Sweat dripped down my face as I sat in the locker room with twenty other guys, my focus on our coach in the center of the room.

"There are some players who would be proud of how tonight has gone so far; who would be content with the one point we've secured." No one said a word as he cast his gaze around, hitting every single player. "But I know that's not how you men roll. Every win we can get in these regular season games pushes us that much closer to the playoffs, so forget the crowd. Forget the bouncing puck that tied up the game. If we allow them to gain their momentum back right off the bat, we won't have a chance. Go out with your heads high and go out fighting. Show Washington we have what it takes to come out on top."

The chorus of voices from my teammates rung loud and I joined in. We couldn't let the Eagles take this game. We had to keep the adrenaline flowing, get control of the puck, and make a statement.

The Knights weren't backing down.

Going into tonight's game, we were coming off a blow-out loss back at home and looking to redeem ourselves. As expected, Washington had come out in the first period with less power behind them, and we'd taken advantage of it quickly. Though we'd been up two in middle of the second, Washington had scored on a power play, closing in on our lead, and in the final minutes of the third, they'd gotten a lucky goal to tie it up.

Which meant when the buzzer sounded, the game was far from over, and we were going into overtime.

The short break between periods was critical for getting our heads back in the game. To recharge and stretch out, but once the ice was cleaned, it was time to get back out there. The energy in the building buzzed throughout the arena as we took hold of our sticks and headed down the walkway towards the ice.

All it would take to end this game now was one shot—a golden goal—and whoever scored would capture the win for their team.

With Nyberg looking secure between the pipes, Jack's line took the ice first, along with our top defensemen, while the rest of us watched from the bench as the puck was dropped. Managing to get a piece of it, Jack dropped the puck back to the defense before skating past the opposing center to find an opening. For the first minute, we took control, making solid passes and taking over their end of the ice, but soon enough, the back and forth began.

Every time a player went down the ice, whether they were dressed in navy or white, it seemed to push the crowd to the edge of their seats. But time and time again, shots missed the net and the goalies made spectacular saves. There was no doubt Washington wanted this just as badly as we did.

Time in the period was winding down, which only seemed to propel everyone to push harder, because no one wanted the game to end in a shoot-out.

When the whistle sounded, signaling an offside Eagles skater, Schmidt, Wellsley, and I jumped over the boards and took to the ice. Getting in formation around the blue-line, the referee made sure each team was ready, and my eyes focused on the puck as it was dropped at Wellsley's skates.

As the left winger for Washington took possession of the puck, we moved into a defensive mindset and focused on protecting our net. Their puck control was impressive as they passed it back and forth across the ice, but when a stick broke when a slap shot was attempted, Schmidt took advantage and scooped up the puck.

Pushing myself as hard as I could, I rushed down the ice alongside my teammates. The puck connected with my stick as I crossed the blue line, and with two Washington players closing in on me, I rounded the back of the net and pushed it forwards to the defensemen at the line. Moving towards the open ice, I watched as the puck was passed off to Schmidt, then Wellsley, then back to Schmidt, and before it happened, I knew it would be coming my way through the lane the Eagles had left undefended.

Giving myself the best possible angle, I moved forward slightly and got ready for the one timer. As soon as the puck connected with my stick, it sailed cleanly towards the net, but the echoing ding of the post rung loudly. Cursing, I urged forwards to try for the rebound.

It was no use though, because before a Knights player could get a stick on it, the goalie had smothered the puck, effectively killing the play.

Heading towards the bench, I tried to bury my frustration as Jack's line went back out to take the face-off. Legs bouncing, I gripped my stick tightly and hoped they could capitalize on the momentum we'd created.

The puck dropped and Jack surged forwards after sending it backwards towards our defense. As the forwards spread out across the ice, the puck was sent down to the corner, and one of our men spent a few moments battling against the boards before the puck came free.

Right onto the tape of Jack's stick.

It was a tight angle, but he didn't hesitate as he launched a shot towards the top right-hand corner.

And a collective cry of displeasure was heard throughout the arena as the puck sailed just above the goalie's glove and hit the back of the net.

The buzzer sounded and our bench erupted, not acknowledging the disappointed Washington fans as we flooded the ice. Half of us headed for Jack, and the other half headed towards Nyberg at the other end of the ice, knowing that without him, the game would've been over long before now.

But we'd stuck it out. All of us—together—had been determined to get another win under our belts, and tonight, our will to win had been enough.

***

By the time the after-game interviews had wrapped and everyone had showered and changed back into the suits we were required to wear to and from games, it was nearly eleven. Some of the guys had headed back to the hotel early, wanting to grab a beer at the downstairs bar in celebration, but I'd hung around the arena, waiting for the team bus.

Despite the fans and reporters hovering outside, everything was loaded up quickly, the trainers taking one final sweep of the dressing room to make sure nothing was left behind.

As the bus traveled the moonlit streets of the capital, a few players allowed the fatigue to settle in while others, including myself, joined in on recounting the game. How we'd played, the areas we could work on, and what strategies we could utilize in our upcoming games, and before long, we pulled up outside the hotel.

"Alright guys," Coach Davidson said, the first one to stand as he turned to face us, "that's enough game talk for tonight. Get some sleep, and remember, if you're late for the bus tomorrow morning, you're subjecting the whole team to extra drills at tomorrow's practice."

There were a few grumbles mixed in with the good-natured laughs as we unloaded the bus and headed for our rooms.

"Brookes," Orlov called as I made my way to the elevator with a few of the others. I stopped and turned around, raising an eyebrow in question. "My room in twenty minutes?"

Having slowly begun to pick up on how most of the guys spent their nights away from home, I knew what he was on about. And since I had yet to feel the signs of exhaustion settle in, I nodded. "Sure, man."

He grinned, catching up with me to clap me on the shoulder. "Room 1220, and rookie brings the snacks."

"Got it." I chuckled. "See you in a few."

Parting ways as he no doubt went to rally up a couple more guys, I rode the elevator up to my room, stripping out of my suit almost as soon as the door clicked shut behind me. After another quick shower, I changed into the sweats I'd brought with me, ordered room service to Orlov's room, and pocketed my cell phone before heading upstairs.

Orlov opened the door, waving me into the room as the guys who'd beaten me here rearranged some of the furniture to host a late-night poker game.

"Hey," Schmidt drawled as he walked in, carrying a chair from another room into the suite, "it's the rookie's first poker night."

Wellsley looked over from where he stood across the room, a grin on his face. "You ready for this?"

"I think I can handle it," I replied with amusement as I moved forward to help. "What's the buy in?"

"No actual money involved. Coach's orders," Orlov explained, pulling a poker set out of his luggage and dropping it onto the table. "This is all about bragging rights."

"Alright then."

Taking a seat at the table, I helped sort out the stacks of chips into six piles despite the fact there were only five of us at the table. Just as I was about to ask who we were waiting for, a knock sounded, and Orlov passed off the deck of cards he'd been shuffling to Nyberg as he got up to answer it.

"Look who finally decided to show up," we heard him say as the door opened, watching as Jack strolled into the room with an amused grin on his lips.

"You're late, Jack," Wellsley called as the two guys made their way over to the table, filling up the seats for tonight's game. It was a bit squished, considering six of us were huddled around one small table, but it'd do. "And while we all know you were probably talking to your girl, it also means you got yourself stuck with the first big blind of the night."

His lips curled. "That's okay. You know it'll all come back my way by the end."

"Big words from the captain," Orlov teased, making sure the chips had been distributed evenly before motioning for Nyberg to deal out the first hand. "But let's see if they hold any weight."

After ten rounds, my stack was similar to that with which I'd started. I'd lost a few hands, folded three times, and come out on top twice—a full house giving me the win both times. It put me in line with Nyberg but behind both Jack and Orlov, who'd each compiled a generous stack of chips. Meanwhile Schmidt and Wellsley were only just holding on, their stacks quickly depleting.

When the next hand was dealt, sticking me with a two of hearts and a jack of clubs, I folded quickly. Tossing my cards towards the center of the table, I reached into my pocket, pulling out my phone as it vibrated.

Congrats on the win tonight! Was watching when I had the chance and I would've texted you sooner but it's been pretty hectic here tonight.

Thanks! I sent back, a bit surprised Jo had even had time to tune in, though I assumed she'd likely had the game broadcasting on one of the televisions at the pub. You on break?

For the next couple of minutes, yeah. Though I figured you already would've crashed after having to play an extra period.

Not yet. I added in the emoji of a smiley face with its tongue out after the two words. Got invited to play poker with a few of the guys.

The same game Jack always raves about?

That would be the one.

Then good luck! And a word of advice... Jack likes to bluff a lot of the time.

The corners of my lips lifted as I glanced up to see Jack upping his bid, with only him and Nyberg left in the round. Yeah, I've come to realize that. I replied, immediately tapping off another message. We still on for tomorrow?

Her reply came in just seconds later. If you keep your promise, then yeah, definitely.

Trust me, it won't be fancy. It'll be the most down-to-earth date you've ever been on. Totally chill.

Haha, I can't wait.

I'll pick you up around six, if that's okay?

See you then!

"Earth to Brookes," one of the guys said, though I couldn't tell which one as I tucked my phone away and saw them all looking at me, clearly amused.

I lifted an eyebrow, trying to play cool even though it was apparent I'd completely zoned out for a few moments. "What?"

Schmidt, who was seated to my right, nudged the deck of cards towards me. "It's your turn to deal, though if you want to bow out and keep texting the woman who's managed to put a smile on your face, we'll understand."

The other guys chuckled as I shook my head with amusement, taking the cards and dealing out two to everyone. Jack, who I realized was looking my way with inkling of curiosity, waited until first bets were made before speaking up. "I'm guessing the date with Joelle went well?"

Somehow, I found it hard to believe word hadn't gotten around to him already. "I mean, not really," I started, flipping over three cards to start the round. "We got on well and she's gorgeous, but I took her out to an upscale Italian place for dinner. And it turns out she isn't exactly a fancy restaurant kind of girl."

"Yikes." Jack lifted a brow after cringing. "Then what's happening now?"

"She gave me a second chance to redo the date," I explained. "Which, hell, will likely be my last shot if I mess it up again."

"Then don't mess it up and make it count," Schmidt cut in, as though it was that simple.

And maybe, just maybe, it was.

a/n: remember to vote and leave your thoughts below!