Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (84)

We’re quick to execute the gameplay. Aiden receives the puck, then pivots and charges up the ice with a burst of speed that catches everyone off guard. With a lightning-fast fake-out, he leaves one defender sprawling, then another. The crowd roars as he gains the offensive zone. I’m trailing, ready for the precise pass that cuts through the chaos. I spot a gap between the goalie’s pads and send the puck flying into the net.

The arena erupts in a deafening roar as the buzzer lights flash. The score evens and a sliver of hope lights behind Coach Wilson’s eyes.

But the moment the clock starts again, Vancouver comes back harder, vengeful even. They fly past our defense, and our guys are too slow to catch the movement. Then when I think the game may still be salvageable by Socket’s quick saves, Vancouver’s captain gets control of the puck. Aiden tries to slow him down, but their captain reaches the net and sends a blistering wrist shot past Socket’s gloved hand, crushing the dwindling hope left in the arena, when the horn blares.

Vancouver wins. Toronto loses.

I don’t even register the horn or the celebration from one side of the arena. The green and blue confetti falls on the ice, and the announcers congratulate the Stanley Cup winners.

Aiden skates past me, holding his helmet in his hands as he heads straight for the locker room. The rest of the guys follow, heads hanging in defeat and sorrow clouding over them. I feel it too. Loss embeds itself beneath my skin and crawls out as dark failure.

Coach knocks a hand on my helmet, doing the same to the rest of the guys. It’s a silent stabilizing touch, a reminder that at least we didn’t play like shit.

As I’m moving off the ice, stick raised and listening to the crowd’s cheers and boos swallowing the arena, one thought sits at the front of my brain. In a split second, everything we’ve trained for and got injured for has slipped out of our grasp and into someone else’s. Something we wanted so bad is no longer ours, because of a few careless mistakes.

In the chaos in my mind, one person, one girl—my girl—appears in the center of my thoughts. I imagine she’d wear an encouraging smile and an expression that would make the ache in my chest turn into something entirely different.

But after last night, I know that image will be a reality only in my mind.

I head straight down the tunnel and to the locker room. The depressing feeling of loss drips from everyone, and then Coach enters, followed by Marcus Smith-Beaumont.

“In the darkness of defeat, winners find lessons that lead them to future victories,” Marcus starts. “Each and every one of you played with heart and grit, and this win was not handed over easily. But now, it’s time to recharge and reflect.”

Coach steps forward. “Onwards and upwards.”

“Onwards and upwards,” the locker room repeats before the haste to leave the arena begins. There is nothing worse than being surrounded by the winning team after a loss like this.

By the time I’m done cleaning out my stall, Aiden’s already showered and ready to head out. He silently pats my back before he walks out of the double doors. Summer and her dad are waiting for him, no doubt going to do their best to cheer him up.

With a few quiet goodbyes, I head down the tunnel, finding the silence of the walk looming like a dark cloud.

But then there’s a coil around my heart that tightens when I catch a glimpse of pink. Like a guiding star in the night sky, Sage glows against the blue walls of the corridor.

I stop dead in my tracks.

“I wasn’t going to come,” she starts. “But I couldn’t miss it. I didn’t think you’d want me here anyway.”

My chest tightens when I see her ripping her heart open for me. Like a ray of sunlight, Sage cuts through the dark clouds distorting my vision. I realize that no matter what, I’d spend my entire life trying to be good enough for her.

She sniffles. “But I told you I loved you last night, and I meant it. And maybe you were right—I do neglect myself sometimes, but with you, I’ve never had to. I’m done letting go of what I want, Elias. So, either you’ll have to tell me to leave, or—”

With three quick strides, I cut her off by pulling her right to my chest. Sage stiffens but quickly recovers and wraps her arms around me. “Don’t leave,” I say.

The rest of the team walks down the hall to exit, but neither of us moves, and no one interrupts us.

She melts further into my hold. “Are you okay?”

“Now I am.”

Sage pulls away, and her lips lift in a sad, confused smile. She seems to hold back from what she wants to ask. There’s a talk we should be having, but of course right now my girl is thinking about how I feel.

“If it helps, you looked totally puckable out there,” she jokes. Even now Sage tries to use humor to disguise the sadness that swims below the surface of her hazel eyes.

I put that emotion there, and now I want to eviscerate it.

She’s the only person who could pull a smile out of me at a time like this. “You really have no filter,” I say.

“You want me to?”

“Nah, Elias and Sage unfiltered. That’s how I like it, remember?” Taking her wrist, I press a light kiss on her pulse. The faint blush that falls against the brown of her cheeks is instant, and she watches me carefully, like she’s trying to read my thoughts.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Or at least you will be, right? I mean, I can’t imagine how you must feel, so if you need some space, I’ve already asked my uncle to stay at his place.”