Page 61 of One Pucking Wish

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FOUR

GUNNER

Ican without a doubt say that I have never wanted anything more than I want this win. This isn’t just a game. It’s the determining game in the Stanley Cup finals, but it’s more than that. This feels like the culmination of everything I’ve worked for my entire life.

It proves that all the blood, sweat, and sacrifice have meant something. That all that I lost has meant something. Happiness is at the tip of my fingertips. It seems that at thirty-three years old, my life is finally taking shape. I’m in my first serious relationship with the girl of my dreams. I feel content and at ease within my soul for the first time. Every time I’ve stepped on the ice, I’ve worn my mother’s birthdate on my chest. Since I was eighteen years old, she’s been here with me, and all these years later, I’m so close to the ultimate victory.

This shadow has always hovered over me, darkening my life. As much as I’ve tried, I’ve never been able to break free of it. At this moment, the light beyond—the freedom, the life, the girl are all within my reach. More than that, the forgiveness and acceptance of things I cannot change swell within my chest.

Maybe it’s silly to think that the outcome of a hockey game holds any real significance over my life. But to me—it just does. It’s not just a game. It’s my life, and I’m ready to win.

It also seems fitting that this pivotal game in my life is against the Vancouver team that in a very real way was the catalyst for this shift. Vancouver started it all. It gave me Penny, and through her, I felt what it meant to live and feel and love.

No, the loss of this game wouldn’t mean the end of my current state of happiness, but a win would bring me a level of closure that I’ve been craving. Absentmindedly, my gloved hand taps the twenty-nine on my chest.

This is for you, Mom.

My gaze darts to the stands, where Penny wears a pair of tight jeans and my number twenty-nine jersey on her chest. Her long curls bounce as she jumps up and down, cheering. I’ve loved two women in my life. Only two. And I’ve loved them with everything I am.

The game is tied at two. These final seconds will determine everything. This is our chance. Vancouver is in possession now, and their hotshot center works the puck across the ice. I take in every move and every glance. Hockey is a dance of not only the body but also the mind. There’s an art to the way the puck slides across the ice. The players’ bodies lean to this side or that, hinting at their next move. Minute clues can be found in their glances and the angles of their sticks. Every good player tries to hide them, but there are always tells if one looks hard enough.

My job is to find them. To know where the puck is going to go before it’s shot. I’m fast, but a well-shot puck is faster. If I want to stop it, I have to know where it’s going.

I study the movements as the players speed down the ice. There’s enough time for each team to have one more possession before the clock runs out. This puck can’t get through, or in the best-case scenario, we tie.

No, this has to end now.

This is our time.

Our team has fought for this.

The Vancouver center and forward pass the puck in a well-rehearsed display. They’re good—I’ll give ’em that—but they’re not us.

Their right forward flicks his eyes to the left corner of the net. The look happens so fast that I’m not positive it happened at all, but I trust my instincts. Their center fakes a pass to the left, pulling our guard’s attention, and slaps the puck to the right forward. Without a moment’s hesitation, he hits the puck toward the far left corner of the net. The puck whizzes through the space between us. Before it was hit, however, I was already diving in that direction, and my gloved hand hits the puck back onto the ice.

The hometown crowd roars. The entire area shakes in celebration, and with my part done, my teammates take over. Cade and Beckett lock in as only the two of them can. The seconds tick by. There’s a pass to Beckett, a quick maneuver on his part, and then he’s slapping the puck toward the net of the Vancouver goalie. Only, this time, it goes in, and the buzzer sounds.

We’ve won!

Chaos erupts as the entire area explodes in celebration.

A blur of navy-and-white jerseys charge to the center of the ice. I holler and join the huddle of celebration. We’re a collection of cheers, hugs, tears, and genuine smiles.

We’re Stanley Cup champions. We did it. These men are more than teammates. They’re family, and winning with them makes it that much more sweet.

Beckett holds the metal cup over his head and skates around the ice.

This is the best moment of my life.

The enthusiastic celebration ensues as my teammates hop around in a huddle cheering.

Time passes in a blur but slows to a halt when I see her standing by the penalty box. I skate over and pull Penny into my arms. Her warmth and sweet smell do something to my emotional resolve, and tears flow as I hold her in my arms.

“You did it, babe. I’m so proud of you. So very proud. You deserve this, Gunner. I’m so happy for you.” Her voice shakes as she cries. She hugs me back with a fierce intensity, and I feel nothing but love.

“I love you, Pen.”

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