Chapter 44 We Did it
MIA
The final buzzer did not feel like an ending.
It felt like something snapping into place.
For a second, nobody moved. The puck was already dead on the ice, but the game still existed in everyone’s body like it had not been informed yet that it was finished.
Then the noise hit.
It came in layers. First the bench, then the glass, then the stands. Then all of it together until the rink felt like it was shaking under something bigger than hockey.
Eli reached me first.
He came off the bench fast, still half in gear, gloves off, and he hit my shoulder hard enough that my skates shifted.
“We did it,” he said.
“We did it,” I said back.
He laughed once, then looked around like he expected the ice to change if he stared at it long enough.
“I do not know what I am supposed to do right now,” he said.
“Stand,” I said.
“That is not helpful advice.”
Coach Briggs was already on the ice by then.
No skates. No rush. Same walk he always had, like nothing in the building could pull him faster than his own pace.
He stopped at the blue line and looked at all of us.
He did not smile.
Not really.
But his face was not what it had been before the game either.
“You played the game,” he said.
That was all.
No speech after that.
No breakdown.
Just that.
We understood it anyway.
Gloves started coming off. Sticks dropped. Helmets came loose. The ice filled with movement that did not belong to structure anymore. It belonged to release.
I looked up toward the stands.
Walter was there in the front section east side.
Still.
Program in his hand.
Beside him, my mother stood.
That was what made everything slow down for a moment.
She was standing.
Not sitting like she usually did. Not leaning back like she needed support.
Standing straight with both hands on the railing in front of her.
Her pink beanie was slightly crooked. Her face was pale in a way that came from effort, not weakness.
I lifted my stick slightly.
She did not wave.
She nodded once.
That was it.
No performance. No extra emotion.
Just acknowledgment.
Then I turned toward the tunnel.
Mia was already there.
Clipboard in her hand.
Not writing.
Not checking stats.
Just holding it like muscle memory had not caught up to the fact that the game was over.
Her hair was slightly loose from the tie she had worn all season. A few strands fell forward and she did not fix them.
She looked at me when I stopped.
“Final,” she said.
“Final,” I said back.
There was a pause between us that felt heavier than the noise behind us.
Then I crossed the distance.
I kissed her.
There was no hesitation in it. No adjustment. No checking if it was the right moment.
It was already the moment.
Somewhere behind her I heard Eli laugh.
Coach Briggs walked past without stopping.
“Good game, Kessler,” he said.
Same tone he always used.
But it stayed longer this time.
Mia did not step back immediately.
She stayed close enough that the noise from the arena felt distant for a second.
Then her phone buzzed.
Mine did too.
She checked hers first.
I watched her eyes move across the screen.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Media,” she said. “They want both of us.”
“Of course they do,” Eli said from behind me.
Mia turned slightly.
“You are coming,” she said to me.
“Yes,” I said.
That was not a decision anymore.
It was movement.
We went back out.
The ice had changed.
Cameras were already set up. Microphones on stands. Staff moving faster than players now.
Everything felt slightly delayed, like the building was catching up to what had already happened.
Someone called my name.
Someone else called hers.
We were placed at center ice.
A microphone was handed to me.
Then to her.
A reporter stepped forward.
“Caleb, what does this championship mean for you?”
I looked around the rink.
The glass. The stands. The empty space where the game had been.
“It means we finished what we started,” I said.
The reporter nodded, then turned to Mia.
“Mia, you have been with this team since the beginning of the season. What does this moment represent?”
She adjusted the clipboard in her hand before answering.
“It means nothing was wasted,” she said. “Everything mattered.”
That landed differently than my answer.
Cameras flashed.
The interview continued, but the questions blurred after that. Standard ones. Safe ones. Nothing that reached deeper than surface level emotion.
Then it ended.
No announcement.
Just movement away from the ice.
Back into the tunnel.
The noise stayed behind us but did not disappear immediately. It followed in waves until the doors softened it.
In the tunnel, she slowed first.
I slowed with her.
She stopped completely.
“The contract is done,” she said.
“I know,” I said.
“Six months,” she said again, like she was confirming it for herself.
“Six months,” I repeated.
She looked at me for a long moment.
“Do we go back to before?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
A pause.
She studied me like she needed to check if I meant it.
“Then what is it now?” she asked.
I did not answer immediately.
A player ran past behind us shouting something I did not catch. A staff member followed carrying equipment bags.
When the corridor cleared, I spoke.
“Now nothing is forcing us,” I said.
She nodded slowly.
“That sounds harder,” she said.
“It is,” I said.
She stepped closer and took my hand.
Not like the contract.
Not like cameras.
Just hand to hand.
“Good,” she said. “Then it is real.”
Eli walked past again and stopped for half a second.
“I am not commenting,” he said.
“You already are,” Mia said.
He kept walking.
We stayed there for a moment longer before moving toward the exit.
The tunnel opened to light.
Cold air waited outside.
Phones started buzzing again.
Mine lit up with Walter’s name.
I checked it.
Walter: Media tomorrow. Your mother is proud. She says pancakes next week. No further comment.
I showed Mia.
She read it.
“Your family communicates like press releases,” she said.
“It is efficient,” I said.
We stepped outside.
The arena behind us was still loud, but distant now.
Mia pulled her jacket tighter.
“So what happens tomorrow?” she asked.
“Meetings. Media. Clean up,” I said. “Then quiet.”
She nodded.
“That sounds unfamiliar,” she said.
“Only if you have never earned it,” I said.
She looked at me.
“We will manage it,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
We started walking.
“Same time tomorrow?” I asked.
She smiled.
“Same time tomorrow,” she said.
We left the building.