Shea

"You're on fire," Brenna says.

We're loitering in the hallway during third intermission, still dressed in our hockey equipment. I tuck my helmet under my arm as we chat.

That's right.

Third intermission.

We're going into overtime, and I can feel the intensity between us. It's almost suffocating. Both of us want the win. We want the other to be happy. But we know that package can't be presented together. Overtime is sudden death, and it makes the blow of losing even harder to stomach. Our teams have proven to be equal across the board. Brenna, Nick, and Hunter have matched every shot taken by me, KJ, and Jayden. Catina and Drew are both standing on their heads, making phenomenal saves. Both sides of defence are playing with confidence. 

I keep my gaze locked on a display of previous hockey teams. The oldest team photo present is from 2001, which seems pretty recent compared to the photos at the Jim Lind Arena on the Westside. The oldest photo is from the eighties.

My anxiety peaks a little. Is that what the future holds? Me, Jayden, and KJ? A picture on the wall that holds memories no one but us will remember? And what happens if Brenna and I break up? What happens to all those photos I posted on Instagram? Am I supposed to delete them?

A hollow feeling echoes through my ribcage. Despite enjoying the hockey game, as well as putting exponential effort into it, my mind is heavy with stress. We need to talk after this. Have a discussion about what happens.

I shake my head. It's not something I should focus on right now.

"So are you," I reply. "Three assists. One goal. That's good for the stats."

She nudges me, grinning. "Says Mr. Hat-Trick over here."

Blush fills my cheeks. This is the prime opportunity for a hat-trick. Scoring three goals will seal questions scouts had about my hockey skills. All three were damn good goals. Especially when I split the defence. It had some major Connor McDavid vibes. And the slapshot that rebounded from the post and went in? Damn.

I'm not trying to brag about my skills, but this has been my best game. Which is why I'm praying to the hockey gods for a win. I'm desperate for one.

"Scoring those goals would've been impossible without my teammates," I say.

Brenna flashes me a smirk. "Fine. You can say that for two goals. That one where you split Wilson and Davies was all on you."

Again, I wave off her comment.

She makes a tsk noise. "Shea Smith. Still not giving himself the credit he deserves."

I try to flash her a smile, but it comes out weak. So weak it's embarrassing. My mind is fixated on the future. I'm in the present, but my mind is somewhere else. Focused on the impending doom that awaits us as soon as we graduate.

Brenna pulls me out of the depths of my mind. I blink, focusing on her. She's standing in front of me, cupping my face. My eyes flick over her shoulder, to where her helmet, gloves, and hockey stick are. They sit in a forgotten pile.

It's disheartening. This is our last game. I'll never play hockey with KJ and Jayden again. Never play against Brenna or Tucker. There wasn't enough time to get to know Catina better. I will not play hockey in this jersey again. Last time in the Capital News Centre. Maybe even in the Okanagan.

I don't know why they emphasize grade twelve being the best year. It's overrated. It's depressing. Too much changes all at once. Not to mention the ridiculous pressure they put on students. Pressuring kids to know what they want to do what their lives is unhealthy. Not knowing which route you want as a career? There's nothing wrong with that. And there's no point in attending university unless you know. My dad didn't go to university until he was twenty-three. Which is a major difference when compared to eighteen.

Internally, I snort. Look at that. There's something I can applaud my dad for.

Brenna taps me on the nose. "What's going through your head?"

"Everything." My gaze focuses on her blue-violet eyes. I don't care how many times we have this argument. I can see shades of violet in her eyes—no matter how many times she tells me they're blue.

Her expression turns sympathetic. "Feeling guilty for accepting the scholarship?"

"Yes and no," I reply. "But Noah and I had a good chat. His mom was there, too. They'll make sure Chelsea is taken care of. His mom will have a chat with my parents, too. Who knew asking for help could work?" I try to make it sound like I'm joking. But it feels like the truth. Asking for help could've solved everything sooner. Instead of being thankful for the lesson, I feel like kicking myself. Why didn't I do it sooner? There's nothing wrong with needing support.

I rub my jaw. "But I still feel obligated to look after her. She is my little sister."

The sympathetic expression doesn't fade. "You didn't know any better. We all learn from our mistakes." She glances at the display before us. "Maybe that's why we work so well together. We offer compliments and support we can't achieve ourselves."

Her words are like a blow to the chest. Not because it's true, but because I'll miss her. These comfortable conversations we can have. I'm worried I'll lose this. Miss her too much.

"Shea," Brenna sighs. "There are unspoken words between us. We both know this. I think a lot of the pressure we're feeling isn't because of the hockey game." She glances at her phone. "We have to be back on the ice in five minutes. But after the game and the party, we should talk about it. About what we want to do. Either we wait until the end of high school, enjoying the events and time together, or we decide early."

My mouth pulls to one side. Sometimes I wonder if we're too similar to be dating. Those were the same options I was contemplating earlier. I'm striving for the first option, despite the latter one being more logical. However, I don't want my graduation to be bittersweet. Even if graduation and grade twelve are overrated, I want it to be a fantastic night. My tie will match Brenna's dress. We'll walk along the pathway while our families take photos. Then we'll dance until we can no longer walk. Plus, all our friends will be there. KJ is attending with Ella, Jayden with Evren, Hunter and Willa—everyone I want to spend time with will be there. Thank god Brenna is on the Grad Council, or else Jayden wouldn't be able to tag along. He goes to a different school. Technically, he's not allowed to join. But Brenna bought him a ticket, anyway. She'll sneak him in.

Everything about that night will be perfect.

"You're right," I reply. "About everything. Let's talk after the party. If we don't pass out prior to it ending."

She tosses her head back and laughs. "I'm not drinking. My lips become too loose. Remember what happened last time?"

I chew on my bottom lip, withholding a chuckle. Brenna's lips were loose, and she didn't have a filter. She made comments about wanting to lick chocolate off of my body. "I can recall."

Her smile is devastatingly seductive, and she loops her arms around my neck. We're a little wobbly with our skates still on—the rubbery flooring doesn't help much—but I hold on to her waist, doing my best to keep us steady.

"No matter what," she says. "We've got this, Shea. Life's like hockey. You need to strategize and play smart."

I don't respond. Instead, I kiss her. It's a hard kiss with lots of tongue and heavy breathing. There's a fire burning in my blood. I want to memorize everything about her lips. About the way she kisses me and the noises she makes.

Because as much as I used to hate Brenna Harrison, I never want to let her go.

* * *

Sweat drips down the back of my neck. We're halfway through overtime. My muscles scream in protest every time I set foot on the ice. Sweat soaks every piece of hockey equipment. My hands are calloused from gripping my hockey stick. Physically, I want to give up. Any adrenaline has dissipated, and falling asleep on the ice has never sounded so pleasing.

But my mentality is potent. It's the driving force behind the effort I'm still putting in. We're facing sudden death. We can make no mistakes. Slacking off will cost the game.

Which is why I'm pushing myself, despite my body screaming in protest. Tonight's game is more important than ever. While I don't mind losing (I'm not a sore loser and I believe losing builds your skills), exiting the season with a win is the best scenario. Not for me, but for the other guys on my team. The ones who aren't pursuing hockey after they graduate. This may be the last time they play. After this, they could hang up their skates permanently. Well... competitively, at least.

I shake my head, joining Tucker at the face-off dot. We're waiting for the ref to arrive in the puck. The anticipation has me antsy. We're facing off in our zone, meaning we're close to our net. Plus, Tucker is known for taking a slap-shop right from the face-off. He's scored multiple times this season using that method. I have faith in Cat, but Tucker has a mean slap-shot. Last time I watched Brenna's team practice, Drew couldn't handle it. And that's saying a lot because he's a good goalie.

"This game is intense," Tucker comments.

I glance at him. "It is. Too bad we couldn't end in a tie."

He snorts, tapping my shins with his hockey stick. "Where's the fun in a tie, Smith? It's too much fun annihilating you guys."

A grin splits my face as I glance at the scoreboard above. "Not sure our definitions of annihilation are the same, Tucker. There'll be a one-goal deficit by the end. And if you want your team to win, stop being such a pylon."

Tucker shakes his head. "I'll stop when you stop being a bender."

I loosen a low whistle, and the grin doesn't fade. This is way better than last year. Exchanging friendly chirps is ten times better than degrading ones. Being friends makes games better. Once again, I feel like a fool for not realizing this sooner.

Behind Tucker, I see the ref approaching. KJ is skating with him, chatting up a storm about where he's placing the face-off. He doesn't think it should be in our zone, but the ref isn't listening.

I turn back to Tucker. "Tucker?"

He looks at me again. "Yeah?

My face softens. "Thanks, man."

He shoots me a quizzical look. "For what?"

I give him a one-shoulder shrug. "Everything, I guess? Letting me help you support Brenna. Supporting the idea of us being together. Being friends with me after all the shit I pulled..."

Tucker laughs. "Who says we're friends?"

The joking tone in his voice makes me laugh, too. Within seconds, we'll be opponents again, but it feels good to have a conversation like this.

His laugh trails off into a sigh. "You don't have to thank me for anything. You did the hard work. Maybe you needed a push, but you're a good person. One that deserves friends."

Before I can respond, the ref joins us. Tucker and I get into position, ready for the ref to drop the puck.

When he does, Tucker attempts a slap-shot. The puck ricochets off of the crossbar, deflecting in the opposite direction.

The last thing I hear before we're skating after the puck is Tucker saying, "Fuck."

It makes me laugh. 

* * *

With a minute and a half to go in overtime, there's a face-off in West Kelowna's zone. The top lines are out for the last shift. Me, Jayden, KJ. Hunter, Nick, and Brenna. From our bench, Coach hollers out words of encouragement, clapping his hands together.

"Come on, team! Let's make something happen."

I throw a glance over my shoulder as we skate to the opposing end. Coach looks weary. He's running his hands through his hair, tugging at it. He's been doing that ever since OT began. I'm surprised he still has hair.

Fitting enough, Brenna and I are the ones who face-off. Both of us are grinning as the ref drops the puck. For the first time tonight, Brenna loses the face-off. It sends a jolt of victory through my blood. She's been the killer in the face-off department tonight. No one, until now, has beat her. I feel accomplished.

Quickly, I send the puck back to Preston at defence. He takes a wicked slap-shot at the net. Drew kicks his right leg out and directs the puck into the corner. Jayden and one of the opposing defencemen chase after the puck, causing a pause in the corner. As they battle it out, the puck stuck between the boards and Jayden's skate, the rest of loiter around them, waiting for the puck to come free.

I'm positioned in front of the net, with the other defenceman continues to shadow me, keeping his eyes on the direction of the puck and any moves I might make.

As they continue to battle, my gaze scours the ice and finds Brenna. She's pushing past the blue line, away from where the battle is occurring. My mindset is suddenly torn in two. Do I go after Brenna or stay here should Jayden win the puck? It's difficult to decide, as my role isn't defence. But Preston and Mitchell are occupied at the moment.

Luckily, I don't have to decide. Jayden wins the puck, sending it around the boards to KJ. He corrals the puck and inspects the ice, making a crisp pass across the ice to Preston. The puck goes back and forth between our defence before Preston passes the puck to Jayden. He shoots from the top of the face-off zone. I jump, hoping the puck doesn't deflect from my skate.

It doesn't, but Drew manages to get a piece of the puck. The deflection is weak, leaving the puck sitting in front of the net. He falls to his knees, reaching for the puck.

But Drew's skate slides. He slips, falling to the ice on his stomach. His expression is panic-stricken as he scrambles back to his feet.

Without a second thought, I charge for the puck.

The net is wide open. I could end this game right now. We could win.

I've never been so desperate for a goal.

And I'm inches away from shooting when Adams, one of Brenna's teammates, slides his hockey stick beneath mine, lifting the blade from the ice and allowing Drew to cover the puck. Pushing from one side of the net to the other, Drew keeps the game alive by dropping the puck and using his goalie stick to pass it to Nick.

Panic fills my gut. I know where this is going. Brenna is still loitering outside of the blue line. If Nick gets the puck to her, she'll have a breakaway.

A rush of adrenaline consumes me. Shoving past Adams, I skate like hell for Brenna. Not caring about whether she has the puck.

Nick passes the puck, and it slides past our defence.

The puck slides ahead of Brenna.

She skates after it, all alone.

I push harder, trying to get to her, cursing as my lungs scream and my body aches with exhaustion.

Nononono.

Brenna crosses my team's blue line with total control of the puck. I'm right behind her, reaching around with my hockey stick and trying to stop her without causing a penalty or a penalty shot. My efforts are null. Brenna's always been able to skate circles around me. While she can't match the power of my shot, I can't match her speed.

Desperation creeps into my skin. There's nothing I can do to stop her, but I continue to push.

About a metre ahead of me, Brenna hesitates, which causes Catina to drop to the ice, giving Brenna free rein of the upper portion of the net. My heart sinks as Brenna takes her shot.

The next thing I hear is a roar of cheers. Sticks, helmet, and gloves clatter to the ground.

My shoulders slouch as I skate around our net, whacking my hockey stick against the boards. It snaps in two. I'm pissed. Pissed that I couldn't keep up to her, but also pissed that the defence weren't watching her.

However, my pissy attitude fades away almost as fast as it came. What good will come out of being pissed? That's how a hockey game goes. You learn from the mistakes you make.

I close my eyes and tilt my face to the ceiling, groaning. Although the cheering makes me happy for Brenna and the rest of her team, the loss still stings. My heart is heavy as I skate over to Jayden and KJ. Jayden's leaning against the boards. His gloves and stick are on the ice, and he's staring at the scoreboard as if he's trying to will away the score. KJ is hunched over, breathing heavily, and his hockey stick rests across his thighs.

I join them without a word, sitting down on the ice with my back against the board while Brenna's team celebrates. My hockey stick rests beside me. The ice is cold through my equipment.

"Fuck," KJ says, breaking the silence. "That one stings."

Jayden and I grunt in agreement while watching Brenna's team celebrate. They're exchanging hugs and cheering. Their expressions are happy.

Removing my helmet, I run a hand through my sweaty hair. I'm not disappointed in how my team played. We pushed the game until there were twenty-five seconds left. That's quality hockey. Losses just suck, and you're allowed to feel sad. As long as you don't act like a dick to the other players.

Plus, I'm happy for Brenna. She deserves to end the season like this. A lot of shit happened because of my ignorance and inability to stand up to Connor. This win must feel like more than a consolation prize.

Speaking of Connor... I hope he's here, grinding his teeth at the fact that Brenna owns this league. No doubt she'll win MVP. Make her mark at UBC. Enter the Olympics to represent Canada.

Brenna exchanges another hug with Tucker before skating over to Cat. She's leaning against the boards in front of our bench, sipping her water. She looks bittersweet. Cat deserved a win after making an excellent debut.

They exchange a few words before hugging and rapidly nodding their heads. Brenna's probably invited her to the party later tonight. It's tradition for the winning team to get together and party. Something tells me this one will be different. If Brenna has invited Cat, then no doubt she'll invite us, too. Even if it feels like an intrusion, I think I'll go.

After her exchange with Cat, Brenna skates over to us. She tosses her stick and gloves to the ground, along with her helmet. Then she holds her hands out to me. I take them, and she helps me to my feet.

Next thing I know, she's hugging me. The force causes me to stumble backwards until my back is pressed against the boards. I rest a gloved hand against her lower back, steadying us.

"Hockey's over," she murmurs against my chest.

There isn't a need for her to repeat those words. Just like I do when I'm about to throw a punch, I drop my gloves in typical fashion: shaking them off by my sides. They land on the ice, sliding in opposite directions.

Soon, my hands are cupping her face. I tip her chin up, slanting my mouth across hers and kissing her with a force that should be experienced behind closed doors. To my left, I hear KJ loosen a low whistle. Jayden and Hunter make howling noises. Behind Brenna's back, I flip them off. My cheeks are burning red, hot and full of embarrassment. I don't mind PDA, but when it's on the ice in front of everyone? Yeah, it intimidates me a little.

But this moment is too good to give up.

Because even though I didn't win the game, I still got the girl.