Chapter 102: Win It or Lose It

Aveline's POV

The buzzer sounded for the start of the second period. As my skates hit the ice, I knew everything had to change. I looked at the giant Denver players moving toward the centre circle. If I kept trying to fight these beasts with brute strength, I was going to get crushed. I did not have their massive size and hitting power.

But I had something else pure speed, agility And years of hockey intelligence from watching the game from the shadows.

When the referee dropped the puck, the massive Denver Enforcer charged straight at me again. He wanted to pin me against the boards and break my ribs. But this time, I didn't try to stand my ground. I waited until the very last split second, dug the sharp edges of my skates into the hard ice, and spun completely around him.

The giant mountain of a man lost his balance, his heavy body slamming empty-handed into the thick glass.

The puck was loose. I claimed it, accelerating down the ice like a flash of lightning. My vision narrowed. The world around me became a total blur of white ice and steel-blue jerseys. I used a hyper-advanced fake-out manoeuvre, tilting my left shoulder to trick the Denver defenseman before sliding the puck right between his skates.

I caught it on the other side, stared down the champion goalie, and fired a hard, precise shot right into the top corner of the net.

BANG!

The red light flashed. Crestwood had finally scored. The scoreboard changed to 2-1. It was a brilliant, momentum-shifting goal that proved the beasts could bleed.

After that, the match turned into a literal battle of attrition. The game became dirty, violent, and completely exhausting.

Every single player on the ice was skating through blinding pain. The Denver Blizzard got meaner, throwing their bodies into us with terrifying force.

Landon Brooks took a hit so hard that his hockey stick literally shattered into two pieces across the ice. Milo Hayes threw himself flat onto the frozen surface, using his bare chest to block a hundred-mile-per-hour puck that left him gasping on the bench.

We were bleeding. We were fracturing. But we refused to die.

Slowly, the score crept closer. In the middle of the third period, Landon passed the puck to Milo, who slammed it home to make it 3-2.

The Denver Blizzard fired back with an ugly offensive rush, but our defence held on by a thread. With only two minutes left on the ticking clock, I found a small gap in their wall, slipped through, and scored again.

A gruelling 3-3 tie.

The stadium was shaking from the noise, but time was running out. With less than sixty seconds left on the clock and the entire season on the line, Coach Hale made the ultimate, high-stakes gamble.

He raised his hands and screamed across the bench.

"Pull the goalie! Get off the ice! Six attackers now!"

Our goaltender quickly skated off the ice, sprinting toward the bench. He was replaced by an extra offensive player. We now had a six-on-five advantage, but our net was completely empty on the other side. It was a terrifying risk. One single mistake, one lost puck, and Denver would score into our empty net for instant death. A perfect play was our only chance at survival.

We fought like demons in their zone, but the buzzer sounded before anyone could score.

In national championship matches, there are no shootouts. There is no easy way out. The game moved into continuous, heart-stopping Sudden Death Overtime.

The very next goal would win everything. The loser would go home with nothing.

The writing was on the wall. The air felt freezing. My chest binding was soaking wet with sweat, cutting off my breath. My muscles throbbed with a deep, heavy ache.

The referee dropped the puck for overtime.

The play became rapid. Frantic.

Scrape of plastic on ice.

A sharp breath inside my helmet.

I dodged right.

The puck bounced off the boards, a wild, unpredictable black coin sliding through the red paint. Suddenly, a Denver player hooked my leg from behind. I stumbled, losing my balance, my knees hitting the hard ice. The puck was sliding away.

Denver was about to launch a breakaway toward our empty net.

Suddenly, a jersey flew past me. It was Cassian Thorne.

Instead of skating away, Cassian used his stick to block the Denver attacker. He used his heavy body as a shield, crashing into the rival player to keep the play alive. He retrieved the loose puck and looked right at me as I scrambled back onto my skates.

In that split second, a direct piece of advice Kieran had given me flashed inside my mind.

“When the defence closes the gap, don’t look at the net, Aveline. Look at the space behind the goalie's left pad. That is where the blind spot hides.”

Cassian made a beautiful, unexpected pass, sliding the black disc straight to my stick.

I didn't hesitate. I didn't look at the goalie’s face. I hyper-focused entirely on the tiny, open space behind his left pad. I pulled my stick back and executed a flawless, unpredictable manoeuvre, striking the puck with every single ounce of strength left in my bleeding body.

THWACK.

The puck sailed through the air, completely bypassing the goalie's glove, and slammed into the back of the net.

The red siren wailed loudly. The thick plexiglass walls shook from the explosive roar of the crowd. The entire arena erupted into absolute madness. The Titans had won. My teammates flooded the ice like a tidal wave, screaming, crying, and throwing their heavy gloves and sticks high into the air.

But for me, winning the game was immediately eclipsed by winning the romance.

I completely ignored the championship trophy. I ignored the flashing television cameras, the shouting reporters, and the professional scouts rushing down to the ice. I ripped my heavy helmet off my head, my sweaty hair falling into my face, and looked around the chaotic building.

Through the glass, near the dark, underground tunnel leading away from the rink, I caught sight of a tall shadow. He was walking slowly away from the noise. He looked exactly like Kieran.

My heart leapt into my throat. I didn't care about the celebration. I skated directly to the bench, jumped over the wooden wall, and started running down the tunnel,

I reached the dim, quiet corner of the underground hallway, panting heavily. I looked around. The tunnel was empty. There was nobody there.

A wave of total devastation hit my chest. My hands started to shake. Had I been imagining things? Was I so desperate to see him that my mind was playing tricks on me? I felt a heavy tear slip down my hot cheek. I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned around, wanting to walk back to the rink.

But before I could take a single step, a strong, familiar force pulled me backwards into the shadows.

A large, warm hand wrapped around my waist, spinning me around until my back hit the wall.

"Where do you think you are going?" a deep, rough voice whispered.

I smiled, my heart instantly exploding with pure relief. It was Kieran.

He looked tired, but his eyes were burning with an intense, fierce hunger.

"The championship means absolutely nothing without you," I gasped out, the raw truth ripping from my throat. "Nothing matters if you aren't here."

Kieran didn’t say a word.

He simply lunged, his large hand locking around the back of my neck, fingers threading deep into my hair. Then his mouth slammed down on mine hard, desperate, devouring.

The kiss hit like a breaking dam. All the fear, the frustration, the unbearable tension between us detonated. I gasped into him, and he drank it down, tongue stroking mine with raw hunger. My hands fisted his jersey, anchoring myself as the world spun away. The distant roar of the crowd, the pressure of the championship everything vanished. There was only him. The heat of his body. The possessive grip that said he’d never let me go.

When he pulled back just enough to breathe, his eyes burned into mine, dark and stripped bare.

“I’m yours, Aveline,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion. “Every single piece of me.”

He leaned in again, and I was ready to drown in him.

Scritch.

I stiffened instantly, my eyes flying open. I pulled back slightly, my heart leaping into my throat with sudden panic. Someone might have been down here or rather followed me from the rink.

"Kieran, wait," I whispered frantically, scanning the shadows. "Did you hear that? Someone is in here."

Kieran paused, his jaw tightening as he finally turned The atmosphere shifted from one of intense connection to one of immediate, sharp danger.