Page 27 of One Goal in Mind

I’m grateful the media frenzy around the accident was short-lived, but I hate that the league didn’t make an exception for Russ to be in the playoffs. Vancouver is playing Québec City in the conference championship—it’s game seven, and could be one of the biggest games of his career. Instead, he’s had to watch his team advance, game after game, without him. Their goalie is good, but not as good as Russ, and it’s killing him to not be on the ice.

As I’m helping Edwards through a few stretches to help with his groin strain, Dean Thomas, our team’s owner, knocks on my open door. “Hey, North. Have you seen who’s playing tonight?”

“Yes, I spoke with the strength and conditioning coach yesterday. Lawrence is good to go.”

“No,” he chuckles, pulling out his phone. He taps it a few times and shows me the Caribous, including Russ. “Your boy is playing today.”

“What?” I shriek. “He’s supposed to be out the whole season, including the playoffs.”

Dean smirks and tucks his phone in the breast pocket of his blazer. “He never should’ve been suspended for more than a few games. So, I made a call.”

“We’ll probably lose tonight,” Edwards huffs, and I draw my lips into my mouth to smother my smile.

“Probably, but it was the right thing to do. See you out there.” Dean points to Edwards and walks out.

“Okay, is it feeling better?”

Edwards nods, and I scramble to pull my phone from my back pocket, only to find no missed calls or texts from Russ. Why wouldn’t he tell me he’s playing?

The next few hours, I’m on edge, excited for the game but worried about Russ. As the guys begin their stretches and skating drills, I can’t take my eyes off him. While he’s fun and playful off the ice, the moment he’s in his goal, he’s all business.

Berkeley skates over to him, gripping behind Russ’s neck and tapping helmets. He then makes his way to the glass where Rachel is sitting. She blows him a kiss, and I can’t help but laugh at them. In the years I’ve known her, I never thought anyone could tame her. He matches her crazy, and I couldn’t be happier for them.

The guys leave the ice and, once the ice is resurfaced, the players are announced. Even with the majority of the stadium filled with Québec fans, it erupts in cheers as Russ is announced. He’s done so much for the league these past few months, helping them adopt the same therapy requirement other sports do. I’m so fucking proud of him and am grateful he’ll be able to play tonight.

I’m checking on Rivers, who took a nasty hit to his shoulder last game, when the roar of the stadium erupts with no other announcement. I glance up to find Russ skating toward us. “What are you doing?”

He tugs off his helmet, revealing his wide, devilish grin—complete with a dimple. “Come here, Red.”

I move closer to the divider, and it takes everything in me to not hop over it. “Why didn’t you tell me you were playing?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise. Now, are you going to kiss me or do I need to wait for the damn kiss cam?”

I lean over and grip a fistful of his jersey to pull him closer. The moment his lips touch mine, I melt. “Good luck, bestie,” I whisper against him, and when we break apart, I notice we’re on the jumbotron. My cheeks heat, and he glances behind him, chuckling when he sees it too. He kisses me again, then skates over to his place between the pipes.

The first period is stressful, the Caribou defense not letting the puck anywhere near Russ. They’ve scored on us twice, and two of my guys have ended up in the sin bin. They pull off the ice and there are various messages on the jumbotron wishing people happy birthday or anniversaries. I don’t pay any attention to it, checking on Edwards and Prince.

Once the boys are back on the ice, there are more cheers than usual. I look for Russ, confident he’s pulling another stunt, only to see the last message on the big screen is a marriage proposal from Berkeley:

WILL YOU MARRY ME, RACH?

LOVE, BEAV

Rachel is on her feet, hand over her mouth, as he skates over to her. I pull out my phone and open my camera app, zooming in to record him dropping to one knee. They’ve only known one another for a few months, but she nods excitedly and one of the players’ girlfriends hands her a ring box. She opens it and screams, then places her hand on the glass. He does the same, and she slips it on her finger. It’s on the wrong hand, and the wife sitting to her other side whispers to her. Rach puts it on the correct finger as Berkeley skates off, blowing her a kiss. While I’m happy for my friend who adores grand gestures, my hope is if Russ ever decides to propose, it’s not during a game—there’s too much pressure, even if I’d probably say yes.

The next period is quiet, but the boys are slowing down, letting Vancouver score three goals in the past ten minutes. Edwards slips past Berkeley along the wall; I wince as he shoots the puck. Russ stops it with his left skate, and it ricochets back into play. Berkeley snags it, chasing it down the ice and passing to Graves. My goalie is out of his mind, leaving the goal unattended. Graves effortlessly hits in their sixth goal of the game. The energy has shifted, and the coaches are pissed—there’s no coming back from this.

As predicted, Vancouver wins after scoring on us two more times. As much as it was a kind gesture on Dean’s part, his call cost us the game. The players congratulate Russ with helmet taps, then are celebrated for their win. I’ll have my work cut out for me tomorrow with a few of my guys freshly injured with new sprains. With a final glance over at Russ, his eyes are on me, his dimpled smile lighting up the stadium. He may have won the game, but this man stole my heart the day we met.

After wrapping up a few administrative tasks, I head home, disappointed Russ won’t be staying with me. The team is outcelebrating, and as much as I’d love to join them, I’m exhausted and wouldn't be able to keep up with them—they’d drink me under the table. He’ll stay at the hotel with the team after, so I take a quick shower and slide into bed, hoping to catch up on a bit of reading. I’m three chapters into a billionaire romance Rachel insisted I read when there’s a knock at my door. I throw back the covers and groan—it’s likely my neighbour Cheryl needing something. I answer it and gasp.

“Hey, Red.”

I jump into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. He holds me tight and I breathe him in. His body wash is damn catnip for me, the crisp, clean scent always grounds me. “Hey, bestie. What are you doing here?”

Russ walks me into my apartment and locks the door. He doesn’t set me down until we’re in my bedroom. “I wanted to celebrate with my girl.” Taking a seat at the edge of the bed, he still doesn’t let me go.

“Oh yeah? And what’s your idea of celebrating?”

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