June
Will
Skates cutting into fresh ice.
The puck gliding before a clink sent it flying.
My heart pounding in my ears, fast, but steady.
Chirps from my teammates.
Curses at missed attempts.
The crowd chanting and screaming.
The satisfying plunk of a puck hitting the bar and bouncing off.
The even more satisfying buzzer when we scored.
This was the symphony of the fifth game of the final round in the Stanley Cup Playoffs, and it was music to my ears.
Three periods had happened in what felt like a blink of an eye. It was impossible to be fully present in a game like this because every ounce of energy was tied up in doing what you came to do. Our wingers were focused on scoring. Our defensemen protected me. I protected the goal. And as a team, we fought tooth and fucking nail to clinch the win.
We were ahead three games to one in this series, and if we took it tonight… it was over.
The Cup was ours.
Tampa buzzed with an energy I’d never felt from the city I knew and loved, not in all my years on the Ospreys. We battled it out to a sold-out crowd, all of them ready with fish in hand to make it rain on the ice. Banners hung from skyscrapers and city banks. The lights on the riverwalk twinkled blue and white. Every radio station and news outlet were tuned into this game, to this period, to these final minutes.
If we lost, we’d still have a chance — but our next game would be in Sacramento. Traveling back and forth between the west and east coast was brutal for even our most seasoned players, and when Coach huddled us up in the locker room before the game, we were all in agreement.
We were winning this thing.
Tonight.
I knew I looked like a wild animal from the outside, my eyes as wide as they could go as I took in every slash of the puck and every change in direction from each player on the ice. My heart skipped before tripling its pace when the puck was suddenly heading my way, perfectly in the control of Sacramento’s center.
He drilled toward me like he was going to take the shot himself, but as I crouched low and prepared to block, I spotted the right winger cutting past Jaxson.
The center passed, the winger wound up with all his might before knocking the puck toward me, and I snapped into action like I could read his mind.
My left leg shot out, putting me practically in a middle split, and the puck hit my shin guard before popping back.
I didn’t have time to celebrate the block before I was in position again, another shot coming from the left winger who was waiting for the rebound. This one I covered with my glove, stopping the play to the roar of nearly twenty-thousand Ospreys fans.
It was thunderous, a rumbling I felt in every inch of my body as I sniffed and tossed the puck to the ref. I nodded at the acknowledgements that came from my teammates, but then we were back in action.
There were only three minutes left in the game, and we were tied one to one.
I didn’t want overtime. I wanted to win now. But it wasn’t up to me. All I could do was play my part, block every shot that came my way and pray that one of our guys could get a shot in at the other end of the ice before the final buzzer.
Our only goal tonight belonged to Vince, who had taken the lead of most goals in the league by the end of our regular season. It was only his second year playing, and if the way he was showing out was any indication, he had a long, record-breaking career ahead of him.
But he’d come up short every shot he’d taken since that first one tonight, and frustration rolled off him in plumes as I watched him send the puck toward Sacramento’s goalie. It hit him right in the middle of the chest, and Vince let out a scream, banging his stick on the ice before Jaxson was skating over to mutter something into his ear and clap him on the shoulder.
This wasn’t the time to lose our cool.
This was the time to fucking kill.
Another minute passed with our guys scrapping it out with Sacramento’s. When Suter was tripped on his advance down the ice toward the goal, the crowd roared, and so did my teammates both on the bench and on the ice when the ref didn’t call the penalty.
I held out my gloved hands, slowly lowering them down again and again in a symbol for my team to calm.
There was still time to play.
Even through his mask, I could see Suter’s bloody grin when he looked at me. He spit on the ice, letting the refs know in a not-so-subtle way that they’d fucked up, and then he went right back to the game.
I knew then it was over.
I knew by the way he glided across that ice like a jaguar, his shoulders tight, neck bobbing left and right like he was just out for a stroll. He checked one of the Sacramento players hard against the glass, stealing the puck and driving it down the ice. He passed it to Vince only for Vince to dangle the puck and pass it right back to Suter.
Suter, who was in perfect position to the left corner of the net.
Suter, who made it look easy when he hit that puck, when his stick connected and drove it into the net.
Suter — who made the score two to one with less than thirty seconds left.
The resulting cheers from the fans were deafening. Even I threw my fist up from the goal, watching as Vince and Jaxson all but tackled Suter in celebration.
Holy fuck.
We’re about to win the Cup.
The realization had my heart picking up pace, my hands trembling a bit as I crouched in front of the goal the moment the puck was back in play. Sacramento pulled their goalie, subbing in an extra winger to try to score and get us back to a tie, but our guys were ruthless. We blocked the puck, stole it, and sent it firing down the ice for an empty netter.
Less than a minute later, the final buzzer sounded.
And all hell broke loose.
• • •
Chloe
It was a mad house after the final buzzer — which had sent Ava screaming into my arms and immediately made us both start bawling. We were in a suite with Maven, Livia, and Grace — along with some other friends and family members of teammates.
We’d all lost our damn minds at the win, and then security was covering for us as we all rushed to get down to the ice.
Maven hooked her arm through mine, the four of us linking together so we wouldn’t get split up. These women had become like family to me — well, that was, after they yelled at me incessantly for keeping my relationship with Will from them for so long.
Thankfully, I’d made up for it by spilling all the details in the end.
These girls lived for dirty details.
Since then, we’d gone to dress fittings with Maven, had days at the beach, and even gone shopping together — which was new and surprisingly fun for me.
“We won! Daddy won!” Ava kept repeating as I carried her through the chaos, balancing her in the arm not linked with Maven. The crowd was thick outside of the suites, and all the way until we were in the tunnel under the stadium. Even then, media snapped photos and shoved cameras in our faces while we fought through.
Ava was a bit heavy in my arms, but I didn’t dare put her down. I held her tight, smiling at her through the madness. She was beaming in the new jersey I’d made her for the playoffs — navy blue and white but with glittery gold trim and outlines in honor of her favorite pop star, Mia Love.
Chef Patel and Uncle Mitch had wanted to be closer to the action for the game. I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket and knew it was her wondering where I was. Security led us through the locker room, and when we pushed through the tunnel, Arushi screamed from where she was leaning over the top.
“Can you believe it?!” she screamed, reaching for Ava as Ava did the same. They high-fived with all of us gaping and shaking our heads.
“Crazy!” I screamed back.
Mitch leaned over Chef and gave Ava a ruffle of her hair. I smirked a little at how Chef blushed at his nearness. I was pretty sure we all knew they were much more than friends at this point, but I’d let her tell me on her own time.
“Go, go!” Chef Patel called down to us. “Go give that grumpy man of yours a big celebratory kiss!”
Ava drew out a long ewwww in a tease, and then she was bouncing in my arms the closer we got to the ice. Once we were against the glass, she pressed her hands against it and screamed for Will.
We had to wait until we had the go ahead from the team staff. Maven was clutching Livia’s arm beside us, both of them fighting back tears, and Grace was standing on the cleared Ospreys bench waving her arms around like a wild animal and hollering for Jaxson.
When he saw her, the biggest grin I’d ever seen on that man split his face. He sprinted across the ice on his skates, skidding to a stop at the boards and hauling Grace over his shoulder before he was skating off again.
That was the only green light the families waiting needed.
We poured onto the ice, Maven running for Vince and slipping the whole way. The woman had at least been smart enough to wear sneakers — though she’d argued with all of us that the heels she wanted to wear would look better. She jumped into his arms when she finally made it to him, her legs around his waist and him spinning her to the tune of whistles and cheers from the fans still watching the celebrations.
Ava and I searched for Will. He was no longer where he’d been talking to a news reporter when we’d been making our way toward the glass, and I didn’t see him anywhere near the Cup — which was currently being toted over Aleks Suter’s head as he did a victory lap around the ice as best he could with how crowded it was.
I frowned, searching, heart racing a bit the longer time passed when suddenly Ava and I were tackled in a hug from behind.
“Daddy!”
Ava squealed the greeting, wiggling out of my hold until she could hop down onto the ice. Will was beaming, a Stanley Cup Champ hat covering his sweaty hair as he bent down to one still-padded knee. Ava was in his arms the moment that pad hit the ice, and he wrapped her up tight, kissing her cheek.
When she pulled back, tears were streaming down her face, the emotion too strong for her little heart to handle.
“Hey, now,” he said on a laugh, hugging her again.
“You did it,” she garbled. “You did it, Daddy. I’m so proud of you.”
My heart melted at the sight, and Will nuzzled into her before he was looking up at me, his eyes soft, a content, confident smile on his lips.
When Ava finally released him, he stood, sweeping me into a sweat-drenched hug that I would have gone into happily. I didn’t care that his hair was dripping on my arm when I draped it around his neck, or that he smelled like a locker room when I pressed my lips to his.
That sweaty beast of a man who’d blocked thirty-nine shots tonight was mine.
“Hi, baby,” he whispered in my ear, and then he was pressing a kiss to my hair that made me shiver as much as the nickname did.
I was distantly aware of the cameras on us, but in the last few months, I’d learned not to pay them any mind. This was part of dating the best goalie in the league, and now, he was a Stanley Cup winner.
Let them all watch. Let the rumors fly. Let the women be pissed.
They could all eat their hearts out.
“You were fucking incredible,” I screamed over the noise, holding tight to him. “Absolutely unreal.”
“I’m so glad you were here.”
“I wouldn’t miss it. It was insane.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“I can.”
He laughed, and we kept babbling back and forth, incoherent mutters of disbelief that got lost in-between the thousands of kisses we shared. When he pulled Ava into his arm, he wrapped the other around me, carefully moving us through the crowd.
Will was stopped a couple times for short interviews, and of course, tackled by his teammates as they celebrated their win. I hugged the girls when I passed them, holding especially tight to Maven — who was extra emotional with her wedding just a couple weeks away now.
Eventually, we made it to the Cup, and a few of the Ospreys shoved it toward Will until he carefully put Ava down and picked the behemoth thing up over his head. The fans cheered, Ava jumped up and down clapping, and I smiled, shaking my head and watching my man beam in a way I’d never seen him before.
Pictures snapped from every direction, and when he sat the Cup back on the ice, he gathered Ava and me around it for a photo. Ava was leaning against the Cup, the thing bigger than she was, and Will bent down next to her while I stood over his shoulders. He covered my hand with his, the other holding onto his daughter, and while the cameras went off, he was looking at Ava or at me — never at the lens.
When he stood, he groaned a bit, the soreness from the game settling in. Then, he gasped, clutching onto the edge of the bowl at the top of the trophy. “Shit!”
“What?” I asked, gripping his shoulder in a panic. I searched for signs of where he was hurt, but he just shook his head.
“I think I dropped something in the Cup.”
I frowned, looking at the thing — which was deep enough to fit a baby in, but shallow enough that anything dropped in there wouldn’t be lost.
“Okay, well, just get it out,” I said on a laugh, and I peeked inside to see what it was.
The moment I did, I froze.
Because inside that shiny silver bowl was a shiny gold band — sporting an even shinier marquise diamond.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t do anything but wrap my white knuckles around the edge of that trophy and stare with my mouth open like one of the stuffed fish still littering the ice.
Distantly, I was aware of a warm hand on my back, and then another sliding in to retrieve the ring. I followed it as Will pulled it free, and then I gasped along with everyone around us when he dropped to one knee.
Ava screamed, jumping up and down like she’d been in on this secret all along. She clasped her hands together in front of her face and watched me anxiously, her smile big enough to split her face.
It was too loud for him to profess his love for me, to say the things I could read so clearly in his hope-filled eyes as he watched me from that ice with a soft, almost nervous smile.
But I didn’t need words — not a single one.
I knew.
I knew how much he loved me, it was written in every action he’d shown me since the day I moved into the house. I knew every vow he could make before he even had the chance to make it. I knew this man meant forever when he told me I was his, and I knew the way my heart beat only for him that he was it for me, too.
He just sat there on one knee, holding that ring in one hand and my hand in the other, waiting.
Tears sprang to my eyes, and with a dozen cameras trained on us, I rolled my lips together and nodded.
Will let out a breath like he’d been unsure, like there was any chance in hell I’d say anything but a resounding yes. He slid the ring on my finger, and then stood, framing my face with those strong, magical hands of his and kissing me for the whole world to watch.
We only had a moment before Ava was wrapping herself around my legs, and I bent to hug her, too, wiping the tears from my eyes. She pulled at my hand until she could see the ring, and then she was chattering on and on about wedding planning and where we’d do it and who would come and could she please wear her jersey?!
And I marveled at how one little offer to help out a student’s dad after school had turned into the most life-changing six months of my life. I wasn’t scared in that moment. I didn’t feel the impending doom of every warning my mother had bestowed on me since my birth.
I knew, without a doubt, that in my story?
The man would stay.
The woman would have her independence while being cared for, too.
The child would have her parents, all of them.
And this family would have a happy ending — but not for a very, very long time.
We had too many happy beginnings to have first.
