The Final

Chapter Eight — The Final

The arena had never been this loud.

Beck stood at the entrance to the ice, tightening the straps on his gloves as thousands of voices echoed through the stadium.

The championship final.

One game.

That was all that stood between Westbridge High and the trophy.

And for Beck, it was more than that.

Somewhere in the crowd were scouts.

University representatives.

People who could decide whether the next few years of his life would look completely different.

His scholarship was still uncertain.

He had done everything he could.

Now he had one final chance to prove that he deserved it.

“Hayes.”

Beck looked up.

Mason stood beside him, helmet tucked under one arm.

“You good?”

Beck nodded.

“I'm ready.”

Mason smiled.

“That's what I like to hear.”

A whistle sounded from the ice.

The players began moving toward the rink.

Beck stepped forward.

Then he saw him.

Aitor.

Across the ice, wearing St. Aurelia's colours.

Black hair.

Focused expression.

That same irritating confidence.

Aitor looked across the rink.

Their eyes met.

Beck's jaw tightened.

Of course.

One final game against Aitor Valdez.

Perfect.

Aitor's mouth curved into the smallest smile.

Beck knew exactly what it meant.

Try to beat me.

Beck smiled back.

Gladly.

The opening whistle blew.

The puck hit the ice.

Immediately, both teams exploded into motion.

Beck accelerated forward.

Aitor was already there.

Their sticks collided.

Beck pulled the puck toward himself.

Aitor blocked him.

“Not today,” Aitor said.

Beck smirked.

“We'll see.”

He twisted around him and passed the puck to Mason.

Mason shot.

The goalkeeper blocked it.

The crowd erupted.

Beck skated back into position.

The game had barely started, and already it felt personal.

Every time Beck moved, Aitor seemed to be there.

Every time Aitor had the puck, Beck chased him down.

They knew each other's playing styles too well.

Years of rivalry had taught them exactly how the other moved.

Aitor anticipated Beck's passes.

Beck anticipated Aitor's turns.

Neither gave an inch.

Then, halfway through the first period, St. Aurelia scored.

The crowd exploded.

Beck stopped near the goal and stared at the scoreboard.

0–1.

Mason skated toward him.

“Don't let it get to you.”

“It won't.”

Beck turned toward the center.

Across the rink, Aitor was surrounded by his teammates.

For once, he wasn't looking at Beck.

Beck looked away.

He couldn't afford distractions.

Not tonight.

The second period began.

Westbridge came back harder.

Beck intercepted a pass and raced down the ice.

One defender.

Then another.

He pushed forward.

Aitor appeared beside him.

“Give it up, Hayes.”

“Dream on.”

Beck shifted left.

Aitor followed.

Beck shifted right.

Aitor followed again.

Beck suddenly stopped and passed the puck behind him.

Mason caught it.

He shot.

Goal.

The stadium erupted.

1–1.

Beck laughed as his teammates surrounded him.

He looked across the rink.

Aitor was watching him.

For a second, there was something different in his expression.

Not anger.

Not irritation.

Something Beck couldn't identify.

Then Aitor turned away.

Beck frowned.

What was that?

He pushed the thought aside.

There was still a game to win.

By the third period, both teams were exhausted.

The score remained tied.

The crowd was on its feet.

Every possession mattered.

Every mistake could end the championship.

Beck's lungs burned as he chased the puck toward the boards.

Aitor reached it first.

Beck slammed his stick against the ice.

“Seriously?”

Aitor glanced at him.

“Too slow.”

Beck narrowed his eyes.

“You're enjoying this way too much.”

“You make it easy.”

Aitor pushed away.

Beck followed.

He caught him near center ice and stole the puck.

Aitor immediately chased him.

Beck accelerated.

The goal was ahead.

One defender moved toward him.

Beck passed.

The puck returned.

He shot.

The goalkeeper blocked it.

The puck bounced loose.

Aitor reached it.

Beck chased.

Their shoulders collided.

Neither stopped.

Aitor gained possession and raced toward Westbridge's goal.

Beck followed.

He knew exactly what Aitor was going to do.

Aitor moved left.

Beck blocked him.

Right.

Beck followed.

Aitor attempted a quick pass.

Beck intercepted it.

The crowd screamed.

Beck turned and raced down the ice.

Ten seconds.

Eight.

Seven.

He heard Mason shouting.

Beck passed.

Mason caught the puck.

Three seconds.

He shot.

The horn sounded.

The puck hit the net.

Goal.

The stadium exploded.

Westbridge had won.

Beck barely had time to process what happened before his teammates surrounded him.

They shouted.

They laughed.

Someone grabbed his helmet.

Another teammate nearly knocked him onto the ice.

Beck laughed breathlessly.

They had done it.

They had won the championship.

But as the celebration continued, Beck looked across the rink.

Aitor stood completely still.

His teammates were around him, but he seemed disconnected from the noise.

Their eyes met.

Beck expected anger.

Instead, Aitor gave him a small nod.

Respect.

Beck nodded back.

Then Aitor looked away.

For some reason, that moment stayed with Beck longer than the victory itself.

Later that evening, Beck sat in the locker room while his teammates celebrated around him.

His phone buzzed.

He looked down.

An email.

His heart stopped.

Northwood University Athletic Department.

He stared at the screen.

This was it.

The scholarship decision.

His thumb hovered over the notification.

“Beck?”

He looked up.

Mason stood in front of him.

“You gonna open that?”

Beck swallowed.

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“I've been waiting for this for months.”

Mason smiled.

“Then open it.”

Beck took a breath.

He tapped the screen.

His eyes moved across the email.

Once.

Twice.

He stopped.

His mouth slowly opened.

Mason leaned closer.

“Well?”

Beck looked up.

“I got it.”

“What?”

“The scholarship.”

Mason's face lit up.

“No way!”

Beck laughed.

“I got it.”

Mason pulled him into a hug.

“You did it!”

Beck closed his eyes.

For the first time all night, the pressure disappeared.

He had done it.

Northwood was no longer a dream.

It was his future.

Across the arena, Aitor packed his equipment into his bag.

His team had lost.

He should have been angry.

Instead, he kept thinking about Beck.

The way he'd played.

The determination in his eyes.

The way he'd looked after receiving the scholarship.

Aitor had known Beck wanted it badly.

But seeing him achieve it had made something strange settle in his chest.

He didn't understand it.

He didn't want to.

Aitor zipped his bag and stood.

The championship was over.

Soon they would graduate.

After that, their lives would go in different directions.

He wouldn't have to see Beck anymore.

That should have made him relieved.

So why did the thought feel strangely empty?

Aitor shook his head.

It didn't matter.

Beck Hayes was his rival.

And after graduation, that rivalry would finally be over.

Neither of them knew that the next time they saw each other, neither would be wearing a high-school uniform.

And neither would be prepared for it.