Page 193 of Power Play

A million lifetimes with her won’t be enough.

It’ll never be enough.

Butfuckif I’m going to work until my body gives out to make sure every day is the best fucking day of her life.

FIFTY-TWO

PIPER

“Hudson.We’re heading into the final period of game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals. All season, your team has worked for this moment. What are you feeling right now?” I ask, holding out my microphone to the defenseman.

“I’m not going to lie, I’m nervous as hell.” He laughs. “There’s pressure on us, obviously, especially because we had the best record in the league this season. Being at home helps; I can feel the fans behind us, you know? That’s going to give us the push we need for these last twenty minutes.”

“What are you going to focus on as we head into the third period?”

“Consistency. We let our focus slip when we get excited with a breakaway and come up short on converting a good possession to a goal. We have to follow through.”

“Thanks, Hudson. Enjoy the rest of the game.”

This isthe most stressful night of my life.

After a thrilling series with the San Diego Bearcats, we’re back in DC for game seven, just like everyone thought we would be. The teams have exchanged victories up to this point, and if history is anything to go off of, the Starsshouldwin tonight.

That’s the agony of sports, though.

Nothing about them is guaranteed, especially in game seven.

The tension in the arena is palpable. The hometown fans have been on their feet for the entirety of the game, and the noise is deafening. I’m afraid to breathe too hard, fearful a forceful exhale will bring the puck too close to Liam and sneak by him.

I glance at him now, poised in the goal, mumbling under his breath and moving side to side to stay loose. He’s been unreal tonight, only giving up one goal while stopping nearly twenty-five.

He tracks every player, every stick movement, every slice of a skate with excruciating precision. I’m not sure I’ve seen him blink, and when the guys came out after the last intermission, a focus I haven’t seen from him this season graced his face.

My attention moves to the clock, the two minutes left in regulation moving too slow. Both teams have a single goal, and a tie would mean overtime. With how fatigued the guys are looking, the last thing we need is free hockey, no matter how thrilling the sudden death gameplay might be.

Everyone—from the players, to the fans, to Bernie behind the camera—knows this isn’t going to be a back-and-forth shootout; both defenses are too good.

The next team to score will be the winner.

The referee blows his whistle, signaling the end of the timeout, and adrenaline echoes in my ears.

“Goddammit.” Emmy bangs her fist on the glass. “Let’s fuckinggoMiller.”

Maverick tears past us in a blaze of white jersey and a cocky grin, blowing her a kiss before taking off after the puck. I laugh and drape an arm around my best friend.

“He is theonlyguy in the league who would purposely move away from game play so he could flirt with his woman,” I say. “You’re a lucky lady, Emerson Hartwell.”

“I want him to win more than I’d want myself to win. Maybe that makes me a terrible player, I don’t know, but I don’t give a shit. He sacrifices so much of himself for this game. I want him to have something tangible to show for it.”

I said the same thing to Liam earlier this afternoon in his living room when he was packing his game day bag. We were quiet while he slipped into his routine—a late lunch. A candy bar. Classical music blaring in his headphones as he stretched before putting on his suit and tie.

He reached for me, though. Intertwined our hands and stroked his thumb over my knuckles when I kissed his palm. I whispered to him how proud of him I was. How honored I was to watch his performance this season and that no matter what happened tonight, I’d be on the other side waiting for him.

I want him to winso badlythough, and I knowhewants to win so badly too. I saw the determination, the grit and the desperation in his eyes during warmups, and even from all the way over here, I can see it now.

“If there’s anything the guys can do well, it’s play under pressure. I think?—”

A burst of excitement at the other end of the rink cuts me off. I crane my neck and stand on my toes. A shot gets fired off toward the Bearcats’ goal. I gasp when it comes up inches short and the Bearcats collect the rebound.

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