It’s third period, five minutes left, and your throat is raw from yelling Vi’s name so many times, but you’re not stopping now. The Firelights are up by one, and the opposing team’s getting desperate, hammering their goalie with slap shots and dirty plays. But Vi? She’s in her zone. She flies across the ice like she owns it, steam rising off her shoulders every time she slams someone into the boards.

When she snatches the puck mid-pass and drives it toward the goal, you nearly drop your sign. The crowd’s a blur of motion, but all you can see is her, her legs pumping, messy hair sticking out under her helmet, determination carved into every line of her body. She makes the shot.

It hits the back of the net with a crack and the arena erupts.

You scream louder than you thought humanly possible, jumping up and down with both arms in the air. “That’s my girl!” you shout, not caring who hears.

The buzzer sounds not long after. Firelights win.

⸻

You barely make it through the crowd swarming the tunnel exit, heart pounding, still breathless with pride. The locker room door swings open and out she comes, flushed and glowing, hockey gear half off, still gripping her stick in one hand like a warrior returning from battle.

“Hey!” you yell over the din, just as she spots you.

Vi’s face lights up. There’s a flicker of disbelief, like she can’t quite believe you’re real and here and hers.

And then she’s running.

“Vi, wait—!” you start to laugh, but it’s too late. She scoops you up like it’s nothing, arms locked around your waist, and spins you in a full circle right there in the corridor.

You squeal and cling to her shoulders, your boots kicking the air. “You maniac! put me down!”

She sets you down just enough to press her forehead to yours, grinning ear to ear. “You see that goal?” she pants, eyes wild with adrenaline and affection. “That one was so for you.”