Page 15 of The Rest of the Story
Hooked on an Outlaws Feeling.
The team announcer fired up the crowd, telling everyone to get on their feet and get ready to make some noise, which was fucking ridiculous, because no one could make more noise than they already were.
Behind the announcer’s voice, Halestorm’s “Here’s to Us” began to play.
Goddamn it, that crowddidget louder. When the announcer read out each of our names and told us to skate to center ice, where the spotlights were sparkling, everyone went absolutely apeshit.
We were all, every single one of us, battered with shock and stunned by this outpouring of love, from our families surprising us to our fans astonishing us. And when Brody’s name was called, he glided to center ice bent at the waist, tears pouring down his cheeks as he cupped his hands over his face. He blew kisses to the crowd, and all those brilliant lights shone down on his beautiful smile.
The music rose, climbing to roof-shaking decibels as Shea was announced and I wheeled him into the circle of our team. Between half of the crowd singing along with Halestorm and the other half screaming Shea’s name, I almost missed when the announcer roared, “And, Outlaws fans, get loud for your team captain… Morgan Elsher!”
Then I couldn’t hear anything at all, and I couldn’t see anything at all, because my tears were falling and my heart was shattering and I had the music blaring in my bones. The team collapsed around Shea and I, and wrapped our arms around each other, holding on tight together as this arena, this city, our fans, and our families showered us with endless, awesome, overpowering love.
I felt the future of the ice we were standing on, heard all these cheers in another context, another time: with a Cup above our heads, me passing it to Shea and then Shea to Brody, and we were champions of the world, the best of the best, and we were all, all of us, together.
I tipped my head back and closed my eyes, and I thought,Here’s to fucking us.
Epilogue
Summer arrived,and with it, all good things.
Kathy and I had a postseason closeout meeting. She brought a six-pack of beer, and I brought the nachos, and we both put our feet on her desk and toasted our team.
“Let’s talk next year,” she said after we’d polished off a beer each. “Your contract.”
It was day three hundred and one of my one-year contract with the Outlaws. “Kit-Kat, I’m yours forever,” I told her. “Sign the rest of the team first. Give everyone big raises, extensions, and bonuses. Give them the world, and then give me whatever peanuts are left.”
She smiled and cracked open a new beer for each of us.
Montreal went back-to-back as the Stanley Cup champs. We watched them win at a party at the rookie house, and where it could have been bittersweet, or even painful, it wasn’t. We were proud together. Proud of what we’d accomplished, and proud of who we were, both as a team and as individuals. Proud, most of all, of how we’d grown, even in the weeks since our season ended and we’d exited the playoffs.
Brody threw individual pieces of popcorn in the air and tried to catch them in his mouth. “Next year,” he said, “that’s gonna be us.” He looked like Pac-Man, and there was a prime opportunity here for the team. I eyed the other guys holding bowls of popcorn, saw the same little gleam twinkling in their gaze.
We pelted Brody with fistfuls of popcorn. He managed to catch a half dozen in his mouth, then flopped on his back across Lawson’s lap and let the rest rain down.
“They got me,” he said to Lawson, turning on his big, brown puppy dog eyes.
“Poor baby.” Lawson stuck out his bottom lip and tried not to laugh.
Brody fished popcorn out of his T-shirt and the couch cushions as the game rolled on, munching away and lying on Lawson. Lawson barely saw a thing on those giant TVs. He was too busy gazing at Brody, his dreamy eyes ice-bright and glittering.
Shea and I, sitting at the far end of the couch, shared a grin. “We never looked like that.” Shea leaned in, spoke softly into my ear. “Right?”
I one hundred percent surely did. I’m certain I looked even more gone than Lawson, and it was only politeness that kept Kathy and everyone on the team from saying something about how googly-eyed and gaga I’d been for Shea.
And Shea? Well, those certain special kinds of looks I got from him had spun me around, tipped my world over, and made me think about sunsets on porches and holding hands with the same man as we watched the years pass. I remembered those looks he gave me all too well. They’d redefined my life from top to bottom, and I cherished every single one.
“Nah,” I said. “We were totally cool about everything.”
Both of Shea’s eyebrows slowly rose, and his look called me a liar. I laughed. On the TVs, which Brody had rigged into a giant extended display, Bryce took a pass from Etienne, fed the puck to Hunter, and scored. Montreal, up by two.
After Montreal won, I texted Bryce congrats and good game. It took a few days for him to respond, which I understood. Cup parties get pretty wild and last for days. But text back he did, and he said he was sorry we didn’t face off against each other and that he was looking forward to next season, when, for sure, we’d meet in the Cup finals.
Better believe it. I can’t wait.
If you’re ever in Quebec, please give me a call. Hunter and I would love to take you to dinner and out to the city. Montréal est très belle. Maybe we could even skate together, too, oui?
If you guys are ever in Colorado, drop a line. My husband and I would love to take you up some trails and into the mountains. It’s beautiful country out here.
