Iced Out (Leighton U Book 1)
Iced Out: Chapter 34

“This is it, guys.” I glance between my teammates huddled around me, hanging on my every word before we head out on the ice. “This is what we’ve been working for all season. A chance to bring a Frozen Four victory back to Leighton.”

Nervous energy radiates from every single person in the room, Coach included as he watches me talk to the team. It’s been hanging in the air around all of us since we got on the team bus to make the trip from Chicago down to Indianapolis, only growing in intensity as game time came nearer.

Now, it’s vibrating the entire room, along with everything—and everyone—in it.

Myself included.

Though, when my gaze collides with Oakley’s from across the huddle, I realize the buzzing through my veins isn’t just from the impending game.

“We’re solid as long as we remember we are a team. We play as one, we lose as one. This isn’t the time for showboating or theatrics. I know scouts and agents are probably here, and you might want to make an impression, but they don’t matter right now. Only this moment does.”

Nods and murmurs float through the space, all in agreement.

“It’s time to put it all on the line. Play your hearts out, but most of all, play smart.” That gets a few of my teammates sharing dubious looks among themselves, and I let out a soft chuckle. “I know it’s rich coming from me. But if we play hard and play smart, there’s no reason we won’t go home with that trophy. I believe in us, and you should too.”

It’s true. I have faith, as long as we’re smart, the championship title is as good as ours. It doesn’t matter that we’re the underdogs in this battle, or that this is the biggest test we’ll face this season as a team. Nothing feels impossible right now, including taking home this win.

Sure, I tend to be an optimist by nature as it is, but it’s more than just that. It’s a feeling, seated deep in the marrow of my bones. One that’s been shot up on steroids ever since signing with Louis a couple weeks ago. A belief in this team, and more importantly, myself.

And the guys…they’re feeding off it. Roaring around me, clapping and chanting and cheering to pump themselves up as we prepare to exit the locker room for the rink. A few of my teammates even jostle me around, smacking my pads and shaking me so I get as hyped as they are.

It works, even if I don’t need the adrenaline, I’m ready to bore full-steam ahead, not stopping until the Frozen Four trophy is held over our heads.

When Coach calls out for us to hit the ice, I choose not to lead the charge out, instead staying back to allow myself one second to just…breathe.

Apparently I’m not the only one with that idea, because once most of the guys shuttle out to the rink, I notice Oakley still lingering off to the left of the doors.

“Nice speech, Captain.”

The guy I was six months ago would’ve heard only venom and sarcasm laced in those words, even if there wasn’t any to begin with. But I see them at face value now, and they’re genuine.

“What can I say? I spoke from the heart.”

I close the distance between us, his fixated gaze causing my pulse to thrum beneath my skin. I expect him to stop me when I reach the doors, but instead he just holds it open and falls in step beside me on our way to the ice.

“This is really it, huh? The last time we have to play together?”

His observation causes me to stutter a step, because until he said it, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. I’ve only been thinking about the team, not myself.

Wow. Maybe I really was cut out for this leadership crap.

“I guess so,” I murmur, the weight of the realization hitting me like a sack of bricks.

“Well, then let’s make it count and go out kicking some ass?” He smiles. “And try not to take that too literally.”

And there it is.

But the thing I’ve realized about Oakley’s little jabs since this whole thing started between us? I don’t actually mind them. They don’t get under my skin or light my insides on fire the way they used to.

They usually make me smile or laugh right along with him.

And this one’s no different.

The first fifty minutes of the game fly by in what seems like a single second, and as I hit the ice for another line rotation, the entire arena seems to buzz with unchecked excitement.

It’s been a Frozen Four match-up for the record books, two teams putting it all on the line as we go head-to-head for the championship. And boy, have the guys from Ransom University put us through our paces for the past two and a half periods, barely giving an inch no matter how many times we push for more.

Their goalie, Henderson, has played a stellar game, blocking shot after shot on goal. Both Oakley and I have managed to sneak one by him, but it seems every time the lamp lights up for us, they come right back and do the same thing.

Like right now, when their star forward, O’Rourke, comes out of nowhere and sends the puck sailing past Cam, straight into the net.

Damnit.

The score’s all tied up at two a piece now, and we’re all desperate looking for a break in Ransom’s game. O’Rourke, especially, since he’s scored both of their goals. But Cam’s still been killing it in the net, stopping far, far more than he’s dared let in. I don’t think he’s made as many saves in a single game this season as he has tonight.

He rips off his helmet, sweat-soaked hair sticking to his forehead. I skate to a stop beside him, grabbing his water bottle from the top of the net and handing it to him.

“The dude’s a beast,” he mutters, eyes trained on O’Rourke as he takes a swig from the bottle. “I’m surprised I’ve stopped half the shots he’s taken on me.”

“Because you’re a beast too,” I tell him. “You got this, man. Shake it off.”

His blue eyes shift to me, face completely stoic. “Do me a favor? Check him a little harder into the boards next time. Rattle him a bit. Give me an edge.”

I push away from the net, a smirk plastered on my face. “Remember what I said about playing a clean game?”

He scowls, calling out, “This really isn’t the time to be turning over a new leaf, de Haas!”

Weston and McGowan have already joined Rossi at center ice for a face-off, and I slide up on the left of the circle to get in position. Oakley’s across from me, already zoned in and waiting for the puck to drop.

The second it does, Rossi sweeps it out from Ransom’s center, flicking it over to me for a breakaway. The puck changes hands rapidly after that, going from me to Oakley and back to Rossi and finally back to me for a shot on goal.

Blocked by Henderson.

Fuck.

Coach calls for a line change, and I saddle up between Oakley and McGowan as we wait for our turn in the rotation. It’s painful though—watching and waiting—especially in circumstances like these. Every shift I spend off the ice feels like an eternity, and when I glance over at Oakley, I can tell he’s feeling the same. For him, I’d assume it’s even worse, what with his control issues.

But I get it. When I’m not out there actively playing, stuck behind the boards waiting my turn, I feel anxious as hell.

Thankfully we’ll have one more turn on the ice, and when the time comes, the five of us on our line barrel out of the team box for the puck.

Ransom has possession, a defenseman slapping the puck past McGowan to O’Rourke, who just checked Weston into the boards before heading straight for Cam and the net. Dread fills my stomach as I skate after him, Oakley right along with me, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no way we’ll catch him in time.

My breath catches in my throat as O’Rourke takes a shot on goal, the puck barreling straight toward our net…

And Cam blocks it.

Relief floods through me as I skate around the net, waiting for Cam to toss the puck back into play. He does to Rossi, who skates down the ice toward the net like a bat outta hell.

The two Ransom defensemen team up on Rossi, corralling him against the boards near center ice until McGowan and Oakley help break the puck free. Once they manage to, it goes flying to the other side of the ice, straight into O’Rourke’s grubby little hands.

I swipe the puck from him, checking him straight into the boards in the process. It’s a clean hit—I made sure—and the lack of a penalty whistle proves it. But at least I paid up on Cam’s favor a little bit.

Quickly passing the puck off to Oakley, I glance up at the clock.

Twenty seconds.

I’d really like to keep this from going to sudden death, but we need to replace a way around Henderson.

McGowan blocks one of the Ransom forwards, allowing Oakley to slip by and skate down the ice on a breakaway. I’m right there with him, adrenaline pumping my heart faster, and my legs push me to keep up.

Ten seconds.

Two Ransom players converge on Oakley, effectively blocking his path to the net.

I’m open, I’m open, I chant silently.

As if reading my mind, Oakley passes the puck to me, and it all falls into place. A quick snap from me over to Rossi as he finishes circling around the back side of the net gives us the opening we need.

He takes the shot and the lamp lights up…with the final buzzer going off a moment later.

The sound echoes, loud and glorious, making the crowd go absolutely haywire. The arena is overtaken with screaming and cheering in a roar so deafening, I can’t even hear my own breathing. My heart races in my chest, amplified by the cadence of applause and ricocheting off my ribs at a hundred miles per hour.

I replace Oakley on the other side of Rossi and Cam, all their helmets, sticks, and gloves tossed on the ice as they celebrate the victory. As if feeling my stare, his eyes replace me, and I toss my own gear before closing the distance between us. The second I’m within two feet, I launch myself at him, only to have two strong arms hold me to his chest. Anchoring me there as best as he can with all these fucking pads in the way.

“We did it.” My hand wraps around the back of his neck, and I pull his sweat-soaked forehead against mine. “We actually fucking did it.”

He nods, his nose bumping mine when he does. “You were…amazing, Quinn.”

I hug him more, tighter and closer than I have in weeks. And it’s the first time in those weeks I’ve actually felt…whole.

What the fuck is that except—

“I love you too,” I say, bringing my mouth to his ear. “I love you so fucking much.”

He pulls back, dark brown eyes lighting up in ways I haven’t seen in far too long. And I’ve missed it more than I realized.

“You’re sure it’s not the high of victory talking?”

“After all the shit you pulled?” I laugh. “Absolutely not. It’s all me, baby.”

His palm cups the side of my face as he examines my face like a blind man seeing for the first time. Slowly and thoroughly, memorizing every inch. And despite the pandemonium happening around us, like I’m the only thing that exists.

A flash of his tongue peeks out at the corner of his lips, and his eyes take on a sorrowful sheen. “I know you’re probably sick of hearing me say I’m so sorry, but—”

“You’re right. I am.” My fingers wrap around his pads and I give him a wicked grin. “So you better make this last one worth it.”

The playfulness in my tone must be enough to make him relax and even get a small smile forming. “Just know…it’ll be a long time before I ever forgive myself for—”

I shake my head and cut him off again, this time by crushing my mouth to his.

My tongue spears between his lips, my arms wrap around his neck, and I kiss him the way I’ve never kissed him before: freely and out in the open, where the entire fucking world can see.

And if possible, the roar of the crowd gets even louder.

Then again, it’s not every day you see two hockey players making out on the ice after winning the Frozen Four.

Breaking for some air, I rest my forehead against his again, needing some part of my body touching his at all times. Grounding me in a moment seemingly too perfect to possibly be real.

“Did you just kiss me on national television?” he whispers against my lips.

I nod. “You were still trying to apologize. I had to shut you up.”

And then I kiss him again.

“Ah, jeez! Get a room, you two!” Rossi shouts, causing the two of us to break apart.

“Yeah, but preferably at Quinton’s,” Camden cuts in. I look up in time to see Rossi give him a what the fuck look, and Cam gestures toward me, sheepishly adding, “What? He’s a noisy fucker. Quite literally, and I don’t feel like having to sleep with earplugs tonight.”

Oakley chuckles, pressing a kiss behind my ear. “Mmm, just the way I like it.”

“Good to know.” I grin, a different kind of adrenaline heating my blood. “Because celebrations are in order, and once we’re back to campus, I know exactly how we can kick them off.”