Then a breakaway race from center ice.
Winner takes Sunday.
Richard Voss personally signed the agreement before the crowd.
“Sunday ice belongs to the families permanently if Monique wins.”
Monique looked at Briella.
“In writing.”
Richard held up the paper.
“In writing.”
Tanner whispered:
“You made him sign.”
Monique answered:
“I learned not to trust promises people can erase.”
Round one began.
Tanner scored his first shot.
Crowd cheering.
Monique scored hers.
Tanner scored again.
Monique answered.
Three.
Three.
Four.
Four.
Then Tanner fired his fifth.
Henrik stopped it.
The arena erupted.
Monique had one shot remaining.
Score here and she took the round.
Briella suddenly ran toward the officials.
“Check the puck.”
Everyone booed.
“She’s cheating.”
Henrik lifted the puck.
“The puck is fine, Briella.”
He looked at Monique.
“She is just better.”
Monique skated in.
Henrik knew nearly every shooting trick in professional hockey.
Monique gave him none of them.
No fancy move.
No deception.
She simply waited.
Henrik moved first.
The puck went between his pad and the post.
Goal.
Five for five.
Malik screamed from the stands.
“That’s my sister!”
Tanner stared at Monique.
“That was luck.”
Monique smiled.
“Then beat me in the race.”
The final challenge was simple.
Center ice to the net.
Both carrying a puck.
First clean finish wins.
Tanner prepared.
Then quietly kicked Monique’s spare stick away as she adjusted a skate.
Nobody near them noticed.
Except Malik.
“Tanner!”
Too late.
The official called them forward.
Monique reached for the stick.
Gone.
Tanner smiled.
“Oops. Guess you’ll have to forfeit.”
Henrik removed his own stick from beside the bench.
“Use mine.”
The crowd roared.
Tanner’s face darkened.
They lined up.
Monique took one breath.
She thought about Miller’s Pond.
Her mother standing beside the boards in an old winter coat.
Malik at twelve.
Hospital bills.
Midnight shifts.
Six years driving circles around this same rink while other people chased dreams she had packed into boxes.
The whistle sounded.
Tanner exploded forward.
He was younger.
Stronger.
Faster.
Monique knew that before the race started.
So she did not race him.
She raced the ice.
At the first stride Tanner pushed too hard.
His skate slipped half an inch near the east face-off circle.
The same warm patch Monique had repaired hundreds of times.
She had known exactly where it would be.
Monique took a tighter line.
Tanner recovered.
They reached the final twenty feet together.
He prepared to shoot.
Monique waited.
Tanner fired first.
The puck struck the post.
Monique crossed behind him.
One movement.
One shot.
Net.
The building exploded.
Families stood screaming.
Children jumped over one another.
Malik climbed onto the boards.
Henrik raised both hands.
