Page 91 of Campus Fake

“Take all the time you need.” She turned back to the ice like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on my entire future. “There’s no rush. The franchise isn’t going anywhere, and neither am I.”

The buzzer sounded for the end of the second period, and the arena swelled with noise. Abby leaned over and asked if I wanted anything from concessions. I shook my head, still processing Viv’s offer and the possibilities it opened up for me.

Suddenly, the future didn’t feel like something I was bracing for.

It felt like something I was running toward, ready to grasp with both hands.

FORTY-THREE

Four games were all that was left of my hockey career. I knew I could play pickup games, but it would never be the same as this.

The schedule was pinned to the locker room wall like it had been every year since we brought this team back to life freshman year, but lately my eyes kept drifting to the bottom of it, to the shrinking number of dates that hadn’t been crossed off yet. Four games, and then the season was over.

I tried not to think about it as I went through warm-ups. My body knew what to do, so I let it work while my mind drifted to places I didn’t want it to go. The arena looked the same as it always had. But knowing something was ending changed the way you saw it. This game had given me the realest family I’d ever known. It had been everything to me.

I spotted Sam in the stands during warm-ups. She was in her usual spot with all the other girlfriends. It was her first game back since the accident.

This game had given me her too. If it weren’t for hockey, I wasn’t sure Foster and I would’ve even known each other and then I wouldn’t have met Sam.

I might’ve been bracing myself to say goodbye to the sport as I’d always known it, but hockey had given me everything I could ever need in life off the ice.

And that was one hell of a gift that I wouldn’t take for granted.

Eric skated past me and tapped my pads with his stick. “She’s fine. I already checked.” He grinned and skated off, and despite myself, the corner of my mouth pulled up. He’d definitely grown on me. He played hard, kept his head down, and loved his sister with a fierce kind of loyalty I respected.

The ref dropped the puck and the game started.

I settled into the crease and everything else fell away—the worry about Sam, the questions about graduation, and the weight of knowing these nights were running out.

None of it existed inside the crease. In here, I just had to read and react.

Their top line came in hard on the first shift, cycling the puck low. The center fed the winger on my glove side, and I tracked the release, saw the angle open, and slid across to cover it. The shot hit my pad and kicked to the corner. Drew cleared it.

The rhythm of the game took over.

We scored first on a power play when Liam walked the blue line and found Eric cutting to the net. Eric redirected it past the goalie’s glove, and it was his first power play goal of the season. The bench erupted, and I watched the guys pat Eric on the back as he skated back across the ice.

The second period was even more intense. UM’s defenseman ran Liam into the boards behind my net hard enough that I heard the glass shake. Liam popped up with fire in his eyes, and two shifts later he leveled the guy with a clean hit at center ice that drew a roar from the crowd. But no one cheered louder than Drew.

In the third, they pulled within one on a breakaway that I got a piece of but couldn’t stop. The puck trickled over the line and the red light went on behind me. I exhaled hard through my nose, rolled my neck once, and found the next face-off dot. It was only one goal. That was fine. We still had the lead.

The last five minutes were a grind. They threw lines at us in quick rotations trying to wear us down, and the shots kept coming. My legs burned and my glove hand was starting to ache, but I tracked every release and smothered every rebound.

They couldn’t get past me to save their lives—or their game.

The buzzer sounded and I stayed in my crease for a beat, letting the noise wash over me. Then I skated out to meet them at center ice. Foster caught my eye first, and the grin on his face said he understood. This was as emotional for him as it was for me.

We met at the red line and the rest of the team piled in around us. Eric hovered at the edge of the group with a grin so wide it split his face. I reached out and hauled him in by his jersey.

I held on to the moment for an extra second before letting go.

Only three games left.

The locker room afterward was even louder than usual. Guys were peeling off gear, tossing socks at each other, and making stupid bets—because the freshmen never learned. The energy was high, the way it always was after a win, but underneath it there was something else—a current that ran through the seniors that the younger guys couldn’t feel yet. This was ours, and it was almost gone.

I was pulling off my chest protector when Foster sat down on the bench next to me. He’d already stripped down to his base layer, and his hair was still damp and plastered to his forehead.

“Good game,” he said.