Page 225 of Snap Shot

“For sure.”

My parents send me love from the next section over while Delaney glares and mouthsdon't fuck this upas she cheerfully encourages the kids to wave at me.

Jaeg makes a silent signal for us to round up, announcer booming over the PA system, and I leave to join the rest of the team.

The L.A. Suns had a helluva season, and despite our multiple playoff appearances, we're still considered the underdog. They treat us like Toronto or something. Those poor fucks haven't gotten to the Cup in ages.

We skate into position, the crowd electric and buzzing. My breath clouds the icy air as Fletch nods from the face-off circle. I take one last glance at my lucky charm before the whistle trills and the ref drops the puck. She smiles. I smile back, then sneer at my opponent, a Suns winger named Lendegrass. “Showtime, Grassy.”

Donovan swipes the puck and I take off, veering around a too-slow d-man. He flicks it over while Jaeg covers the other goon. Szecze circles me, faking a pass, and as the goalie focuses on him rounding behind the goal, I take a shot. Their tendy reacts too late and the puck flies in with a ping, horns and siren going off in tandem.

“Hell yes!” I pump a fist, as the crowd erupts, and the boys huddle up for a quick hug before we break to get back to center ice. “Let's do this!”

L.A. gets possession this time but loses it when Jaeg takes out their winger. There's a gap while the big fellas have a shoving match and Fletch and I take the puck all the way back. The goalie is ready this time, but not ready enough. He tries to block the puck with a skate, but it ricochets off of the blade and into the net. The horn blares as the siren flashes.

We slot our sticks between our legs and gallop past the girls, whooping as if racing horses. Indi covers her eyes with a hand, shrinking into her seat as the camera falls to her section, Jumbotron displaying our silliness. “Yee-haw!” The charade ends in a double high-five before we hug it out and gear up for the rest of the period.

The momentum continues through the second period, too. Indi sends selfies from her seat at intermission. They keep me motivated. Most of us stay free of PIMs, except for Szecze and Olsen. Distracted by a d-man getting too close, Wade lets the Suns score right before the next intermission.

Up by four, we don't make any adjustments in the last period and take the chance to rest and give a few second and third-liners get some playing time. Whistles blow when a fight breaks out. Coach smacks my shoulder. “Radek, you're up!”

One bloody-nosed rookie gets taken back by the medics. It's a hot game, even in the last few minutes. We're going coast-to-coast as the Suns get more aggressive. The Los Angeles coach seems to have spanked a few asses in the locker room.

A couple of possessions later, it's ours again. The Suns don't give up, I'll give 'em that. They're still grinding, fighting for the puck at every corner. We don't make another shot in time for the buzzer, but it doesn't matter.

An almost coordinated celebration bursts, not unlike my heart, alongside an explosion of mitts, sticks, and helmets being thrown away as we scream and cry and cling to each other. More of the team join from the bench until we lose our balance and dog pile, the crushing sensation calming the coursing adrenaline temporarily. The crowd, my teammates, the horns, sirens, announcers, fireworks, every sound fizzles into static. Hats and scarves are handed out, my family cries through congratulations, but my eyes and hands search for her.

Indi runs out screaming, straight to center ice through the horde of press and staff in that white, gold, and black jersey. My girl wearing my name, my number. That lucky number twelve. The age I met her, and my life changed forever. Being hers? Way better than winning.

I excuse myself from a reporter with an apology. She pounces me with a shriek and crashes a kiss to my lips with the stuff dreams are made of. I prop her up by a forearm.

“I love you so much,” I yell. “You'll marry me, right?”

“You wanna be my husband?” she yells back.

“More than anything!” My hands clutch her everywhere. “I wanna be youreverything.”

“What are the chances?” Her head dips to speak in my ringing ears. “You already are.”

A maniacal cackle surges from me as I throttle her excitedly around my torso, then drop her when Jaeg passes me the cup. I hold it over my head in victory.

“I'm gonna eat Twinkies out of the Stanley Cup!”

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“I'm supposed to believe youwantedto go on a hike today?” Indi huffs, climbing over a steeply inclined rock. “Instead of staying in bed and fucking me to oblivion?”

“Baby, I can fuck you to oblivion any day. But look!” My arms span to my sides, as wide as they can. “The sun's out. We're in the fucking mountains. It's amazing!”

“Ah, yes.Nature,” she deadpans. My mouthy, grumpy girl.

I take a long breath of all that clean air. “Exactly!”

“I'll have whatever you've been snorting.”

“That's the spirit.” Jogging ahead a few steps, hiking boots tracking prints into the soft earth, I stop at a clearing at the lookout, placing my hands on either hip. The view is insane. Tall evergreens and snowy mountain peaks frame Green Lake below. “Don't you remember the last time we were in Whistler together?”

Indi tucks herself under my arm. “I remember you're a sore loser.”

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