Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Forever.
“Now get out there and show Seattle why you should never underestimate Stumptown,” Lauder barks, sending another rush of fighting spirit through the team.
The energy carries us back onto the ice, where the roar of the crowd hits like a physical force. Seattle’s arena is packed to the rafters, a sea of teal and navy that makes my old home ice feel like the enemy territory it’s become.
But that’s okay. I’ve never been the kind of player who needs the hometown advantage to thrive.
Besides, my girl is up there in the box watching.
Her eyes on me are the only ones I need.
The first ten minutes of the period are a battle of wills, both teams amped up after the break, and neither giving an inch. But Tank is a wall between the pipes, swallowing up everything they throw at him.
A one-timer from the point? Glove save. Redirected shot through traffic? He somehow gets a pad on it. And when their star center—a blond guy named Silver, who has the nerve to look so much like a younger version of me that the commentators have called it out more than once—crashes the net hard enough to knock the goal off its moorings, Tank bounces back up, adjusting his mask with a disdainful glance over his shoulder.
“You good?” I call out on my way back to center ice.
“Better than good,” he says. “I’m untouchable tonight, and it looks like they’re finally getting the message.”
He’s not wrong. But their goalie is standing on his head too, making save after impossible save. Our offense is cooking—Grammercy’s speed creates chaos in their defense, and Justin’s setting up some brilliant opportunities for the rest of us—but nothing’s going in.
Until the fourteen-minute mark…
It starts with Tank absolutely robbing their captain on a point-blank chance. The rebound kicks out hard to Nowicki, who spots Justin streaking up the wing. The pass hits him in stride, and suddenly we’re on a three-on-two rush.
“Go high!” I shout, cutting through the neutral zone. “I’m with you!”
Justin threads a perfect pass through their defenseman’s legs, finding me lurking in the high slot. The puck hits my tape, and time seems to slow.
I can see the opening, top corner, where Mama keeps the peanut butter...
My stick flexes as I lean into the shot, putting everything I have behind it. The puck whistles through the air, a blur of black rubber. Their goalie never sees it coming.
A beat later, it’s over his head, tickling the twine.
The arena erupts in a mix of groans from locals and cheers from the Badger fans who made the trip north.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Justin roars, crushing me in a hug as our teammates pile on. “Two more and we end this!”
The momentum shifts after that.
We’re relentless, applying wave after wave of pressure. Every line that hits the ice is flying, forechecking like demons, making Seattle look like they’re skating through mud. Nowicki nearly ties it up with a rocket from the point that rings off the post. Then Justin gets robbed on a wraparound attempt that has their goalie doing the splits.
“Keep pushing!” Coach bellows from the bench. “They’re cracking!”
He’s right. The Storm is starting to break, taking stupid penalties, getting frustrated. With just under five minutes left, their defenseman coughs up the puck at his own blue line, and Grammercy pounces.
“Go, Louisiana, go!” I scream, watching him turn on the jets.
He’s gone, pure lightning as he splits their D. The crowd’s on their feet as he dekes left, then right, before roofing it backhand over the goalie’s glove.
When the puck hits, his celebration is pure joy, a loose-hipped, blatantly sexual shimmy that has the ladies squealing in the stands.
“Keep it in your pants,” Cruise teases as we mob him, but Grammercy just laughs like the shameless, puck-bunny favorite he is as we head back to the line.
Then, with ninety seconds left in regulation, magic happens.
Tank makes a ridiculous save, stacking the pads old-school style to deny their sniper on a two-on-one. The rebound kicks out to center ice, where Justin snatches it up. He carries it into their zone, drawing both defenders before dropping it back to me.
“Behind you!” he calls, and I know exactly what he means.
I fake a shot, pulling their goalie out of position as I hear Grammercy’s stick tap the ice behind me. Without looking, I slide it between my legs, right into place for the easiest goal of his career.
And…it’s in. It’s good.
We’re up by one!
The arena goes dead silent for a beat before exploding into chaos as the scoreboard buzzes and we take the lead.
Those last ninety seconds are the longest of my life. Every cleared puck feels like a battle won; every save Tank makes has my heart jerking in my chest. Seattle pulls their goalie, throwing everything they have at us. A shot deflects off my shin pad, but I barely feel it, too focused on protecting our lead.