Christian Garcia, a struggling international student and seasonal hire at Nova Arena, discovers he's inherited a unique healing gift from his grandmother. Desperate to keep his job, Christian offers his therapeutic touch to Zane Wilder, a hockey sta...
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After the disappointing second period, everyone felt like the game was already decided. But something felt different this time. The Renegades were playing as if their lives depended on it. Bodies crashed against the boards, sticks clashed, and the puck moved so fast it was almost impossible to track. The tension was suffocating, and the fans felt it too, their chants growing louder with each passing second. Down 3-1, the team was fighting to claw their way back.
The first few minutes were intense. The Monarchs' defense tightened, blocking every shot and smothering the Renegades' attempts to set up plays. Zane, however, was everywhere. He skated with purpose, his eyes scanning the ice for any opening. His movements were sharper now, more confident. Maybe the massage had helped, or maybe he was just pissed off enough to push through the pain.
I watched intently from the sidelines, clenching my jersey like it was a stress ball. Trevor stood next to me, calling out plays under his breath as if the team could hear him.
Trevor nudged me with his elbow. "Watch this," he said, grinning.
Zane stole the puck near the center line, neatly dodging an opponent's stick and racing down the ice. His speed was incredible, cutting through the opponent's defense effortlessly. He passed the puck to Daniel who immediately passed it back as Zane reached the faceoff circle. Without hesitation, Zane took a shot, the puck flying past the defenseman's skate and hitting the goalie's pad.
The rebound bounced to Brandon, who wasted no time slapping it toward the net. The puck zipped past the goalie's glove and hit the back of the net with a satisfying clang.
Goal!
The horn blared, and the crowd erupted. The score now sat at 3-2. One down, one to go.
"Let's go!" Trevor shouted, pumping his fist. "Now we're cooking!"
The players on the bench cheered, but the focus remained intense. There was no time for celebration. The Renegades were still behind, and the clock wasn't on their side.
With just under five minutes left, the Renegades pressed harder. The Monarchs tried to slow them down, dumping the puck away to waste time but the Renegades were determined. They passed the puck fast and sharp, working their way back into the offensive zone.
Zane was at the heart of it again, dodging defenders like they were traffic cones. He passed the puck to a defenseman at the blue line, who took a hard shot at the net. The Monarchs' goalie managed to block it but the puck bounced right in front of the crease. Chaos ensued as players scrambled to gain control.
Then, in a split second, Zane swooped in and propelled the puck over the goalie's shoulder.
Goal!
The arena exploded. Fans leapt to their feet, their cheers deafening as the scoreboard flashed 3-3.
I found myself clapping and shouting along with everyone else. The energy was contagious, and for the first time, I felt like I was part of something bigger.
