Page 45 of Breaking the Ice

EVAN

Mom: Thanksgiving in Vegas? No thanks. Sounds tacky.

Evan: Yeah, sorry. I know sometimes you can pop down to Lafayette if we have a home game over the holiday. They kinda sprung this on us.

Mom: We’re getting the lake place ready to sell anyway, so it’s fine. We’ll see you at Christmas.

Evan: Really? Since when? Were you going to tell me?

Mom: Don’t worry. We’ll buy a much nicer place in South Haven. That’s where everyone wants to be these days.

Evan: But I liked our place. It was great for fishing.

Mom: Muskegon is a dump, honey.

Mom: Good luck at your tournament.

Evan: Thanks.

We’ve spent the past few days practicing, doing promo events, and finding squeaky-clean Harrison-approved things to do in Vegas. There have been a surprising amount, actually, and it’s been more fun than I expected without alcohol and gambling. We watched the Bellagio fountain show and pretended like we were in Ocean’s 11, visited an aquarium and a theme park, and saw a magic show that I thought would be dumb but was dope.

We also watched the other games in the tourney. Ideally, there would be more than six teams in a tournament bracket, but it’s the first year for Puck Drop in the Desert, so it’s starting small. There are also only six college hockey conferences, so we’re used to it.

The way the bracket is laid out, Minnesota State played Bentley and won. We beat Minnesota State three-two to make it to the final game. St. Cloud State played Boston University, Boston won but then lost to Quinnipiac in the next round. It comes down to a rematch between us and Quinnipiac again, which is great. I’m ready to prove to everyone that we’re the better team.

We’re blessed with great facilities at Harrison, but not every college hockey team has the same administration support. Some of the places that we play are one step up from a dumpster. It will never get old to be on the ice in a stadium like T-Mobile Arena. It’s the home of the Vegas Knights, and it’s massive. Seeing my stats on an NHL Jumbotron is a memory I’ll keep forever.

“Okay, guys, huddle up!” Jonas calls, and the starting line surrounds him. His brown eyes are serious through his visor, and we quiet down to listen. “Quinnipiac is good. But we’re better!”

He hoists his stick in the air as we cheer. “We can do this. Let’s show ‘em what the Griffins are made of!”

He’s right, they are good. I mean, duh. They didn’t beat us in the Championship game last year by sucking. But they had a lot of senior talent that graduated. We miss Adam, Cooper, and Hunter, for sure. But our bench is deeper. I feel it in my bones—we’re the better team. And when the game is over, I’m determined the scoreboard will prove it.

Taking my position, I grip my stick through my gloves, hovering while Mateo crouches low in the face-off circle. The ref drops the puck and the game begins.

I love the way my brain turns off when I play hockey. Or turns on? I’m not sure how to describe it, but it’s like I can truly focus on the game and nothing else. There are no distractions. The roar of the crowd, the taunts of the opposing team—nothing steals my attention. Hockey and sex are about the only things that flip this magical switch in my mind.

Mateo gets the puck, and I race down the ice after it, elbowing Drew Ward, the forward from Quinnipiac out of my way. He’s one of the top college hockey prospects in the country, and I see why.

We battle back and forth for dominance, pretty evenly matched, until at the end of sixty minutes on the clock, Caleb sinks the winning goal.

We celebrate on the ice like it’s the Frozen Four all over again, and in a way, it kinda is. In a giant pile on the ice, I pound on Jonas’s back and help hoist Caleb on our shoulders. Coach yells at us to cut it out and get into the locker room—he’s not one for showboating—but everyone grins as we skate off towards the tunnel.

I stop short at a familiar flash of red hair in the crowd. Isabella. The rest of the team streams by but I’m frozen in place, transfixed by her smile as she makes her way towards me through the stands. She motions for me to skate over towards the tunnel where I can talk to her, and the spell is broken, my feet can move again.

“Hi,” she says, waving at me.

“Hi. You’re here.”

Wow, Captain Obvious. Way to woo her with scintillating conversation. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes at myself. But she didn’t mention that she was tagging along on this road trip. Seeing her here is almost as good as beating Quinnipiac.

“Yeah. My mom and I came to spend Thanksgiving with my dad.”

“Makes sense.” Why can’t I string more than two words together? Do I always sound like this much of an idiot around her? What am I doing?

“Congratulations on your win.” She gestures at the stadium around us. “Pretty awesome.”

“Thanks.” I clear my throat, and my mouth-to-brain connection finally catches up. “Hey, I’m sure a bunch of us are gonna go out and celebrate a little. It all has to be university-approved, nothing too crazy, but do you want to join us?”