It’s enough as the Demon takes a quick wrist shot on Legend, but he whiffs on it, causing the puck to actually scuttle along the ice. Legend is able to butterfly, going to his knees to stop the biscuit and covering it quickly with his glove to stop the play.
Everyone in the box—and probably the rest of the arena—lets out a huge sigh of relief we’re still in it.
The red light comes on in the scorekeeper’s box, signaling a TV timeout, and the players skate off toward the bench to grab water and a breather. I manage to unlock my digits from Dominik’s.
He grins, giving his hand a bit of a shake. “If you and I ever get to a point in our relationship where you’re in labor… remind me not to hold your hand.”
I bust out laughing, noting my mom whip her head around from where she’s standing in front of us. Those parental ears are apparently trained to pick up any hint of information that might reveal how serious Dominik and I are about each other.
I find it adorable, but I resist the urge to tease her.
“Want something to drink?” Dominik asks, his hand going to my back.
“A shot of anything to calm my nerves,” I say, not really serious. But he must want the same because he heads over to the bar where a few other people are rushing in to grab drinks during the roughly two minutes we have before play starts again.
Pepper and Brooke join me, and I see Blue helping Billy drink some water. He suddenly looks exhausted.
“This is torture,” Pepper whines. I suspect she, more than any of us, had the most stress on that last play since it was her man facing off against the breakaway player.
“Legend’s playing an amazing game,” Brooke says as she loops her arm around Pepper’s shoulder. “He’ll carry us through. Now we just need to get one of the others to freaking score so we can go home and relax.”
I dip my head to see out to the scoreboard hovering over the ice. Only eleven seconds left to go in regulation play. If a goal is going to happen, it’s going to have to occur on the first few passes from this faceoff, which is an almost impossible feat.
My dad turns in his seat, clearly having been listening to us. He pulls his wallet out, then takes out a twenty-dollar bill. “I’ve got twenty that says we’ll score in regulation and put this series to rest.”
We all just blink at him in surprise, especially at the vehemence in his voice. And because no one wants to bet against such confidence—despite the overwhelming odds against his prediction—we all smile and politely decline.
My dad smirks as he returns the money to his wallet, but he leans over the back of his chair and confidently declares, “Mark my words. We’ll win in regulation.”
“God, I hope you’re right, Dad,” I say with a laugh.
“First time I’ve ever heard you say that to your old man,” he mutters with an eyeroll, and I snicker.
“Okay, babe,” Dominik says from behind me. He places his arm over my shoulder, dangling what looks like at least two fingers of bourbon in front of me.
He comes into view, stepping up to my side and holding his own glass. Tapping the edge against mine, he says, “Cheers.”
I smile. “Cheers.”
We both tip our heads back and down the liquor. Dominik is man enough to empty it in one swallow, but it takes me three.
Still, the burn in my gut and the immediate rush of euphoria from it says it was much needed. By the time the game starts again, I’ll probably be very mellow.
The thought causes me to laugh out loud, and Dominik bends to get closer. “What’s so funny?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Just that the liquor will go straight to my head, and you’ll probably need to carry me out of here after the game.”
“Hmmm,” he growls low in his throat. “I like the idea of you being extra bendy to my will later tonight.”
“As if you need liquor to get me there,” I scoff, giving him a playful push.
Dominik’s gaze moves out to the ice, and his jaw hardens a bit. The players are back out on the ice, which means play is resuming soon.
It also means the stress is coming back and no matter how much bourbon we down, it’s not going to dull the intensity of the stakes.
All talk ceases in the box and a few people hurry back to their seats, but no one sits down. We’re all on our feet, prepared to ride this out.
The linesman steps up to the faceoff circle. We have our first line on the ice, which is our best shot at securing a quick victory. Centers usually take the faceoff, so Tacker’s in the circle, prepared to get the jump on his opponent.
The linesman tilts forward slightly and the rest of the players plant themselves, ready to spring into action.
The puck is dropped and Tacker is lightning fast, managing to get his blade on it. Like an orchestrated dance, it shoots right onto Bishop’s blade and he’s already a full stride away from the circle and gaining ground on the Demons’ net.
That faceoff was everything. So lightning fast, so perfect, that Bishop is streaking down the ice. Dax is on the opposite side when a Demon defender manages to get in between them and the goal.
The arena erupts in a massive, rumbling roar of encouragement from the crowd.
I slip my hand into Dominik’s, squeezing the ever-loving fuck out of it. He doesn’t say a word, but merely leans forward slightly, his eyes narrowing in on the action. I start jumping in place, screaming, “Go, go, go.”
Bishop continues to maneuver down ice. The Demon player starts to commit, but Bishop skillfully passes it across to Dax as they race toward the net, forcing the defender to square up in the opposite direction. Dax closes in on the net, drops his left shoulder, and winds up. The goalie now has to commit as well. The Demon forward tries to poke the puck away from him, but Dax expertly hands it off to Bishop, who now has a clear and unobstructed path.
As the puck glides across the ice toward Bishop, he merely puts his blade on it and gives it a tiny flip. It starts to tumble end over end and by the time the Demon goalie tries to move into place, the puck is dropping over his shoulder and into the net.
It seems like time stands still for a moment, everyone wondering if we did, in fact, actually just score the game-winning goal, but then that beautiful red light behind the net starts to blaze in glory… and the fans go berserk. The roar is so deafening I feel a slight pressure in my head and the next thing I know, I’m in Dominik’s arms and he’s swinging me around and around and around.
I laugh, holding him tight.
I get glimpses of the others in the box as he spins me. My parents hugging, Billy bouncing up and down in his wheelchair, and Regan with tears pouring down her face.
Holy shit. We scored an almost impossible goal given the time on the clock, all but guaranteeing the victory. There’s only 2.7 seconds left in the game, and it’s not enough time for the Demons to do anything with. There are few moments in my life where I can recall being happier than I am now.
Dominik finally puts me down, and I steady myself with a hand on his chest. I take in the action down on the ice, searching for my brother. He’s with his linemates, all hugging and patting each other on the helmets. The replay is on the jumbotron and everyone is screaming as they watch it happen again, this time in slow motion.
I’m pulled into hugs, same as Dominik. There’s nothing but pure jubilation circulating.