10. Dane

10

DANE

It’s game four in the first round of playoffs. We’re playing the New Mexico Bombers on their ice. We dominated in games one and two in Dallas, but game three was too close for comfort. The Bombers’ home crowd motivated the wild card team to score five goals. In the game's final seconds, I sent a puck flying into the back of the net, saving our chance of sweeping them in the first round. However, after their rallying performance two nights ago, my teammates and I are prepared for a fight to secure this win.

Which is why there’s a Ranchers player currently sitting in the penalty box. Brody checked the Bombers’ center before his stick could catch the puck and take off toward our net.

Our defensemen are doing a hell of a job keeping the Bombers from setting up scoring opportunities, but our opponents are desperate. Their season is on the line tonight, and they’re playing like it.

I’ve been flying across the ice all game, setting up shots for the wings and playing defense when the Bombers get through our defensemen. Now, it’s the final minutes of the third period, and I feel incredible. Adrenaline courses through my body, hiding any muscle fatigue I could feel, but that’s not what keeps my mind sharp and my stickhandling abilities above reproach.

It wasn’t until game two that I felt Morgan's changes to my diet take effect, and I have to say, I feel incredible.

Rather than cutting off processed sugars cold turkey, Morgan adjusted her original plan to allow me to gradually transition off the foods she felt were holding me back. Even though it’s only been a couple of weeks, I no longer crave the sugary treats that used to make up an admittedly ridiculous amount of my daily calories.

Now, I feel unstoppable. I’m eager to advance through the playoffs and get my chance at finally playing in the finals.

I skate to the rink's center and face off against the Bombers’ center. Oli Turner was a college teammate of mine. He’s three years older and was understandably pissed when he had to share playtime with a lowly freshman during his final season. We ended up being cordial enough towards the end of the year, but there’s no friendliness in his expression as he glares at me through his visor tonight.

The ref drops the puck.

I swing and make contact, passing the rock to Gavin, our right winger. He takes off down the ice. Other players body the Bombers out of the way, doing their part to clear Gavin a path to the net.

“Nice face-off, Larson!”

I glance at the crowd behind the glass. My eyes zero in on the stunning brunette cheering me on, surrounded by my teammates’ families and significant others. Morgan gives me two thumbs up, and my chest tightens.

Morgan readily agreed when I suggested she sit with the girlfriends and wives attending tonight’s game. It makes our relationship look more authentic. But my suggestion that she wear my jersey was another story.

She’d insisted that wearing a Rangers’ t-shirt would suffice in showing her support. She said she’d feel awkward to be seen favoring one player by wearing his jersey, professionally speaking.

I didn’t try to change her mind, and I won’t tell her that Cam and Gavin joked about gifting Morgan their jerseys to see if she’d be more interested in being their number one fan.

They were busting my balls, and I brushed it off the way any guy would when his friends gave him a hard time. But I won’t lie—my pride took a hit.

Pretending to be a couple has forced Morgan and me to be more intentional when we interact. Her earlier animosity towards me has been subdued, revealing more of her true personality as we maintain the appearance of a happy couple.

Morgan Caldwell is funny. She’s smart. And she’s incredibly kind.

She didn’t hesitate to jump in at the field day fundraiser, offering to sub during the flag football game that followed our baseball scrimmage. She’d slipped and rolled around in the mud with musical laughter that struck a chord deep in my chest.

I’ve done everything I can to hear her laugh every time I see her.

Morgan resisted at first, but she can’t hide her amusement at my antics. She’s starting to like me. I can tell. It’s likely only as just a friend, but I’ll take what I can get.

For now.

“Hey, Dane!” Eli shouts from his seat next to Morgan. “Stop staring at your girl and get your head back in the game!”

The crowd around him laughs.

I flip my baby brother the bird and turn away from the glass, but not before I recognize the now-familiar color covering Morgan’s beautiful face.

Maybe she likes me as a little more than a friend.

A guy can hope, but I won’t make the mistake of trying to cross that line with her, not after how things went down last time.

Besides, we work together. I won’t do anything to jeopardize that.

Morgan will have to be the one to make a move if anything is going to happen between us—a fact I remind myself of daily whenever I catch myself staring at her lips when she talks or admiring her beautiful smile when she laughs at one of Eli’s jokes.

“Larson,” Gavin shouts my name from where he banks the puck off the boards behind the Bombers’ net.

I skate left and catch his pass, quickly spinning with the puck against my stick and changing direction.

The crowd roars at the maneuver.

Satisfaction zips through me.

I skate back towards the center of the ice to set up another play. The score is tied, three to three. There are two minutes left in the third period. If we remain tied, we will go into overtime. I have the endurance to keep playing at my best, but I can’t say the same for the rest of my team. If we want to guarantee victory, we need to score now.

I breathe in deep. Coach Miller shouts a play from behind the player’s bench. I nod to signal that I got the message and then start skating around the rink, passing the rock to my teammates to drain some clock while the Bombers try, but fail, to steal it.

The clock winds down to forty-five seconds. It’s time to act.

Brody passes the puck back to me. I take off down the center, spinning over my right shoulder when Oli tries to check my legs. I skate three strides, lunge out, and pass the puck to Gavin.

The right winger presses down on the goalie. A defenseman stands in his path, but his skates aren’t set. Gavin times his shot perfectly. The black disk flies between the defenseman’s legs.

The goalie loses sight of the puck for a split second. That’s all the time needed to lose sight of its trajectory. He has a fifty-fifty shot of blocking the shot by dropping his leg pads to block low.

But the shot is high.

The puck strikes the back of the net. A horn blares through the arena, but the sound is drowned out by the sound of my teammates and fans cheering when the game-time horn goes off two seconds later.

“Yahoo, you bastard! Hell of a shot.” Brody crashes into Gavin. I join him, followed by the rest of our team, as the players empty the players’ bench to join us on the ice to celebrate.

Round one is done.

The Ranchers need to win one more round to reach the conference finals. Then, if we are crowned conference champions, we will have the opportunity to play for the coveted Stanley Cup.

I am so fucking stoked.

This is our season. I feel it in my bones.

I look out at the crowd and see Eli and Morgan jumping and screaming along with the rest of the Ranchers’ fans in the arena. A smile tugs on my lips when Morgan leans down to high-five Coach Miller’s grandsons who are wearing my jersey number.

At that moment, the past between me and Morgan seems inconsequential compared to what’s happening between us now.

Being around her, laughing, joking, and sometimes arguing feels… right.

Once again, I remind myself that I can’t make the first move.

I won’t make the first move.

After what happened the last time I took a chance on love, I’m not sure my ego could take another rejection—not from someone as incredible as Morgan Caldwell.

Not again.