Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(97)

It’s been a Frozen Four match-up for the record books, two teams putting it all on the line as we go head-to-head for the championship. And boy, have the guys from Ransom University put us through our paces for the past two and a half periods, barely giving an inch no matter how many times we push for more.

Their goalie, Henderson, has played a stellar game, blocking shot after shot on goal. Both Oakley and I have managed to sneak one by him, but it seems every time the lamp lights up for us, they come right back and do the same thing.

Like right now, when their star forward, O’Rourke, comes out of nowhere and sends the puck sailing past Cam, straight into the net.

Damnit.

The score’s all tied up at two a piece now, and we’re all desperate looking for a break in Ransom’s game. O’Rourke, especially, since he’s scored both of their goals. But Cam’s still been killing it in the net, stopping far, far more than he’s dared let in. I don’t think he’s made as many saves in a single game this season as he has tonight.

He rips off his helmet, sweat-soaked hair sticking to his forehead. I skate to a stop beside him, grabbing his water bottle from the top of the net and handing it to him.

“The dude’s a beast,” he mutters, eyes trained on O’Rourke as he takes a swig from the bottle. “I’m surprised I’ve stopped half the shots he’s taken on me.”

“Because you’re a beast too,” I tell him. “You got this, man. Shake it off.”

His blue eyes shift to me, face completely stoic. “Do me a favor? Check him a little harder into the boards next time. Rattle him a bit. Give me an edge.”

I push away from the net, a smirk plastered on my face. “Remember what I said about playing a clean game?”

He scowls, calling out, “This really isn’t the time to be turning over a new leaf, de Haas!”

Weston and McGowan have already joined Rossi at center ice for a face-off, and I slide up on the left of the circle to get in position. Oakley’s across from me, already zoned in and waiting for the puck to drop.

The second it does, Rossi sweeps it out from Ransom’s center, flicking it over to me for a breakaway. The puck changes hands rapidly after that, going from me to Oakley and back to Rossi and finally back to me for a shot on goal.

Blocked by Henderson.

Fuck.

Coach calls for a line change, and I saddle up between Oakley and McGowan as we wait for our turn in the rotation. It’s painful though—watching and waiting—especially in circumstances like these. Every shift I spend off the ice feels like an eternity, and when I glance over at Oakley, I can tell he’s feeling the same. For him, I’d assume it’s even worse, what with his control issues.

But I get it. When I’m not out there actively playing, stuck behind the boards waiting my turn, I feel anxious as hell.

Thankfully we’ll have one more turn on the ice, and when the time comes, the five of us on our line barrel out of the team box for the puck.

Ransom has possession, a defenseman slapping the puck past McGowan to O’Rourke, who just checked Weston into the boards before heading straight for Cam and the net. Dread fills my stomach as I skate after him, Oakley right along with me, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no way we’ll catch him in time.

My breath catches in my throat as O’Rourke takes a shot on goal, the puck barreling straight toward our net…

And Cam blocks it.

Relief floods through me as I skate around the net, waiting for Cam to toss the puck back into play. He does to Rossi, who skates down the ice toward the net like a bat outta hell.

The two Ransom defensemen team up on Rossi, corralling him against the boards near center ice until McGowan and Oakley help break the puck free. Once they manage to, it goes flying to the other side of the ice, straight into O’Rourke’s grubby little hands.

I swipe the puck from him, checking him straight into the boards in the process. It’s a clean hit—I made sure—and the lack of a penalty whistle proves it. But at least I paid up on Cam’s favor a little bit.

Quickly passing the puck off to Oakley, I glance up at the clock.

Twenty seconds.

I’d really like to keep this from going to sudden death, but we need to find a way around Henderson.

McGowan blocks one of the Ransom forwards, allowing Oakley to slip by and skate down the ice on a breakaway. I’m right there with him, adrenaline pumping my heart faster, and my legs push me to keep up.

Ten seconds.

Two Ransom players converge on Oakley, effectively blocking his path to the net.

I’m open, I’m open, I chant silently.

As if reading my mind, Oakley passes the puck to me, and it all falls into place. A quick snap from me over to Rossi as he finishes circling around the back side of the net gives us the opening we need.

He takes the shot and the lamp lights up…with the final buzzer going off a moment later.

The sound echoes, loud and glorious, making the crowd go absolutely haywire. The arena is overtaken with screaming and cheering in a roar so deafening, I can’t even hear my own breathing. My heart races in my chest, amplified by the cadence of applause and ricocheting off my ribs at a hundred miles per hour.

I find Oakley on the other side of Rossi and Cam, all their helmets, sticks, and gloves tossed on the ice as they celebrate the victory. As if feeling my stare, his eyes find me, and I toss my own gear before closing the distance between us. The second I’m within two feet, I launch myself at him, only to have two strong arms hold me to his chest. Anchoring me there as best as he can with all these fucking pads in the way.