Page 146 of Defensive Zone

“I thought we needed some puppy snuggles. It’s stressful up here,” Riley said, leading Chicklet into the suite. “And we can take pictures for social media and we’re socializing him. See how I multi-task?”

“No complaints here. Bash had fun playing with Chicklet last month,” Sophia said, referring to Finn’s Australian Shepard.

They spent intermission playing with Chicklet and taking a bunch of pictures. The pup was loving the attention.

When the second period started, they all settled back in to watch the guys. It was another rough period, and Sara was getting fired up.

“I swear I’m going to knock Liam’s teeth out at the next family holiday dinner,” Sara said as Sully’s brother drew Crow into a fight. The man was a menace and Gabi wanted to deck the dick, too. Especially after spending the last week watching the bruise fade from Max’s cheek.

She knew it was part of the game, but Liam seemed to be gunning for anyone he could get. Max had warned her that playoffs took the intensity up a notch or twelve, but she still didn’t like it.

But then Sully got a goal while Liam was stewing in the box for some penalty, and Gabi pumped her fist. Damn right, he did.

“That’s my man, right there,” Sara cheered, and they cheered right along with her.

These women were a unit, the team was a family, and Gabi was lucky to be a part of it. She’d finally let down her defenses and it was paying off in ways she had never imagined. And win or lose, she couldn’t wait to throw herself into Max’s arms tonight and show him how much he meant to her.

How the hell had she gotten so lucky?

“Shit,” Max yelled as one of the Boston forwards shot the puck between Gally’s legs and the goal horn blared.

There were three minutes left in the second period and he’d naively hoped that they would shut out Boston. But in the end, all that mattered was a win. The tension was thick as both teams battled for every inch of ice. He still had to get a goal for Connor. That kid was relentless and Max loved it.

He looked up at the box, knowing his family was up there. Gabi was up there. He still couldn’t believe she’d pranked him like that, but he was also impressed. After the game ended, he would seriously start thinking about retribution on his teammates and Gabi.

But now, he needed to get his ass on the ice and make sure Boston didn’t tie it up.

Four minutes into the third period, Liam got a damn goal while Max was on the ice. It’d rebounded off the pipes and Liam had scooped it back up and shot it right over Gally’s stretched-out leg pads.

Max gritted his teeth, determined to break the tie.

Both teams went back and forth for the next fifteen minutes, each goalie stopping every attempted shot. Between the music and the volume of the fans, the noise was deafening, but Max wouldn’t have it any other way.

His heart thumped steadily in his chest as he took the ice again. There were two minutes left. Two minutes to break the tie or head to overtime. It was grueling, but he loved it. The whistle had just blown for an icing call, and they moved to the face-off dot on Gally’s left side.

Harty and Liam dropped down, and Harty won the puck, knocking it toward Jake. They moved up the ice in a unit, with Max and Crow hovering just inside Boston’s side. Jake passed the puck to Harty and then it went to Cheesy, but none of them had a clear shot.

But he did.

He tapped his stick gently on the ice and caught Cheesy’s glance. The puck hit Max’s stick and he pulled back and slammed that one-timer shot into the back of the net. Every player on the bench jumped up and roared with excitement as Max’s teammates on the ice crashed into him with a bruising hug.

His grin couldn’t get any bigger as they slapped his back and helmet before he skated down the bench to tap gloves with his teammates.

“Seventy seconds to go, boys. Lock this up,” Bugsy yelled at them.

And seventy seconds later, the Strikers had won the Stanley Cup.

“Holy fucking shit, we did it,” Nessie said as they all flooded onto the ice to celebrate.

If a group hug with twenty players, including two huge goalies, was possible, they were going to fucking do it. His heart raced as they yelled and cheered, the noise deafening between the fans and the players.

“Fucking right,” Sully yelled, and Max laughed.

“Feels good to beat your brother?” he asked.

“Cannot wait for the next family dinner,” Sully exclaimed.

Then they all formed a line for the traditional handshake with the opposing team. They skated past each Boston player; words of condolences and congratulations were said, along with seconds to wish former teammates encouragement after a loss.

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