THE VANCOUVER FANS brace themselves as the other team takes a shot on Streicher. He blocks it, and Volkov steals the puck, passing to me before I bring it to the other end of the ice.
The fans start hollering, and the energy in the arena intensifies as I approach the net with the puck.
I have a clear shot on the net, and I should take it.
Owens is open, though. Our eyes meet, and I think about the pickup league. I pass to him. It’s the same flare of surprise I saw in Ed’s eyes, but he doesn’t waste a second.
He shoots, he scores.
The arena roars with noise, and ecstasy whistles through my veins as the goal horn blows. Lights flash, sirens blare, and the fans jump up and down.
“Fuck yeah, buddy!” Owens crows as we crowd him, and I laugh at his excitement.
On the bench, Ward gives me a firm nod of approval, then my gaze goes to Hartley, where she’s sitting beside Pippa and looking at me with pleased surprise, like she just saw a new side of me.
I think I did, too, and I like who I found.
