4. Devon

Devon

That gorgeous woman hasn't taken her eyes off me since our little incident. The crew did, in fact, take around thirty minutes to finish replacing the glass. Normally, that would be a terrible thing, icing out the players and putting the game in a weird rhythm, but it turns out to be just the right amount of time to reset my brain.

I keep glancing over at her when we hit the ice again to warm up before resuming play. She has this ridiculous little pen with pink fluff on the top, and she's writing frantically. Is it a diary? I feel like I have a middle school crush—is she writing about me?

"I want you out there for the face-off," Grey says to me, and I don't miss the way Jerry winces. He's lost every single face-off this season. I'm honestly shocked Coach hasn't put someone else on it yet, but now is the perfect time to put the pressure on me.

I skate out, crouching and readying my stick. A Golden Knights player skates opposite me, playing with his mouth guard for a moment before crouching across from me, readying his.

In a flash, the referee tosses the puck, and I hook it with my stick, sending it in a perfect pass to Jerry, who's waiting. The puck passes around for a moment, and then Jerry loses it to a VGK defenseman. The puck goes hurling to our defensive zone, and Jerry and I haul ass to get back and get the puck out of there.

Our defensive pair also seems to be feeling the groove because they rocket the puck down the middle of the ice, sending it right back into VGK's defensive zone. I skate up the right side of the ice, watching Jerry as he handles the puck. The left winger comes in close, and after a back pass, Jerry takes the shot.

From the second his stick connects with the puck, I can see it won't go in. But I can also see that the VGK's goalie's position is off, and, like my body is taking control, I skate forward, grabbing the rebound, sliding to the left, and rocketing the puck at the top of the net.

Just as I planned, the puck bounces off a bar and down into the net. The referees blow the whistle, and the crowd roars, apparently liking what I've done. I look up into the stands, and it's a sea of mostly gold, as to be expected. We're away, and we've been playing like shit so far this season, but I find her right away.

She's on her feet, jumping up and down. The man beside her is jumping with her, while another man is urging them to sit back down. I chuckle to myself. It looks like he's trying to apologize to the other VGK fans behind them.

"Oof," Dole grunts as I run into him.

"Shit, sorry, man," I say, rubbing my stomach where his elbow found purchase.

"I'll give you a pass for that score," he says, grinning and clapping me on the back. "But next time, we're throwing hands."

"Sure, sure," I say before turning and hopping over the wall into our bench area. Someone hands me a water bottle the moment I head off the ice, and I guzzle it after I rip my helmet off.

Grey is there instantly, clapping his hands on my shoulder pads. The sound is loud in my ears, but Grey is grinning from ear to ear.

"That's what I'm talking about, baby!" he says enthusiastically. "You go for that shit! Keep going for that! Got it, Chambers?"

I nod, then drop down on the bench, heaving with exertion. I'll only have a few moments before Grey sends me back out onto the ice, so I need to take all the rest I can get. As I pant and try to shake out the muscles in my legs, my gaze sneaks back over to the woman.

She's not writing in her notebook and is instead looking up at the jumbotron, where it plays a video of my score and then repeats the video of me raising my stick to her. I pull on my helmet. If anyone accuses me of blushing, I'll tell them it's just from the exertion.

As soon as I hit the ice again, it's like I'm a man possessed. I'm flying, my puck work is stellar, and not even two minutes into play, I get a drop pass from Sammy in the crease. I use it, flicking my wrist and tucking the puck neatly into the net just to the left of VGK's goalie.

The crowd is in a mix of booing and cheering, and I skate back around to the bench, hopping the barrier and flopping onto the bench again.

"Damn!" Dole says, clapping me on the back. "You're on a fucking roll, Chambers!"

The crowd seems to think so, too. They're still making a ruckus, cheering and booing in equal measure as a new line hops onto the ice, continuing the play. We're up by one.

I glance back over at her. She's cheering again while some VGK fans behind her are throwing up their hands. It's too good. The entire Golden Knights crowd looks pretty put out by this new development. They weren't expecting to lose on their home rink.

"You gonna get a hat-trick, Chambers?" Brett asks from his place on the bench. He's wearing jeans and his jersey but no pads, his left leg encased in a thick cast.

"I guess we'll see, huh?" I reply.

I don't want to jinx it. I get back on the ice, the cool air a blessing on my legs, and skate like my life depends on it. Every time my gaze drifts up to the woman in the stands, she's scribbling in her notebook. And every time I catch myself looking at her, I snap my gaze back to the game.

But, even with the distraction, I'm playing the best game of my life.

The puck bounces and rolls on its side into our offensive zone, and I skate to intercept it, hip-checking a VGK player who gets in my way. After taking the puck, I rocket it to Jerry, who passes it back to the left-winger, who gets it to me a foot away from the net. I turn, feigning like I'm going to pass it back out to the perimeter, but knock the puck backward between my legs at the last second.

The crowd goes absolutely ballistic at this, with many VGK fans standing and leaving when the referees call the score. Eddie, Steve, and Jerry pile onto me, cheering and hollering.

"What the hell did you have for breakfast this morning?" Eddie asks, clapping me on the back as I pull off my helmet.

"Your mom," I reply, making the rest of the team burst into laughter. The Golden Knights don't look too happy about our boisterous huddle, and their coach is hollering at them over in their corner.

Grey sends out a fresh line and pulls me off the ice, taking me by the shoulders.

"That is exactly what I'm talking about!" he enthuses. "I mean, I wasn't expecting fucking magic tricks, but I knew you had it in you."

"When in Vegas," I joke, but Grey shakes his head.

"I'm serious, man," he says. "You owe it to yourself and the sport of hockey not to hold back. Give this whole damn season everything you have, and we might be headed to the Stanley Cup again."

"Oh, shut up, old man," I say. "You just want a championship as a rookie coach."

Rolling his eyes, Grey thrusts my helmet into my stomach and tells me to get back on the ice.