Page 73 of Power Play with My Brother's Irish Friends

Epilogue: Patrick

This was it. The moment I’d hoped for, practiced for, and lived years of my life for until I met Miranda. Game day. Not any old game day. The game day. The Stanley Cup finals had arrived, and me and my teammates were going out on the ice to try and bring home a trophy.

We skated out in our usual formation, raising our hands and listening to the cheers.

I turned to find Miranda in the crowd. She’d shown us exactly where she’d be, and my face twisted into a dumbfounded grin when I spotted her and her belly. In the four months since we all moved in together, her belly had become my favorite part of her. I loved all of her, her mind, her body, and her sharp wit. She’d been beautiful to me from the minute I saw her, and I’d fallen in love with all of her. But realizing she held our children made the moment impossible to forget.

Thumb and forefinger in her mouth, Miranda let out her signature whistle and jumped up and down. She stopped after the second bounce and rubbed her stomach, smiling at me when I raised both eyebrows. Still grinning, she waved me off with an ‘everything is fine’ motion. We’d developed our own set of hand signals for moments like this, especially after she’d finally broken down and told us that being pregnant with twins came with a few extra potential problems. She’d not wanted to scare us but knew we needed to be aware.

“Let’s go.” Austin grabbed my glove and hauled me around to face the rest of my teammates. He shot a look up at the stands. “Samantha’s with Miranda. She’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Yeah, right.” Duncan scoffed, placed his hockey stick behind his head and looped his elbows over the ends. “We all know they get in more trouble when they’re together, not less.”

“Yeah, okay.” Austin agreed with a chuckle. “But we have to concentrate. Eyes on the puck, guys. This game is ours to win.”

I eyed the players on the opposing team. They matched us in size, and I knew why Coach had been after us to hit the weights as well as practice our footwork. We needed strength and speed. And cool tempers. “Remember what they’re capable of.” I aimed the reminder at Duncan. “They know about your temper.”

“I watched the game. They’ll try to rile me up, get me put in the box. I’m not going.” He twisted his torso side to side, cracking his spine and loosening his muscles. “I got your back.”

“Damn straight.” Duncan thumped his fist onto my shoulder without dropping the hockey stick.

Coach waved us in, and we went over our strategy one last time. We’d adapt as needed, but our core strengths always came into play.

Cold air whisked past my teeth when I bared them and pulled on my helmet. Game time. Austin faced off in the center of the rink, his focus lasered in on his opponent. A whistle. A drop of the puck. Austin moved in a blur almost too fast to see, his stick whipping out and clipping the puck, sending it to Charlie.

I locked in behind Charlie, my rhythmic breaths out of sync with my feet and creating a pulse of adrenaline when a flash of red and gold appeared at my side. He came right for me, his intentions as plain as the sneer on his face.

I slowed at the last second and spun, going in the opposite direction, leaving Duncan to watch Charlie. I spun again, and Charlie sent me the puck. We’d practiced this too, a new setup to my slapshot that wasn’t as obvious. I’d get one chance to surprise them, and I took it.

Puck and stick came together with a bang, the puck spinning back and into the net before the goalie realized I’d taken the shot.

We reset as my teammates congratulated me and the crowd turned into a racket so loud I missed Austin’s words when he passed me.

I was too slow in catching up to my opponent, and their team scored the next shot, followed by another when Duncan was shoved into a wall and the puck taken from him. He came back into formation with a bloody lip and a curse on his lips, but he held onto his temper. It threw the other team off, proving what we’d expected. They didn’t know how to deal with a calm and determined Duncan. They were about to figure out the shit storms he created in anger were nothing to his cunning skill when he tamped down the blinding fury and concentrated.

Miranda and Samantha cheered when we made the next shot, and the sound of her joy became the sole reason for my existence. I’d made her a promise that we’d laugh every day. Even on the tough days, I’d find some way to make her smile. Today was an easy one. Win the game.

The back and forth scoring continued through each quarter until we’d gotten down to the last five minutes. Tied game. I hated letting it get that close, but there was a reason we battled it out with these guys.

Austin and Charlie locked in. Duncan eyed me, and I nodded to let him know I’d seen it too. They were in sync. I tapped my left wrist, the silent sign that I’d watch Charlie. We bolted across the ice.

Austin and Charlie swapped the puck back and forth with practiced ease. The Irish twins were on the move, and everyone knew it. The crowd roared, people on both sides of the arena jumping to their feet.

Austin dropped back slightly to pass an opponent, then tore into the ice and sped past Charlie, turning to skate backward.

Charlie unleashed the puck with a fierce howl and moved to block the guy coming up. I checked the guy myself, leaving Charlie to keep up with Austin.

Austin cut between two guys, and they crashed into each other, sending both spinning. Rounding the edge of the goal, he tapped the puck in right under the goalie’s nose.

The relief remained short-lived. We still had to keep the other team from sneaking in and scoring again before the timer ended. I put every effort into keeping track of the key players, the ones most likely to make a move. Everyone came together in a clash of equipment and bodies when one of their guys tapped the puck wrong and sent it toward Duncan.

The buzzer sounded amid the riot of wild punches and curses, and the ref’s whistle blasted in my ear.

“Game’s over, boys. Knock it off.” He made his way around us, helping guys to their skates and making sure no one pulled any last minute bullshit. I was tempted, and from the twisted sneer on Duncan’s face, so was he. He both kept our tempers under control, not willing to risk any late penalties that might risk our win. I ripped off my helmet and threw it into the crowd. Miranda caught it and thrust it overhead, her congratulations to our team setting off a wave of clapping and bowing.

Coach led the way off the ice and into the locker room. We yanked off gloves and pads, throwing them all in the same general direction while Coach gave us a rousing speech about perseverance and teamwork.

Miranda knocked on the door and stepped through at Coach’s wave. She clapped her hands overhead. “You all are the best fucking hockey team in the world.” Her belly jutted out beneath the billowy black shirt. A ripple passed over her stomach, and she dropped a hand to rub her stomach again. “Even the babies think so.”

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