81. Luke

Chapter 81

Luke

There are lessthan two minutes left, and Chicago scored a few plays ago, so we’re only up by one.

I don’t want to lose.

And I don’t want to go into overtime to settle a tie.

I want to finish this game so I can go home and call Natalie.

I shouldn’t have waited.

I should have called her the day I pulled my head out of my ass.

I should have jocked up and gone to her office. Begged her forgiveness. Asked her to explain everything she’s told me she wants to explain.

But I waited. And that’s going to be the last dumb decision in a long list of dumb decisions.

My mind focuses back on the game as Zach takes a shot on goal.

It gets deflected.

I’m moving for the rebound, but a Chicago player cuts through an opening, snagging the puck.

He breaks free and races down the ice toward Ash. Heading toward a one-on-one.

I shift and sprint after him.

The crowd is screaming.

The noise is deafening.

But my focus is zeroed in on the Chicago player.

I’m not staying for fucking overtime.

I have a wife to see.

Chicago is flying.

My teammates are behind me.

But they’re behind me.

And they aren’t as fast as I am.

Ash is getting low in the goal, preparing for the shot.

Chicago shifts to an arcing approach, planning to take the shot from an angle.

But his plan is cocky.

And I’m not gonna let him take a shot at all.

Pushing everything I have into my legs, I go a little faster.

And it’s all I need.

Chicago is locked on the goal, not seeing me beside him.

My stick connects with the puck.

I knock it forward and away from the net, clearing the puck and trusting my teammates to handle it.

But Chicago and I were speeding down the ice at intersecting angles, and neither of us took any care to slow down.

I’m slightly in front when we collide, and Chicago uses his momentum to push me past the edge of the net toward the boards.

But I’m not looking to fuck my shoulder up again so soon. So, at the last second, I’m able to twist. And since this Chicago dickhead is holding my jersey—against the rules—he follows my twist. Straight into the fucking boards.

The already loud crowd gets even louder at the same time the ref blows the whistle.

I don’t mean to look up, but movement on the other side of the glass catches my attention.

Not just movement.

Blizz.

He lifts a hand into the air, cheering for my hit and causing a few of the people nearby to snap their heads in his direction.

I have no idea what he shouted, but clearly, it wasn’t expected.

As I start to laugh, Blizz starts to tip.

His arm up in celebration apparently throws him off kilter.

His other hand is holding the flag, and he uses it like a walking stick, lifting it and jabbing it at the ground ahead of him for balance. But he’s already tipping, so instead of helping him, his big Blizz face hits the top of the pole, knocking his head sideways.

Before the entire Blizz head can pop off, he lets go of the pole and grips his face with both furry hands.

And that’s the last thing I see, Blizz holding his head on as he falls below the level of the glass and out of sight.