27. ARAN

CHAPTER 27

ARAN

T his is it. The game that decides whether we go to Regionals.

Neither team has scored, and we're in the third period against the Bulldogs. We've had one PK from each side this period alone. I've been a freaking wall, but so is the other goalie. Goal attempts are fired from each side like artillery. The boards have even seen blood. The crowd roars with the intensity of a finals game.

The Thunder Bolts' home arena explodes as I bat a puck away from the net like I'm playing baseball. A group of Bulldogs who are all bark and no bite try to jostle me around while the puck's still in play. It should get them dinged for interference, but the ref's distracted. Webber and some Bulldog battle for the puck and soon forget it altogether. Gloves drop and the whistle blows, but more and more players from each team join what's now a scrum.

I smack my stick against the ice a few times, and one of my guys sees it. That's our code for stop this shit right now before I make you regret it . Right on, he grabs the next Bolt and pulls him away, and one by one, they leave the Bulldogs to fight each other if they want.

We end up on a four against four, and I pull up my mask and spray water on my face to clear away the sweat before the next faceoff. And off we go again.

The crowd chants, "Go, Bolts, go! Go, Bolts, go!"

But we go straight into overtime.

Bracken brakes in front of me, offering his elbow. "Ready to rumble?"

I bump my elbow with his and say, "Tell Coach not to send the first line in. Amadi's favoring his left hand and Charles looks ready to drop dead."

"Aye, Captain." He takes off for the bench to relay the info before the ref starts the game again.

I know part of my family's right behind my goal, and I can hear our adopted pet, Brooklyn, screaming his throat hoarse with various encouragements. Olivia is probably so annoyed at him she's not even focusing on the game. She can never seem to get him to shut up. Next to them are Luz and her fiancé, Max Cassiano. His team has a game nearby tomorrow, so he apparently flew in early for tiramisu. Dude is as obsessed with it as someone I know who is wild about strawberries.

Speaking of, she sits with Ryan and some of the Strikes right by the tunnel to the locker room.

I'm happy to report my concentration has stayed in mint condition all game. It could be because my green-eyed monster isn't triggered tonight, but I'd prefer to think it's because I've learned a few lessons since that game. And also because I got to make out with her while she was in her underwear and wet.

There's a party planned for after we win this game. I wonder if I'll manage to do some overtime reverse tutoring there. Maybe further her book research—both on the hockey front and the romance front. We'll see.

The puck drops, and I forget all of that.

The Bulldogs explode out of the faceoff with a breakaway. A meteor could drop in the parking lot and it wouldn't flap me, least of all some dipshit who escaped our even more dipshit defense. I don't know if he's tired or if I'm on a new plane of existence, but he's moving too slow. I can read every move of the puck as he handles it. I can see the target painted in his eyes for my fourth hole. I can see the exact angle of his wrist's bend as he goes for a slapshot.

My mitt catches it like a magnet, and the arena blows up with noise.

Surprise flashes across the Bulldog's face, and that's when I know we've already won. Whether in overtime or shootouts, it doesn't matter. This save shook the foundation of their team to the damn core.

I stay vigilant, though. The clock ticks fast and even. Though the Bulldogs keep barking, our D bites them back. Finally, our first line hits the ice, and I check the time. We have one minute and eight seconds left. Should be plenty.

The puck changes sides several times. A Bulldog ices it. It goes back into play. Webber checks a Bulldog against the boards. Bracken picks up the puck and makes a pass at Amadi, who shoots with his left hand. Even though he's a righty.

And he scores.

The buzzer goes off to a cacophony of celebration all around us. I pump my fist as the guys celebrate all the way across the ice in a way that almost gets them beat up. The final buzzer goes off, and I can't help it. I laugh. My teammates are assholes, but they're the best assholes.

My roommate is the first one to slam into me, saying, "We're going to regionals, baby!"

"Heck yeah!" Another one smashes against me from the other side, and I grunt.

And then one more. "I can't believe it!"

"What are you talking about? I knew we had this in the bag!" someone else shouts.

"Regionals! Regionals! Regionals!" That one's Amadi, and one by one, the whole team joins the chanting. Soon enough, the arena is intoxicated by it and chanting too.

My heart's hammering harder than in the middle of the game. I finally take in the audience. This is probably the first time in my Division I career that I've seen this place packed to the rafters, like finally this snobby-ass school has gotten with the program and understands that hockey's the best.

I'll make sure this team modifies St. Cloud's DNA until students and staff alike bleed Thunder Bolts blue.

As we do a victory lap around the perimeter, I catch my little sister giving me a thumbs-up. That's much more shocking than Brooklyn and Luz competing over who can jump and wave the most. Cassiano shakes his head, wearing a thick scarf and baseball cap meant to conceal his identity. I don't think it's working, because some chicks in the row below keep glancing back at him.

I take off my mask and raise my stick at them, and even Liv claps.

Following the stream of my teammates, I file off the ice into the corridor. People extend their hands for us to high-five them, but I'm not about that life. Instead, I spot the Strikes and the honorary Strike.

"Great job! Now you're not losers anymore," Ryan says with a guffaw.

Strawberry's cheeks are pink, and she beams that wide smile directly at me. A congratulations that is only for me.

As it should be.

I clamp my jaw tight and nod at her, lest my teammates see me smiling like a clown. I keep going, and at the locker room, Coach is giving a quick debrief before we hit the showers.

It hits me like a bolt. I have no right to think like this. I'm not her boyfriend. A smile from her shouldn't feel even more monumental than this win. Especially because I won't see it again once the semester ends.

"Who's ready to get wasted?" one of the guys asks in the middle of the running showers.

Another one counters with "More importantly, who's ready to get laid?"

A chorus of horny animals roars at that. I rub my face extra hard with soap because I'm dying to get into Strawberry's pants, but I shouldn't. And I don't know how to stop myself from wanting her. She deserves better than a covert and temporary friends-with-benefits situation, which is all I can offer without getting in trouble in more ways than one.

Maybe I shouldn't go to this party. Maybe I should go home and watch film from the teams we'll face at regionals. Or maybe I should go tire out my hormones with a late-night swim at the lake by myself.

But I want to see her. I want to banter with her. Make her blush. See if I can get her to gasp my name in my ear.

Mierda. I can't keep doing this, not with regionals on the horizon.

My head's still swimming when I make it out of the locker room and find my family hanging out near the training area's exit.

"Hermanito!"

Luz spreads her arms wide and squeals as if I were some celebrity. I brace because I know exactly what will happen next, and nothing in this world will stop her. She slams into me with enough power to make me stumble back a step, making me drop my duffel bag on the floor so she can squeeze the crap out of me. I don't drop my stick, though. It has to hold out until the championship game.

"I'm so awed by you," Luz says with her face buried in my chest. She pulls away to look up. "You're so much better than many pro goalies already, including the starter on Max's team."

"For real, man." I like Cassiano because he respects boundaries. He offers a fist to me, and I bump it with mine. "I got some film for my coach, by the way. His mind's going to blow away when he sees that wild save you made in overtime."

"Dude, you got shot point blank at easily a hundred miles per hour." Brooklyn opens his mouth wide, shakes his head, and runs a hand through his goldilocks. The picture of shock.

I sigh and peel my older sister off me. To her fiancé, I say, "Thanks, but I don't want to have to use connections." I'm not Edwards.

Cassiano blows a raspberry. "It's not because you're my brother-in-law. Coach literally sent me here to scout you once he knew I'd be in town."

Luz nods rapidly. "Yup. We didn't come here just to support you, although we did that too. Right, Aceituna?"

"Whatever," our younger sister says, checking her phone. "Can we go eat now? I'm starving."

"Actually, I'll agree with Aceituna for the first time in my life," I say.

She frowns until her whole face scrunches up. "When are the two of you going to stop calling me by that ridiculous name?"

"Never," Luz and I say at the same time. I can't help but exchange a grin with her. This is what older siblings are for.

Huffing, Liv whirls around and heads for the exit. Her golden retriever of a best friend follows her, talking her ear off about the game. I pick up my duffel bag and follow after Luz and Cassiano. They're just as disgusting as they were six years ago, their arms around each other's waists as if they can't stand to be apart for a single second. Cassiano glances down at my sister as if the moon itself were in her eyes, and she looks up at him as if he put it there.

I can't do that .

The thought halts me in my steps.

I can't be that guy for someone. I've never looked at anyone like that. I can't afford to bend my life over to accommodate one more person. I have enough with two reckless sisters who are regulars at the hospital and parents who can't afford those bills. It's on me to make sure the Rodriguez family has a good future, and I can only do that if I stay focused on making it to the league.

Coach was right. I needed a dating ban to understand this. Hockey isn't just something I do for fun. It's the thing I'm best at—what I need to make a living with for my family's sake and my own. I can't jeopardize it by giving priority to something else. Or someone else.

I need to really enforce the dating ban. Tonight.

With a lump in my throat, I follow after my family and spend the whole dinner thinking of how to end what has been the best part of my year.