Page 180 of Power Play

“It’s the hope that kills you,” I grumble under my breath.

I get up and skate to the corner of the rink, the bend right against the boards. Fans bang on the glass and yell my name, but I keep my head down. I keep my eyes trained firmly on the ice, and my hope slowly wanes.

“Hey,” Maverick yells, and I jerk my head up. I look over my shoulder and see him waving at me from the opposite end of the ice. I take off, whizzing past our opponents who look at me like I’m out of my fucking mind. I probably am. “Is this it?”

He holds up a metal band. Relief sinks into me and I laugh, reaching for it and curling my hand to my chest when it’s safely in my hold.

“That’s it,” I say, and my teammates huddle around me.

You’d think we just won the Cup with how enthusiastic they are, and I blow out a breath that releases what feels like a thousand pounds sitting on my chest.

“I believe in miracles,” Grant yells, hugging me around my middle. “Let’s fucking gooooo!”

“See?” Riley jabs my knees with his stick. “Look what having hope does.”

“You might be onto something.” I squat down and loop the aglet through the ring, double and triple knotting the laces and tucking the jewelry deep in my sock for extra measure. “Thanks, you fuckers. Let’s win this fucking game.”

“No one else I’d get on my hands and knees for.” Maverick kisses my helmet. “Well, except for Emmy.”

“God, shut up, Miller.” I shove him off me, but I’m smiling from ear to ear. “No one wants to hear that shit.”

“Don’t lose that thing again,” he says to me pointedly, and I nod.

“Don’t plan on it. I’m keeping it safe this time.”

**

We win by one goal.

A wrist shot from Hudson just over the red line seals the deal and descends the arena into chaos. The victory cements us at the top spot in the East and the best record in the league, a far cry from our losing season four years ago.

I go down the line, shaking our opponents’ hands and pulling off my goalie mask. I give Hudson a high five before he’s called to do an interview with ESPN, the national broadcast wanting to hear his thoughts on his game-winning shot.

I take my time leaving the ice, letting myself celebrate this change in luck we’ve had. Winning feelsgood, and it’s nice to enjoy it with the fans instead of hearing boos after another loss.

At the other end of the rink, I watch Piper get set up for her postgame interview. Her cameraman holds up two fingers and she nods, adjusting her earpiece into her ear so she can hear over the noise of the crowd. She looks left then right, a frown settling on her mouth when she realizes she doesn’t have a player lined up.

There’s always someone waiting to jump in and chat her ear off, but tonight, there’s no one.

Hudson is still talking to ESPN. Maverick is signing autographs, his back turned toward her. Grant and Ethan are posing for photos with a group of kids in the stands, and Riley is gingerly moving toward the locker room with Lexi, an ice pack on the back of his neck after a rough fall in the final seconds.

Her frown shifts to panic when her cameraman holds up one finger and gestures around her. She says something with her hands and the microphone that’s usually glued to her palm almost falls to the ice.

I grind my teeth together and make a split-second decision, skating over to her just as she’s given a thirty second warning.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, and Ihearthe anxiousness in her tone. The way she’s rushing her words. “I’m going live in?—”

“Thirty seconds. You need someone to talk to?”

“Yes, but not you.”

“Wow.” I laugh. “I’m a little offended.”

“You know what I mean. You don’t do interviews. You never talk to the media.”

“Think I might like them if you’re on the other side.”

Piper blinks and relief floods her face. She bites her bottom lip and her gaze snags on mine. “Are you sure?”

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