another shot, but the puck rebounded off his pads, heading straight to the left corner.
Their left winger seized the opportunity, winding up for a shot.
Time seemed to slow as the puck flew off his stick.
Dirks lunged, but it was too late. The puck ricocheted off the post and into the net.
The red light flashed, signaling the goal, and the arena erupted.
The Dallas Loves had scored in the final seconds.
The game slipped through our fingers, and the dream of the Cup was over.
“Fuck,” I shouted, the word tearing from my throat, raw and jagged.
It wasn’t just a game—it was everything we’d worked for, every hour, every sacrifice.
Losing like this, in the last damn second, felt like a punch to the gut, one that left me hollowed out and aching.
The rage blurred my vision. I went through the motions of getting off the ice, but this loss felt like a wound that wouldn’t heal, and all I could do was let the anger burn.
With our heads down, we skated off the ice, our skates scraping against the rink as we trudged toward the locker rooms. The atmosphere was thick with disappointment and frustration, and it only took moments for the anger I had been holding in to finally boil over.
The moment I saw the red locker, I slammed my fist into it, leaving a small indentation next to another mark, a silent testament to past defeats.
This wasn’t our first loss, but it was one that hurt the fucking deepest.
The room was silent, except for the occasional clatter of equipment being angrily tossed aside.
Pain lingered in my teammates’ eyes, the frustration we all shared evident.
Despite my relationship with Ledger and my mom, it was undeniable that Ledger was a damn good captain.
We were so close, on the brink of something great.
Without him at the Conference games this year, the loss felt even harder to swallow.
The locker room smelled of sweat and defeat, a stark contrast to the electric energy of the arena minutes before. I sank onto the bench, my hands still trembling from the outburst. The reality of the situation was settling in.
Coach came in. “Listen up, we put our best foot forward...”
I wasn’t listening. I wanted the little bottle of tequila inside my locker. I looked back at where it was sitting. It called to me, like a siren to its prey. I was moments away from reaching back, pounding it down, and leaving the relentless disappointment.
I debated all the ways I could leave Coach’s annoying pep talk when the team clapped together and reality set back in. Coach walked out, and it was quiet when everyone stripped out of their sweaters and into their suits for the media circus waiting for us.
I stopped as I stepped into my suit pants. “Yo. Who’s down to get fucked up tonight?”
A round of applause and a few hoots were heard around the room. The energy seemed to shift slightly as I finally grabbed a half-pint of tequila and quickly downed it. It felt like a familiar friend as it coated the back of my throat.
“Yo,” Jer said, patting me on the back. “Are you going to be using your new ID tonight to get in the bar?”
“Fuck yeah. Season’s over, so who fucking cares?” I responded before grabbing the rest of my clothes and shoving whatever I didn’t need in my bag.
I turned around and blew out a breath in Jer’s face. “Do I smell like booze?” I asked.
“Nah. You’ll be good after you take one of these, man,” Jer handed me a mint, and I grabbed it.
“I gotta go do some press. I’ll see you tonight at Brims?”
Brims was a well-known sports bar in the West Loop. The guys liked going there because a lot of ice bunnies would be there and it was a guaranteed good time after a game. Tonight, we fucking deserved it.
Dirks pulled me aside. “You sure you wanna risk using an ID again?”
“Yo,” I said. “You eavesdropping?” I tried to laugh it off, but Dirks held my shoulders tight.
“You remember last year when you tried to use it. Coach almost pulled you out of the league. You got arrested.”
I laughed. “Nah.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my ID. “This one is solid.”
Dirks only shook his head. “Whatever, man. It’s your life, not mine to fuck up.”
“Exactly,” I bit back. “Keep it in your lane.”
Fuck him. Fuck this. I didn’t have to listen to anyone chastise me, especially since he was the one not watching the goal. Fuck Dirks.
“I’m out,” I growled, slinging my bag over my shoulder and storming out of the locker room toward the press box.
All I wanted was another drink, but I had nothing left here. I just had to get through how depressing and shitty it was to lose the game, and then I could go get fucked up before I went to the bar tonight.
Maybe I’d get a glimpse of Nova. She was covering the game tonight in the WAGs box, but I wondered if she’d be down with her boss doing press in the box. If I got close enough to her, I could smell her addicting rose-scented perfume, and that could tide me over until I got back to my apartment.
“Sweetie,” my mom’s soft voice called down the otherwise empty cement hallway.
Fuck. No. This was the last thing I needed.
I closed my eyes and kept walking, trying to ignore her.
The last thing I needed was to see her, but it would be even worse if she was with Ledger.
Partially because I couldn’t look him in the eye and tell him we fucking lost and it was his fault he decided to retire and play house with my mother.
“Austin,” Ledger boomed.
I ran my hands through my curls, tugging at my temples before I slowly turned around, making sure to plaster a smile on my face.
“Sorry. I didn’t hear you, Mom. I was focused on heading toward the press. They want me up there ASAP.”
“Oh, sorry. We came to say sorry about?—”
I shook my head. “It’s cool.” I couldn’t look at Ledger, who was holding my new baby sister inside a little carrier on his chest. She looked tiny. “It was just another loss.”
It wasn’t. It fucking stung, and I needed to get fucked up.
“It wasn’t a loss, Austin. It was part of the?—”
“Auburn,” Ledger said, his tone more serious than I’d heard when he was around Mom. “I’m fucking proud of you.”
Ledger leaned in for a hug, and of course, Evie took that moment to start crying.
I laughed a little and looked down. “You got your hands full. I gotta head up to press ...”
“You don’t need me to babysit you like last time, do you?” Mom was joking, referring to the time Coach caught me with the fake ID and made her come to each away game. She’d taken her role quite seriously and decided to check on me every few hours to make sure I wasn’t leaving.
Little did she know my plan was exactly what I wasn’t supposed to do, but I didn’t need a babysitter in the form of my mother. “No. I wanna go home and relax tonight.”
It was a lie. I was going to Brims, but my mom didn’t need to know her underage son was going to get fucked up.
“Yeah. That sounds like a good idea. Try to decompress, and then tomorrow, work on a plan for next season,” Ledger added.
I sure as fuck was planning on decompressing in the form of a very hot brunette.
“I can come by and help if you want, run some drills at the rink whenever you’re ready.”
The voice of reason spoke, and for once, I felt somewhat understood. “Thanks, man. I’ll see you guys later. Thanks for coming.”
I leaned over to my mom and kissed her forehead before turning to Ledger. He took Evie out of the carrier as my mom rocked on her heel and gave her a pacifier.
“Listen.” Ledger lowered his voice so only I could hear. “It was a good game. The puck was passed a few times. There were no mistakes, nothing you could have practiced for. You’ve got many more seasons ahead. It was a fucking good game,” he repeated.
I let out a small chuckle. I hadn’t heard Ledger swear since Evie was born, so it was surprising. “Thanks, man,” I responded, genuinely appreciative.
He nodded. “Go kick ass with the press and tell Nova I said hi.”
That made me smile. The thought of seeing her did something to me, like somehow I was going home.
“Your first major loss in the NHL, tell us how you’re feeling?” one of the press asked as I sat at the press box.
I took a deep breath, trying to focus on the question, but my attention kept drifting toward the back of the room.
There she was. I hadn’t seen her before I was rushed here, but she was standing in the back with her boss, the head of PR and media relations for the team.
Nova’s short hair was curled and looking even shorter.
She wore a Ravens T-shirt and had her phone up, taking videos.
She kept her nose on the screen of the phone, but I could’ve sworn I saw her peeking up as different stations shot out questions.