Chapter Text
The roar of the crowd at TD Garden had never been so deafening, the air thick with anticipation and the weight of decades of hopes pinned on this one moment. Adam and Julie sat together in the stands, hands clasped tightly between them, their fingers intertwined as the final minutes of Game 7 ticked down. It was a battle, fierce and relentless, and every player on the ice was giving everything they had. The energy of the arena was electric, but underneath it all, there was an undercurrent of something more: a fear of what might come if they couldn’t make it.
Adam's eyes stayed glued to the ice, his focus razor-sharp, his heart pounding with every play. This was it, the culmination of everything he had worked for, everything he had fought through. The stakes had never been higher.
Julie felt the same sense of urgency radiating from Adam, though her own heart was wrapped in a different kind of tension. She could feel his emotions surging in every beat of his pulse, his body tense next to hers as he watched every shift, every pass, every shot. The Bruins were close, so close to capturing the elusive Stanley Cup, a trophy that had slipped through their fingers for years. The crowd was chanting, the deafening sound vibrating through her bones, but it was Adam's silence beside her that spoke volumes.
When the final horn sounded, signaling the end of the game, a heavy silence fell over the arena. The Bruins had lost. Game 7 had slipped away from them, and with it, their dream of hoisting the Cup. The opposing team celebrated, but Adam sat still, staring straight ahead, his gaze hollow.
Julie’s heart sank as she watched the despair flood Adam’s face. She knew him well enough to see how deeply he was feeling this loss. It wasn’t just about hockey, it was about years of sacrifice, the grueling practices, the injuries, the moments of doubt, and the endless road to get to this point. And now, it had all come crashing down in an instant.
“Adam…” Julie whispered, squeezing his hand, but he didn’t answer. He was lost in his thoughts, the weight of the defeat too much for him to bear.
After a long, silent moment, Adam stood up abruptly, his expression unreadable. He didn’t look at Julie, not at first. Instead, he moved quickly, purposefully, as if trying to outrun the sting of the loss. She followed him through the crowded stands, trying to keep up, but Adam was already heading toward the tunnel, his steps urgent. Julie’s heart ached, but she knew he needed space. She had always known that when it came to Adam and hockey, there was a kind of intense solitude he fell into in times like this.
The next few days were a blur of media reports, interviews, and fans who flooded the arena with support for their team. But for Adam, the sting of the loss didn’t fade. He was quieter than usual, more withdrawn, as if the final game of the season had robbed him of his drive. His body ached from the series, but it was the mental exhaustion that weighed heaviest on him. He knew they had given everything, but it didn’t feel like enough.
Julie, though, was by his side through it all, her presence a grounding force in his world. They spent evenings at home, in their quiet apartment, where Adam would sit by the window and stare out at the city, deep in thought. Julie had learned not to push him, not to force him to talk when he wasn’t ready, but she was always there, a constant reminder that he didn’t have to shoulder the weight of this alone.
One evening, a week after the loss, Adam finally broke the silence.
“I need to get back on the ice,” he said, his voice low, rough, as if the words had been locked inside him for far too long.
Julie looked up from the book she had been reading, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of concern and understanding. “Adam…” she began, but he stopped her with a quiet shake of his head.
“I need it. I have to get back. For me. For the team. I can’t… I can’t sit here and let this define me.”
Julie felt a pang in her chest as she watched him struggle with the emotion in his voice. She understood, of course she did. Adam had always lived and breathed hockey. But she had also seen how hard this loss had hit him. She wasn’t sure if he was ready to move forward yet, but she wasn’t about to stand in his way.
“I know,” she said softly, setting her book aside and moving closer to him. “But just remember… you don’t have to do this alone. Whatever comes next, you have me. And you’ll always have your team.”
Adam met her gaze, his expression softening just slightly, as if the weight on his shoulders had lightened a fraction. He nodded, his lips curling into a faint smile.
“Thanks, Jules,” he whispered. “I’m going to get there. We’re going to get there. Next year… I’ll be back. We’ll be back.”
In the days that followed, Adam poured himself into his recovery, both physically and mentally. He was determined, driven, and as relentless as ever. But this time, something had shifted. The sting of the loss, while still present, didn’t consume him the way it had before. Instead, it fueled him. He had been to the edge, had felt the loss of his dream so close he could almost touch it, and now, he was more focused than ever on making sure that next year, he would be ready to go even further. Not just for himself, but for the team, and for Julie, who had been by his side through every high and every low.
And as the season came to a close and the Bruins prepared for another year, Adam stepped back onto the ice, his heart steadier than it had been in months. He knew there would be more obstacles ahead, but with Julie by his side and the fire for hockey reignited in his chest, he was ready to face whatever came next.
Together.
Eden Hall, Spring 1999
The last of the ice had melted off the walkways. Students lounged on the commons in shorts and hoodies, a welcome change from winter coats and early-morning practices. Eden Hall had shifted into its off-season rhythm, slower, looser, but the sting of playoffs lingered like an old bruise, especially for the Eden Hall Ducks.
Adam Banks could feel it as he crossed the quad with purpose. Varsity had ended their season on a high note, state champions, medals around their necks, glory in the air, but beneath the shine of it all, Julie had noticed something different. Something broken in the eyes of JV’s captain, a sophomore defenseman named Cal Harper.
“He blames himself,” she had told Adam that morning over hot chocolate in the dining hall, stirring a spoon into her cup absentmindedly. “He won’t talk to the coaches, and I don’t think he’ll listen to me. But he might listen to you.”
Adam had raised an eyebrow. “I’m not exactly the JV whisperer.”
Julie had given him that look, soft, but insistent. “You’ve been where he is, Adam. You’ve felt that kind of pressure. Just talk to him. He respects you, even if he pretends not to.”
Which brought Adam to the old rink, where the JV Ducks had been practicing, out of season, unofficial, but some of them couldn’t stay away. Cal was there, alone now, still skating laps long after the others had peeled off. His movements were tight, angry. Every stride slammed into the ice like it had wronged him.
Adam waited by the boards, arms folded. He didn’t call out. He just watched until Cal finally noticed him.
The younger boy skated over, slowing to a stop with a sharp scrape. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, jaw clenched like he was preparing for a fight.
“What do you want?” Cal asked, not hiding the edge in his voice.
Adam shrugged. “Julie said you were here. Figured I’d stop by.”
Cal scoffed and turned back toward center ice. “I’m fine.”
Adam stepped through the open bench door and onto the ice. “You sure about that?”
Cal didn’t answer. He just skated a lazy circle, then shot a puck at the boards hard enough that it ricocheted back past him. Adam caught it with the blade of his stick and passed it back gently.
“You want to talk about the playoffs?” Adam asked.
“No.”
“Okay.” Adam passed the puck again, soft, steady. “We can just skate.”
For a few minutes, that’s what they did, silent laps around the rink, the puck passed back and forth without effort or urgency. Eventually, Cal slowed, his shoulders dropping just enough for Adam to notice.
“I let them down,” Cal muttered, barely above a whisper.
Adam skated closer but didn’t interrupt.
“We were up in the third. I took a stupid penalty. They scored twice. It’s on me.”
Adam nodded, not arguing. “You made a mistake. It cost you. That sucks.”
Cal’s eyes snapped up. “You’re not gonna say it wasn’t my fault?”
“I’m not here to lie to you,” Adam said. “You’re the captain. That means you carry the weight, fair or not.”
Cal exhaled sharply and looked away. “So what’s the point?”
“The point,” Adam said, voice calm, “is that leadership isn’t about being perfect. It’s about what you do next.”
Cal didn’t reply, but he didn’t skate away either. That was something.
Adam continued, voice quiet but certain. “You think I haven’t blown it before? You think I don’t still see the faces of guys I feel like I let down?”
He paused, letting the silence settle before adding, “Freshman year, I blew a lead against Blake Academy. Gave up the puck at the blue line. I was trying to be a hero instead of passing. We lost in overtime. Charlie didn’t talk to me for three days.”
Cal glanced over, skeptical. “You? Mr. Perfect Banks?”
Adam cracked a small grin. “Yeah, me. Trust me, I’ve been the villain more times than I’d like to admit.”
Cal didn’t smile back, but something in his stance eased, his grip on the stick looser now.
“You can either let that game define you,” Adam said, coming to a stop at center ice, “or you can learn from it and be better next year. The team’s going to need you. Whether you believe it or not.”
Cal was quiet again. This time, Adam waited him out.
After a long beat, Cal’s voice broke through, low and rough: “I haven’t even looked at my gear since that game. I don’t think I want to.”
Adam took a slow step forward, meeting his eyes. “Then take your time. But don’t quit just because you’re hurting. You care, that’s what makes you a good captain. Don’t throw that away.”
Cal blinked, staring down at the ice like it held answers. After a moment, he nodded, barely perceptible, but enough.
Adam patted his shoulder gently with the blade of his stick. “You’re gonna be okay, Harper. Just remember, being a leader doesn’t mean being fearless. It means showing up anyway.”
As the two began skating again, side by side now instead of apart, the rink felt a little less heavy, the air a little easier to breathe. Adam didn’t need a thank-you. The shift in Cal’s posture, the hint of hope resurfacing in his eyes, that was enough.
And as Adam left the rink and stepped out into the golden light of spring, he found Julie waiting near the bleachers, arms crossed, a knowing smile on her face.
“You got through to him, didn’t you?” she asked.
Adam gave her a modest shrug, but the softness in his eyes betrayed the truth.
“Maybe,” he said. “He reminds me of someone I used to know.”
Julie slipped her hand into his. “Someone who didn’t quit.”
“Yeah,” Adam murmured, glancing back at the rink. “Not yet.”