I draw a penalty early in the second period when one of the Pittsburgh forwards high sticks me, splitting my cheek as red pours from my skin and onto the ice.
I barely feel it. Too much adrenaline is coursing through my veins to notice pain. But it gives us the man-advantage, and one of our second-year forwards scores in the first twenty seconds of the power play, tying the game and settling the boys’ nerves.
The period consists of equal shots on goal, Rio and I holding off Pittsburgh’s top line. They do the same to Maddison and his wingers.
We end period two tied 1-1.
The third and hopefully final period begins quiet—no chirping, barely any talk on the ice, nerves back and evident on both sides. For Pittsburgh, it’s the fear that this is the end of the season. For us, it’s the realization that this could be it. We can win the Cup in these final twenty minutes, and that’s scary as hell.
Momentum trades off between our two teams. Shifts are short, giving our tired legs their much-needed rest. Pittsburgh fires off a shot with only three minutes left, and it buzzes past our goaltender’s glove, but by some miracle, it hits the crossbar instead of flying into the back of the net.
The crowd gasps in fear, everyone on their feet. I’m not going to lie, the scare causes my heart to skip a beat.
Two more shifts, and time is winding down in the third when I hop the ice for my turn. Maddison and our top line got on ten seconds ago, so we have our best players for this final run.
Pittsburgh’s center bodies past me to our goalie, and by a miracle of a save, the puck bounces off his pads, and I sweep the rebound off the boards and out of our zone. The ricochet lands on Maddison’s stick while keeping him onside, and he uses his speed to zip into our offensive zone.
He’s the fastest guy on the ice, and it shows when he lands in front of Pittsburgh’s goal in a blink of an eye. And with just under a minute left in the third, he goes five-hole, the puck finding the back of the net as he lights the lamp with the potential game-winning goal.
My stick is on the ground as I charge at him, throwing my body on his, pinning him to the boards. The rest of the boys follow suit as our home crowd erupts, hands slapping the glass and sirens blaring.
We make our way past our bench, knocking gloves before Maddison grabs my shoulders, eyes boring into mine. He’s holding back his smile, as am I, but we both know he just scored the Stanley Cup-winning goal on my assist.
I try to stay focused for the last sixty seconds, especially when Pittsburgh pulls their goalie, giving us a man disadvantage, but I can’t help my eyes wandering to the clock, watching the final seconds wind down.
Ten… Nine… Eight…
I propel my stick out when one of their forwards fires a shot, and somehow, I gain control, so I push the puck towards their empty net. It’s wide. We’re called for icing, and the refs gather the puck, bringing it back to our defensive zone.
Maddison lines up for his potentially final face-off of the season with four seconds left as the crowd erupts in anticipation. As I lean over, I attempt to take a breath, needing to collect myself, but I can’t. My chest is light, my pulse is racing, and my mouth is dry. I can hear everything, see everything, feel everything.
The puck drops.
Three… Two… One…
We just won the fucking Stanley Cup.
My gloves hit the ground instantly, stick abandoned, helmet off. Warmth flows through my body as I attack our goalie with the rest of my team, dog-piling until we’re a mess of red jerseys on top of one another.
I can’t make out words. There’s a shit-ton of yelling and cheering, a couple of guys crying in this mess of a pile as red and black confetti begins to rain down onto the ice, covering us.
We fucking did it.
After a grueling season, we did it. After twenty-two years of skating, early morning practices, conditioning, broken bones, torn muscles, wanting to quit more times than I can count, I did it. Every second of effort, sacrifice, and hard work is vindicated, culminating at this moment.
Two fists grab my jersey, pulling me onto my feet as Maddison throws his body into mine with a crushing hug. “Let’s go, Zee baby!”
I wrap my arms around him. “We fucking did it, man!”
We hold on for a little longer before we’re attacked by more bodies, more teammates, more coaches, but there are no words for this moment. The moment I achieve the one thing I could’ve only dreamed of as a kid, and I get to do so with my brother at my side.
Logan’s red hair captures my attention only a second after it catches Maddison’s. He races to her, barely allowing the seat usher to open the plexiglass before he’s picking her up and not letting go.