Page 148 of The Wildest One
Five seconds.
It was either now or never.
The small disk flew toward me across the ice, taking about as much time as a blink. Rather than capturing it with my stick, aiming, shooting, I met the puck as it was still in motion, repositioning my body to rear my arm back, and I connected with the bottom of the rubber.
The placement had to be just right to send it into the air. The intensity in which my stick hit it had to be perfect. The goalie had to leave the smallest hole uncovered, allowing it into the net.
So many factors.
But when they worked together, the puck would soar across the zone, through the crease, and hit the net.
Like it just did.
The puck sank into the top pocket, hitting the back of the goal and falling behind the line.
My stick lifted, my mouth opened, and I froze, waiting for the red light behind the boards to go off, for the goal horn to blow—signals that indicated the goal was fair, unless the refs challenged the play.
And then I heard it—the blow of the horn—and all I saw was a glow of red.
Then, “Goal,” screamed out of my mouth.
Not just from me.
From the crowd.
From my center and right wing, the three of us charging each other as the buzzer for the game went off. Time had run out.
We won.
We fucking won!
The entire team came out onto the ice, including Coach, the trainers, and the staff, and I was suddenly picked up by two players and held in the air while my entire team below shouted, “Beck! Beck!”
This was the first time all night that I glanced into the stands. I saw my family’s box; everyone was in there, standing and pointing toward me, so I lifted my stick and gave them some love. The owner’s box was center ice, and that was where I looked next. There were several people inside, but none had the beautiful red hair I was searching for.
Since I knew she wasn’t on our bench, I turned my head toward the tunnel—an entrance covered in glass—and there she was. Arms raised high, hands clapping, with a smile on her gorgeous face.
“Put me down,” I told my teammates.
Once my skates hit the ice, I hugged the players that I passed on my way to her, and as I got closer, she opened the door to the rink, stepping over the lip on the floor, and I grabbed her, hauling her into my arms.
“Baby!” She hugged me so tightly. “Oh my God! I can’t believe it! You scored the winning goal! You won!”
My gloves and helmet were still on, but that didn’t stop me from squeezing her. “I love you.”
“I love you more.”
When I pulled back, the only thing I wanted was her lips, so I removed my helmet and set it on the ice and tossed my gloves, and I put both hands on her face, her smile getting bigger as I led her toward me.
“Every camera is on us right now,” she said softly.
“Then we’d better make sure we give them a show.”
Our mouths smashed together, and I breathed her in, holding her, ravishing her lips, and when I finally separated us, Igrabbed her hand. “Come on. You’re going to celebrate with the guys on the ice.”
As she walked and I skated, I lifted her hand to kiss her wrist, and something shiny on her skin caught my attention. It was like she’d rubbed lotion on the spot just below her palm. And right in the center of all that gleam was a tattoo.
A tiny, thin black B.
