Page 84 of The Sweet Spot

“We’ve got one period left, men. Twenty minutes stand between you and accomplishing the goal you set for yourselves the first fucking time you laced up your skates. For some of you, this is your last chance. For others, it might be your only chance. I’ve never held Lord Stanley’s Cup, but I fucking want to. Twenty minutes, men... Twenty minutes... Now go make yourself immortal.”

Jace and I lead the men through the tunnel, then stand aside as my team of warriors skate out onto the ice. “That was a really good one, Coach,” Jace tells me with a smile. “Hell, I want to be immortal, and my name is engraved on that thing already.”

“Fuck off, Kingston.” I smack his arm with my clipboard, and we walk into the box together.

I had no clue the ways my life would change when the Kingstons offered me this job, but as I look up at the box above me where my wife and daughter sit, surrounded by our friends and family, I can’t help but think what a lucky fucker I am.

My life is good, whether we win this thing or not.

But goddamn, I want to win it so bad, I can taste it.

And twenty minutes later, as the clock ticks down on the last three seconds of the game, we’re tied 1–1, when Nixon Sinclair takes a slapshot from more than halfway down center ice that sails right past Montreal’s goalie. The buzzer rings as time runs out, and the entire stadium erupts around us.

“Holy shit.” Jace jumps, and our entire bench empties as my players all make their way to Nixon. “They fucking did it. I can’t believe they fucking did it.”

“Coach Kane,” a reporter from ESPN calls out to me, already rushing the ice. “Coach Kane, do you have any comment on how it feels to win your first championship, making you the youngest head coach in history to win it?”

I look up into the box to see if I can spot Brynlee and Kennedy, but everyone is on their feet celebrating, and I don’t see them.

“Coach Kane, any comments for the doubters who said your team couldn’t pull a repeat?”

I turn and look out at my team celebrating on the ice.

Do I have any words?

“They earned it. That’s all I have to say right now. I’ll see you in the press conference shortly,” I tell the growing crowd as a carpet is laid out on the ice for us to walk on. Cross Wilder, our team captain, is already taking a lap with the Cup when I make it out to my guys, having been stopped every few feet by another reporter.

“Coach,” Nixon calls out before he hugs me. “We fucking did it, Coach.”

“We fucking did, Nix. That was a beautiful shot. Had to be close to a hundred and fifty feet.”

“Yeah well, I guess I wanted immortality, Coach.”

I look around at the confetti falling from the ceiling and the entire arena on their feet. “Pretty sure you got it, Nix. Good job.”

“Coach Kane,” a voice in the crowd I would know anywhere calls out.

I turn around and watch my wife walk up to me in her Revolution jersey she had specially made for her and Kennedy. They both have Kane across the back, and for the number, Kennedy’s says ½, while Brynlee’s says 00. God, I love my wife.

She throws her arms around my neck, and I pull her against me. “Congratulations, Coach Kane,” she teases me. “I’ve got a couple of ideas of ways we can celebrate tonight.”

“And my day keeps getting better,” I tell her. “Any chance one of them involves you in nothing but this jersey, red?”

“Oh, there’s a very good chance of that happening.” Brynlee presses her lips to mine, and I tuck her against me as I look around at this ragtag group that’s somehow become my family.

Before the end of the night, someone manages to snap a picture that I make a mental note to get hold of and have framed for my wife. It’s the two of us with Gracie and Ares and their newborns, Jake and Molly, standing next to Cross and Everly and their baby girl, Tennyson, and Jaxon and Kerrigan standing in front of them. Lindy and Easton are behind us, with Griffin sitting on his father’s shoulders, and Nixon is squatting down next to Kennedy, who’s holding the Cup in front of her. Ares wanted to put Jake in the Cup, but Gracie told him not unless it was sanitized first.

“A year ago, did you ever think you’d be standing here, Deacon?” Brynlee asks me before we finally leave the ice.

“Not in my wildest dreams, Brynn.” I pull a piece of confetti out of her hair and hand it to her. “Here. In case you want it for the book.”

“Good idea.” She carefully puts it in her pocket and smiles.

That leather notebook I gave her has become a scrapbook of sorts. I’ve watched her put cards in there. She also prints out pictures and sticks them in there, every now and then. And every once in a while, she reads me something she wrote in there. “Are you ready for our next adventure?”

I run my fingers through her hair and tug. Our next adventure is three weeks in Japan, visiting Isla and Shaun, and if Kennedy is comfortable, we’re going to leave her there with Isla for a month. Then Isla will fly home with her and spend a few weeks in the States before she flies back, though I promised Brynn she wouldn’t be staying with us. “Am I ready for our next adventure?” I look around at my unbelievable life and count my blessings. “Yeah, baby. I’m ready.”

“Love you, Coach Kane.”

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