The Crimson Wolves vs. The Storm Vixens February 2019 – The Championship Game

The arena was packed, the hum of the crowd rising with the pulse of excitement. Lieth McCarthy skated onto the ice, his red and black jersey gleaming beneath the harsh rink lights. The air was frigid against his exposed skin, but he was warm beneath his gear, the heat of competition already coursing through his veins. His amber-hazel eyes were locked on the game, but they couldn’t seem to ignore the figure standing near the glass, just outside the action.

She stood there, leaning slightly forward, eyes fixed on the ice, her navy and silver Vixens jersey a stark contrast to the Crimson Wolves’ colors. The scent of popcorn and winter coats mingled in the air as his attention kept drifting toward her, even in the midst of the battle on the rink. The scrape of skates against ice and the echo of the crowd faded momentarily as his gaze followed her every subtle movement.

His sister, Rosaline, was on the other team. The intensity between them was undeniable whenever they faced off on the ice, but this—this distraction was a whole new kind of pressure. He was used to the game, used to the rivalry with Rosaline, but there was something about her that threw him off balance, made his stick feel heavier in his hands.

Brayson slapped him on the back as they lined up for the faceoff. “Come on, Mickey, focus. You’ve got this.” His glove made a dull thudding sound against Lieth’s pads.

Lieth nodded, forcing a grin. “Yeah, yeah. Just keep the puck moving.”

But as he pushed off the ice, speeding toward the puck, his mind lingered back on the stands. Focus, McCarthy. He gritted his teeth, determined not to let this be the game that slipped away because of a pretty face. The cold air stung his cheeks as he skated harder, trying to outrun his distraction.

His shift felt longer than it should. He found himself skating a little harder, pushing the pace, trying to shake off the persistent thoughts of her. The boards vibrated as players collided, the sound echoing through the arena. But the more he tried to drown it out, the louder her presence became in his mind.

The whistle blew, and the players skated off the ice for a brief respite. Lieth took a deep breath, leaning against the boards, the cold seeping through his gloves as he tried to catch his breath. The rink lights cast harsh shadows across his face as he glanced over, just for a second, and there she was again.

“Stop looking over there, McCarthy,” Bray teased as he passed, a smirk on his lips. “You’re acting like you’ve never had a fan before.”

Lieth scoffed, but the words stung a little more than they should’ve. “Fuck off, Bray. I’m focused.”

But the moment his eyes met hers again, everything else faded. The crowd noise became a distant hum, the smell of the ice filled his nostrils, and time seemed to slow as their gaze held across the barrier between them.

The game started again, and this time, Lieth was determined to push through the distraction. With seconds left on the clock, it all came down to this one final push. The game was tied, the crowd was roaring, and everything hinged on who could come through in the final moments. Lieth’s muscles burned, his lungs ached for air, but there was no way in hell he was going to let this game slip away.

He was in position, the puck sliding his way. Rosaline came barreling toward him, but Lieth was faster. He darted past her, stick in hand, eyes locked on the goal. The net came into view, the goalie out of position just enough for Lieth to make his move.

He shot.

The puck hit the back of the net with a sharp, satisfying thwack. The crowd exploded into cheers, the roar deafening as red and black jerseys converged on him. But his eyes immediately found the stands. And there she was, a smile playing on her lips as she clapped for the win.

Lieth skated over to the boards, his legs burning with the effort, but his focus was solely on her. He leaned against the glass, condensation fogging the surface where his breath hit it, and flashed her a grin that was just a little too confident. “Well, look at you, sticking around after my big win,” he said, his voice carrying over the crowd noise, but there was something more in his eyes this time—something soft.

“You know, you’re gonna have to stop looking at me like that if you don’t want me to get used to it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of himself in a way he wasn’t accustomed to. “I don’t usually get this nervous after a game, but here we are, huh?” He paused, the sounds of celebration fading around them. “So, what’s it gonna take for you to grab a drink with me after all that?”