Page 113 of Major Penalty

My knees almost give out because suddenly, my vision adjusts, and I see them.

The kids.

Mykids.

And every single one of them is wearing my jersey. Front and center, arms raised, screaming my name.

My heart lodges somewhere in my throat, pulsing like it doesn’t know how to beat inside a body anymore. Tiny hands wave with red cheeks, eyes shining with pride…for me.

Irene brought them to see me.

I can’t fucking breathe.

I lift my hand and wave back at them, and they all start jumping up and down, even more excited that I waved back.

And that’s when I break. I turn my head, pretending to wipe sweat off my face with my glove, but my eyes burn, and my vision’s swimming, and…fuck.

The tears fall. This is what I’ve been chasing in every fight, every bad night, and every cold morning waking up alone.

Belonging.

And it’s looking back at me with Irene’s smile, Mandy’s curls, and a dozen kids cheering my name like I’m their hero. I don't give a fuck who sees me cry. I’ve never felt this much love in my life.

And I’m not letting it go.

Not for anything.

My skates carve hard into the ice as we huddle up—Rowan, Damien, Langley, Davidson, Stone, everyone. Gloves slap my back, helmets knock mine, someone yells, “FUCKING BLACK!” and everyone lifts their stick in the air to the crowd.

The goal horn is still ringing, the fans still roaring.

We beat the Goats in a grueling, hard fought series, and our team is advancing.

But it’s not the win that’s got my chest squeezing like this. It’s not the crowd or the guys chanting, “Panthers!” in the huddle. I raise my stick again, giving the fans a wave, and slap my teammates’ gloves.

But I don’t want to be here anymore. Not one more fucking second. I want to be with her, with them.

I glance up one last time, my eyes finding Irene. She’s kneeling, showing the kids how to do something with their hands.

It takes me a second to register the sight—I blink, frozen in place.

One by one, the kids start catching on. Tiny fingers fumble, some sideways, some upside down, but every single one of them tries.

And then, they hold them up proudly. A dozen jerseys with ‘BLACK’ written on them. And a dozen little fingerheartsin the air.

For me.

The tunnel’s to my left. The locker room’s waiting. But I don’t move.

Because everything I’ve ever wanted is right there in the crowd.

I don’t want the shower. I don’t want the press. I don’t want the boys.

I want them. I want her. Now.

I pivot and skate to the bench, heart thundering. I signal to security, to one of the guys near the entrance to the lower bowl. They see where I’m looking and who I’m looking at, and one nod is all it takes. They get it.

A voice crackles over the radio. One of the ushers waves them down.

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