Page 176 of Full Contact

With two forty remaining, Markel sent them out again.

I watched Rook step onto the ice and thought that it might be his last shift. His last game.

Then Boston got a shot through, and Pratt caught it. I stopped thinking beyond the next face-off.

Markel changed players during the stoppage. With just under two minutes left, Boston pulled its goalie.

Six skaters against five.

Callahan blocked a shot with his shin pad and scrambled after the puck. Heath helped force it up the boards, and Kieran knocked it out of our end.

Rook and Trier returned to the ice.

Forty seconds.

Boston carried the puck back in. Cross stayed between the face-off circles, turning with the play, while Heath fought for position along the boards.

Twenty-five seconds.

I looked down and found I’d crumpled the celebration schedule in my fist.

A Boston forward moved in from the wall and shot through two players. Pratt pushed it away with his left pad. The rebound landed in front of him.

For a moment, all I could see were skates and sticks. Pratt stretched across the crease. A Boston player reached around Rook.

Then Trier got his stick on the puck.

He chopped it into the corner, far enough from the net for Pratt to get back into position. Boston recovered it and tried to pass across the slot. The puck skipped over a waiting stick and slid past the blue line.

Everyone in white turned to chase it.

Five seconds.

Four.

I watched the clock reach zero.

The horn sounded, and the bench emptied.

I shouted, and someone shouted in my ear through my headset. On the monitor, Rook reached Pratt and threw both arms around him. Trier crashed into them a second later, and then I couldn’t pick out any of them beneath the teammates crowding the crease.

We’d won the Cup.

Cross emerged from the pile, caught Varga by the front of his sweater, and pulled him close enough that their helmets touched. The broadcast microphone caught him shouting.

“We won the Cup. You can stop explaining how now.”

Varga shouted something back and jabbed a finger at Cross’s chest. Whatever his answer was, it came with further instructions.

Pratt pushed up his mask and turned toward the family section. He lifted his catching glove toward Sully, held it there for a second, and vanished into another hug.

There were handshakes to get through, equipment to move, a carpet to lay, and a platform to push out onto the ice. I put my headset firmly back over my ear and did my job, occasionally having to ask people to repeat perfectly ordinary questions.

Once the presentation area was ready, I moved to the tunnel entrance. For the first time all night, I could see the entire rink.

Heath had dried blood along one eyebrow. Kieran’s jersey was torn at the collar. Callahan stood with his helmet off, running both hands through his hair as though he still couldn’t believe it had happened.

When Cross lifted the Cup, the crowd thundered its approval.