Page 91 of The Spice Play

“I-I love you,” I stammered, tightening my grip on Matty as his hips began to slide.

His lips tugged up at the corner, his eyes locked entirely on mine. “You mean that?”

I huffed out a choked chuckle. “I mean it.”

His mouth trembled, but he pulled me to him again, pressing a brief kiss against my lips. “Thank God for that,” he mumbled.

“Daddy, I’m right here,” Matty groaned, his finger poking Seb in the cheek.

Seb laughed, his forehead falling to mine for the briefest seconds before he turned to look at his son. “Hey, bud,” he said, wrapping his hand around the side of Matty’s head and pulling him toward him, his mouth meeting Matty’s temple. “Sorry for swearing.”

“You said theworstword!” Matty giggled.

“Shh,” Seb hushed him. “I’ve got to go before Coach screams at me.”

“No,” Matty whined.

“It’s okay,” I insisted, wiping the underside of my eyes with my palm. “We can see Daddy after he wins, okay?”

Matty pouted as I took a step back, but Seb’s grin didn’t dare fade, not for a second, as he pushed back off the boards, skating backward for a few feet.Bye, he mouthed, and then he was turning, taking off toward the other side of the rink and throwing the microphone back to the wildly confused men standing in the center.

Chapter 38

Sebastian

Icould breathe.

Even through the exhaustion creeping into my bones as I sped across the ice, the puck beneath my stick, and five men in front of me trying to take it, I couldbreathe.

For the first time in weeks, my chest wasn’t heavy and bogged down with doubts or regrets. My legs burned, my knee screamed, and my lungsached, but I was alive, every nerve alight with intent and purpose.

The puck hugged the bottom of my stick, the vibrations of its contact buzzing up my arm as I pushed, and pushed, and pushed forward. A defender closed in, his shadow looming in my peripheral, but I pivoted, cutting sharply to the right as I nailed another forward cross-over. He lunged, his body swiping air where I’d been a second before.

The roar of the crowd surged as I streaked down the ice, my linemates flanking me. Somewhere behind me and off to my left, Luke was shouting something, something I couldn’t make out over the chaos, something panicked.

But my focus tunneled. Everything zeroed in on the puck, the goal, and the clock.Fifteen seconds left.

I darted past another defender, their stick clashing against mine when they tried for a steal, but my grip tightened, my muscles straining as I pulled the puck free and kept moving. Ahead, the goalie loomed, crouched low, his gaze locked on me through the guard on his helmet.

Ten seconds.

My body buzzed with adrenaline, but God, it wasn’t just that — it was her. Knowing she was there, watching me, cheering me on. Knowing shelovedme. The weight of that word wrapped around me like fucking armor, steadying me, grounding me, driving me forward.

“Nine seconds!” someone screamed.

Thinking on my feet, I faked a pass, flicking the puck to the opposite side of my stick into a backhand and weaving through the last defender. The net was clear — the goalie had shifted just slightly to follow my bluff.

Seven seconds.

I pulled back, the blade of my stick brushing against the puck.

Five seconds.

Time seemed to slow around me, and I took the fucking shot. The puck soared, cutting through the air, spinning end on end toward the net.

Four.

Three.

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