Page 129 of Top Scorer
It doesn’t matter that we battled hard for weeks and spewed all manner of asshole trash talk. It doesn’t matter that Logan has a cut over his eye or that Lance was slashed by nearly every Seattle defenseman. Everyone’s handshake is genuine, and everyone looks you in the eye.
The most incredible trophy in sports glides out of the tunnel, gleaming silver under the lights. There’re the usual speeches, butthe real celebration is when the captain lifts it over his head and then passes it to the next guy and the next till all of us skate around the rink arms up and hearts bursting.
When it’s my turn, I hoist it over my shoulders. The weight is crushing and featherlight all at once. The constant cheering changes into a collective roar. I glance up.
On the scoreboard, there’s a collage of the twins in all their infant glory. One picture is of me carrying both of them while we’re all wearing Mavericks swag. The wordsWe’re proud of you, Daddy!flash.
It’s like someone opened my chest, ripped out my heart, and put it on the scoreboard where my children are staring back at me.
I lift the Stanley Cup again, aiming it toward them. My face is completely drenched with both sweat and tears. Cameras flash, confetti rains, teammates holler. Everywhere around me, the celebration is deafening and the exuberance boundless.
But all I can think about is Ligaya, Orlando, and Olivia in the quiet townhouse. All the champagne in the world can’t keep me in the locker room when my woman waits for me in bed and our babies need to be cuddled.
I can’t wait to celebrate with them.
EPILOGUE
EIGHT WEEKS LATER
TRISTAN
I’ve got a bottle of champagne clutched under my arm and my phone propped in video record mode in order to catch Ligaya’s reaction when I tell her I signed the Columbus contract.
It took the whole summer to negotiate, since Chris had been dangling some other teams in the mix. My job was to stay out of the process until the offers were solid.
There was plenty to keep me busy in the meantime. Setting up a sleeping and feeding schedule for twins is a logistical challenge, to say the least. And to add to that stress, the home buying process is no joke. A two-bedroom townhouse shrinks quickly with two babies and all their gear. How can such tiny creatures need so many things? I got tired of stepping on contraptions and never seeing the kitchen counters.
We’re moving into our new home in a couple of days. Another logistical challenge, you might say, though absolutely worth it.
This is our forever home.
The papers are signed, the keys are in our hands, and all the furniture is ordered. It’s a four-bedroom ranch-style house on the outskirts of Centerstone, closer to the Columbus arena. We’ve gotan enormous yard that backs up to a wooded area where I imagine Olivia and Orlando playing tag one day. Or maybe I can build a private hockey rink. Plenty of space for it.
Inside, there’s a fully renovated kitchen, two living room areas, a dining room, and an office. Upstairs is our main bedroom and three other bedrooms for Orlando, Olivia, and maybe a third? I’m not against the idea.
Tonight, I reserved a table at a fancy restaurant downtown for me and Ligaya. Ostensibly, it was to meet after the contract was signed, but there’s an even more important reason. Tonight, I’m asking the woman of my dreams to be my wife. Instead of blurting out “marry me” without a plan, I’ve got a speech.
No way am I messing up the proposal this time.
Ligaya called and asked to be picked up at our new house. Her parents were already taking care of the babies, so she took the opportunity to bring some personal things before the move. I’m grinning like an idiot, rehearsing the line in my head—Surprise! I don’t have to retire after all!—when I hear her footsteps on the stairs.
I angle the camera toward the landing, already picturing the moment she gasps, maybe cries, definitely kisses me senseless.
Ligaya appears at the landing.
She is not wearing the sundress I pictured.
In fact, Ligaya is not wearing much at all.
She is at the top of the stairs in black lingerie made of lace and see-through fabric that grazes the very top of her thighs. Apart from that, she’s bare except for the strappy, shimmery heels that make her legs absolutely mouthwatering. Her hair is down, her glasses off, and her breasts bouncy as she takes one step at a time.
I’m speechless. And hard. Very hard.
The doctor gave the green light a week ago, but it’s me who held back, because what if I hurt her? Also, every second we’re not cleaning or feeding or entertaining the babies is spent resting. Ligaya is still recovering.
So, I’ve had eight weeks’ worth of blue balls, but I’m not complaining. Waiting this long means every touch is electric, every kiss a new discovery, every glimpse of her skin a seduction.
Today is a full attack on my senses. She takes my breath away.
