The arena buzzed like a hive on game night, lights bright and harsh, crowd noise rolling in waves. Evergreen College versus Riverside State—their big rivals, some bullshit feud going back years. Banners hung from the rafters, students packed in the stands in school colors, chanting dumb cheers. Alex sat on the bench during warm-ups, stick across his knees, staring at the ice like it might swallow him whole.
He'd been bumped to third line permanent now. Coach said he "earned it" with clean practices. Whatever. Alex just wanted to play. To hit. To forget for sixty minutes.
The locker room pre-game had been all hype—guys slapping asses, blasting music, Coach yelling about heart and hustle. Alex stayed quiet in his stall, taping his socks extra tight, pulling the jersey over his pads. Number 27. Didn't mean shit to him.
Puck drop came fast. He started on the bench, watching the top lines battle. Riverside came out swinging, big hits, fast skates. They scored first, quick wrister top shelf. Crowd groaned.
Alex's first shift hit midway through the period. He hopped the boards, legs fresh, adrenaline pumping. Face-off in their zone. He won it back clean, cycled the puck deep. Forechecked like a madman, pinned their D-man low, stripped the puck, fired a quick shot that rang the post. Close.
Crowd got louder. "Ra-mi-rez!" some section chanted, drunk freshmen probably.
Second period, things got chippy. Brett laid a clean hit on their captain, got jumped for it. Scrum at the center ice. Alex skates over slow, gloves on, just glaring till the refs broke it up.
Then his shift again. Breakaway chance. He picked off a lazy pass at the blue line, head up, full speed. Their goalie poked checked, but Alex pulled it forehand to backhand, lifted it roof. Goal. Light lit red, horn blared.
Bench erupted. Guys mobbed him on the way back. "Fucking beauty, Ramirez!"
He nodded once, no smile. But inside, that spark grew a little hotter.
Mia was in the stands, front row behind the bench this time, screaming with her friends. She'd painted school letters on her cheeks, hoodie tied around her waist. When he scored, she jumped up, yelling his name loud enough he heard it over the noise.
Third period, tied 2-2. Tension thick. Alex took a dumb penalty—tripping some prick who slew-footed him first. Sat in the box two minutes, fists clenched, watching Riverside score on the power play. 3-2 bad guys.
He came out pissed. Next shift, he dumped the puck in deep, chased hard. Hit their D-man clean but hard, shoulder to chest, guy flipped over the boards into their bench. Whistle. Crowd lost it—half cheers, half boos.
3-3.
Overtime. Three on three, wide open ice. Alex's line got the nod. Puck loose in neutral. He scooped it, deked one guy, split the D, went in alone. Goalie committed low. Alex went high glove, but it clanged iron. Rebound popped out. His linemate buried it. Win.
Arena exploded. Sticks on ice, gloves flying, team piling on the goal scorer. Alex skated slow circles, breathing hard, sweat dripping under helmet.
They won 4-3. First W of the season.
Locker room after was chaos—beer sprayed even though it was dry campus bullshit, music blasting, Coach grinning for once. "Good shit, boys! Ramirez, that rush in OT? Almost pissed myself."
Alex showered quick, changed into street clothes, ready to slip out quiet.
But the team dragged him to the party. "Come on, man! One beer!"
He went. Didn't fight it.
The house was off-campus, packed wall to wall, bass thumping, red cups everywhere. Smell of weed and cheap booze. Alex leaned against a wall in the kitchen, nursing a beer he didn't want, watching people grind and laugh like life was easy.
Jake found him first. "Dude! Sick goal! You're a fucking beast."
Alex shrugged. "Team win."
Then Mia pushed through the crowd, cheeks still painted, eyes bright from whatever she'd been drinking.
"You came," she said, leaning close so he could hear over the music.
"You liar." She smirked, but softer. "That goal? Insane. Whole place screaming your name."
He sipped the beer, eyes on the floor. "Whatever."
She stepped closer, body almost touching. "Hey. About the other day... the rain. I didn't mean to push that hard."
Alex looked up, jaw tight. "Forget it."
"No." Her hand brushed his arm, light. "You said people die when they get close. Who was she, Alex?"
The room noise faded. Just her voice, her eyes.
He set the beer down hard. "Lena."
Mia's face changed. No smirk. Just quiet. "What happened?"
"Drive-by. Meant for me. She caught it instead." Voice flat, but it cracked at the end.
She didn't say sorry. Didn't do the pity face. Just nodded slow. "That why you fight everything?"
"Yeah."
Mia reached up, fingers tracing the scar on his cheek gentle. "You're not the only one with ghosts, you know."
He didn't pull away. For once.
The party raged around them, but they stood there in their own bubble. Her hand dropped, but she stayed close.
"Wanna get out of here?" she asked. "Walk or something?"
Alex stared at her a long beat. The weight on his chest shifted again. More than an ounce this time.
"Yeah," he said finally.
They slipped out the back door into the cool night, leaving the noise behind.
For the first time, the ghosts felt a little quieter.