Chapter 101: Championship Match

Finally, it was game day. This was the championship match I had always wanted to play in, but here, I was not happy. I felt restless, tight, and completely scared. Kieran was only sick because he protected my ass now he is recovering from the terrible things his father had done to him.

A small, annoying voice in my head kept saying it was all my fault. If I had not come to this school for revenge, maybe he would be safe right now.

I walked out of the loud dressing room and stood by the plexiglass wall looking at the big, white rink.

The bright stadium lights shone down on the clean ice, making it look like a sheet of glass. Seeing it reminded me of my twin brother. This was his dream. He loved hockey more than anything, but his sick heart had stopped him from ever playing on this stage.

Now, I was standing here in his place, wearing his jersey and pretending to be him. And the worst part? I was still not close to exposing the bad people who had actually hurt him. I felt like a liar, a shadow, and an absolute failure.

The arena was completely full. Thousands of people filled the stands, creating a roaring noise. Big television cameras were everywhere, pointing at the ice from every angle. This match was being broadcast to the whole country on national television. I looked up at the special VIP seats and saw professional scouts with clipboards and notebooks, ready to watch our every move.

Suddenly, the speakers above the ice came to life. The commentators started talking loudly, and their voices echoed through the big building.

"Welcome to the national championship match!" one commentator said over the microphone. "Today, Crestwood Academy faces the mighty Denver Blizzadefencet Crestwood has a huge problem today, folks. Their star player and team captain, Kieran Hampton, is completely missing from the lineup. Reports say he is very sick and could not travel."

The second commentator agreed immediately. "That is right, Jim. Without Hampton, Crestwood looks incredibly weak. They have not been able to beat the Denver Blizzard for the last few seasons. The Blizzard are four-time consecutive champions for a reason. They are hard-working, they are fast, and they simply do not lose. Crestwood needs a miracle to survive today."

Hearing those words made my stomach turn. They were already saying we would lose. Nobody believed in us without Kieran.

We had to walk through the narrow, dark concrete tunnels to get to the ice rink Because both teams share the same facility, we ran straight into the Denver Blizzard players. They call them the "Beasts," and now I knew why. They were huge. They looked like giant walls dressed in steel white jerseys.

As we walked past them, they did not stay quiet. They used the tight space to try and break my confidence before we even laced up our skates. One giant player bumped his heavy shoulder hard against mine, forcing me back against the rough wall.

"Hey, look, it's the little replacement," the giant player laughed. He had a mean, arrogant smile. "Where is your captain, Crestwood? Did he run away to the hospital because he was scared of a real fight with the champions?"

Another Denver player leaned close to my face, his breath hot against my skin. "You look incredibly small, kid. You sure your little heart can take what we are going to do to you out there? Don't cry when we break you into pieces."

My hands shook with pure anger inside my thick gloves. I clenched my jaw tight. I wanted to scream at them, but replying and showing weakness was not in my dictionary. I kept my eyes straight ahead, swallowed my rage, and walked past them into the blinding, bright light of the arena.

The referee blew his loud whistle. The game began.

Immediately, the Denver Blizzard showed us why they were the villains of this story.

They were not just good; they were like a flawless, punishing machine. Their players moved across the ice faster than anyone I had ever seen. They were much bigger than us, and they completely overwhelmed our team from the very first second. Our defenders could not keep up with their speed. Every time we tried to form an attack, a white jersey would crash into us and steal the black puck.

Within the first ten minutes, our whole strategy fell apart. Their forward player broke through our defence and scored a goal.

The Denver fans in the stands cheered loudly, making the glass shake. Just two minutes later, they did it again. They passed the puck perfectly right through our legs and scored a second goal. The scoreboard now read two to zero. We were losing terribly, and the match had barely started.

But the Blizzard were not just playing hard hockey. They were playing dirty. It seemed like they had done their homework on every single one of us. They knew exactly how we moved, and they predicted our plays before we could even make them. Worse than that, they had found out my deepest psychological weakness. They knew about Asher's heart disease, and they used that personal baggage to torment me ruthlessly.

Whenever I skated near their bench, their players would lean over and shout cruel things at me.

"Hey, Carter! Is your weak heart starting to give out yet?" one of them yelled, laughing.

"Don't die on the ice, little boy! We don't want to carry a corpse out of here!" another one shouted.

Their words cut deep into my mind. I was trying so hard to be my brother, but hearing them talk about his sickness made me feel a heavy wave of panic. To make things worse, they had a massive defensive player who was their designated "Enforcer."

This guy was a mountain of a man, and his only job for the day was to "shadow" me. He followed me everywhere on the ice. Every single time my stick touched the black puck, he would charge at me like a freight train.

BOOM!

He hit me hard against the thick boards. The impact rattled my teeth inside my mouth. The wind was completely knocked out of me. I felt the tight chest binding under my jersey cutting off my air. I gasped for oxygen, my chest hurting badly. My mind started to spin, and panic clawed at my throat as I struggled to stand up on my skates.

This heavy physical war on the ice quickly caused a total mental collapse on our team bench. Everyone was stressed, angry, and scared. And that was when the real internal threat struck.

Theo Mercer was on the ice with me. I thought he was my friend but jealousy and bitterness had made him toxic. He wanted to teach me a lesson.

During a crucial play, I managed to get away from my shadow. I was wide open near the Denver net. The puck flew toward Theo. All he had to do was pass it to me, and we would score a goal.

"Theo! Pass the puck! I am open!" I screamed, waving my stick in the air.

Theo looked right at me. I could see the cold, angry look behind his plastic visor. He deliberately turned away from me. He refused to pass the puck. Instead, he made a slow, lazy pass to the other side of the ice.

A Denver player easily stole it. Because Theo stepped completely out of his defensive position to avoid helping me, he left me completely unprotected.

The giant Denver Enforcer saw this and came rushing at me again. He cornered me against the glass and slammed his elbow hard into my ribs.

A sudden spike of pure rage exploded in my chest. Theo had betrayed me. He was destroying the game on purpose. Blinded by anger and frustration, I lost control. I lashed out. I raised my hands and shoved the Denver player back with all my might, throwing him onto the hard ice right in front of the official.

The referee’s whistle shrieked through the air. He pointed his finger directly at me.

"Number fourteen, two minutes in the penalty box for roughing!" the referee shouted.

"He hit me first! Didn't you see that?" I yelled back, my voice cracking with frustration.

"In the box now, Carter!" the referee ordered.

I turned around and skated off the ice, my heart pounding against my ribs. I slammed the door of the penalty box shut and sat down on the hard bench.

The cold glass separated me from the rest of the arena.

Sitting there was absolute torture. Because of my short temper and my blind anger, my team now had to play at a brutal four-on-five disadvantage.

They had to execute a two-minute penalty kill against the best team in the country. I watched through the glass as the Denver Blizzard passed the puck around our tired defenders like a pack of hungry wolves. Our players were bleeding, fracturing, and fighting with everything they had, throwing their bodies in front of one hundred-mile-per-hour shots just to survive my mistake.

I hit my absolute emotional rock bottom right there in that plastic box. I put my head in my heavy hockey gloves, hiding my face. Tears of guilt and anger felt hot against my eyes. I was failing everyone. I was failing Kieran, who trusted me to protect his team. I was failing Asher, whose memory I was supposed to honour.

Finally, the loud buzzer sounded, ending the first period. The scoreboard was a disaster. Crestwood was trailing miserably, and our spirits were completely broken.

We walked off the ice and retreated to the locker room for the intermission. The moment the door slammed shut, total chaos broke out. The room instantly exploded with anger.

"What the hell were you thinking out there, Carter?" Landon Brooks shouted, slamming his hockey stick hard against a metal locker. The loud CLANG echoed through the room. "You took a stupid penalty and left us to die out there!"

"Me? What about Theo?" I screamed back, ripping my helmet off and throwing it onto the bench. My face was red and covered in sweat. "Theo is throwing the game! He refused to pass me the puck when I was wide open! He stepped out of position on purpose!"

Milo Hayes jumped up, his face furious. "Stop lying, Carter! You are just trying to blame others because you can't handle the pressure without Hampton here to hold your hand!"

"I am not lying!" I yelled, stepping closer to them.

"Look at the tape! He left me open to get hit by their enforcer!"

Theo stood by his locker, calmly taking off his gloves. He looked at me with a fake innocent face, but his eyes were full of venom.

"I didn't see you, Asher. The game is moving too fast for a sick kid, remember? Maybe your heart just can't keep up with a real championship match. You are dragging the whole team down with your personal drama."

"You piece of trash!" I shouted. I lunged forward, ready to grab his jersey and rip it off his chest. Landon and Milo instantly grabbed my arms, holding me back as I struggled against them.

"Let me go! He did it on purpose! He wants us to lose!" I screamed, my voice echoing off the walls. The room was in complete chaos, with guys shouting at each other, sticks hitting the floor, and jerseys being ripped in anger. We were tearing our own team apart from the inside.

"ENOUGH!"

A loud, furious voice cut through the screaming like a sharp saw blade. The room instantly went dead silent. Everyone froze.

Coach Donovan Hale walked into the centre of the locker room. His face was red with anger, and his chest was heaving. He looked at every single one of us, his sharp eyes drilling into our souls. No one dared to move or breathe.

"Look at yourselves," Coach Hale said, his voice dangerously low and fierce. "You look like a bunch of children fighting in a schoolyard, not an elite hockey team playing for a national title. We are down by multiple goals against a team that hasn't lost a match in four years, and instead of fighting them, you are trying to kill each other in here."

He walked right up to Theo and me, standing between us.

"I don't care about your personal vendettas," Coach Hale barked, looking directly into my eyes and then into Theo's. "I don't care who didn't pass to whom, and I don't care about who took a stupid penalty. Whatever beef you have, you leave it right here on this floor.

If I see one more selfish play out there, I will bench both of you for the rest of the season. Do you understand me?"

Neither of us said a word. We just nodded our heads.

Coach Hale turned to face the whole room, slamming his fist against the strategy board. "Denver expects us to quit. They think that because Kieran Hampton is not here, Crestwood is dead. They want you to break.

But I know what this team is capable of when you actually play together. You have one final choice right now. You can keep crying and fighting each other in this room and fail together on national television. Or you can wipe the blood off your faces, stand up like men, and unite as a team out there on that ice. What is it going to be?"

The room stayed completely quiet, but the heavy tension shifted. The anger toward each other began to turn into a burning desire to prove the world wrong. We looked at our ripped jerseys and our bruised bodies. There were no more words left to say. We had to go out there and fight.