EPILOGUE
BASH
The tension has my body wound so tightly, I might explode at any moment. Every pass of the puck, every shot, every body-check, and every penalty call might as well be happening to me. I can feel every single thing as if I were the one out on the ice, as if it were my fate being decided.
Who would’ve thought watching from the stands could be this stressful?
I glance down at the bench. Greer’s laser focus never wavers from the ice or her team—the one she almost lost.
The Scorpions finally did it. They reached the Stanley Cup finals. In only three years, she’s managed to achieve something some teams only do once in their entire history.
And game seven is on our home ice, in front of our home crowd, with everyone who has supported the Scorpions here to see this moment.
It’s her chance to snatch the thing that eluded me during my career—the Cup.
Caleb elbows me in the stomach.
I glower at him next to me. “What was that for?”
He chuckles and nods toward the rink where the clean-up crew enters to clean off the ice during a television break. “You need to relax, dude. You look like you’re about ready to have a coronary.”
With only three minutes left and down by one, I might.
This game has been nothing short of World War III. The Scorpions and the Boston Bulldogs are going at it as if their lives depend on it. And I guess, in a way, they do.
For some of the older players on both teams, this is probably their last opportunity to get the Cup. And for the young guys, this is something they’ve dreamed of their entire lives and probably never thought they could accomplish at this age.
I remember what that was like. The wonder. The excitement. The racing of my heart when I stepped out onto the ice. It still thunders in my chest now, but for a different reason.
A far less selfish one I wouldn’t have known I was capable of a few years ago.
I want this so much for Greer.
That woman has busted her ass and worked so damn hard to get here. She’s coached an incredible team that came together and pushed through a rough season to end up here.
It’s her time to win.
A tug at the left leg of my pants drags my attention downward. “Daddy! I want to see Mommy!”
I scoop up Annabelle into my arms and point to the bench just to our left. “See Mommy right there? She’s working. The game will be over in a few minutes.”
Bringing a toddler to a game is always an experience, but we didn’t want her to miss this huge moment for Greer. She may not fully understand what’s happening, but we always want her as involved as she can be. It’s the only way to ensure Greer doesn’t end up feeling like an absentee parent and Anna understands why Mommy has to be gone so much.
So far, it’s worked out, with us traveling with the team as much as we can and coming to games even if she ends up sleeping in my arms for most of them.
“Come to Uncle Caleb.” He pulls her from my arms and nods toward the game. “Now, you can pay attention.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “You’re a good friend.”
And he’s just in time.
Lebedev faces off against Fredericks, one of the Bulldogs’ forwards, and the ref drops the puck. Shoulders clash, bodies slam, and the puck flies straight out to Mac, who’s waiting right in the slot. He shoots, and it soars over the left shoulder of the Bulldogs’ goalie and into the net.
“Yes!”
The foghorn blows through the arena, and the crowd erupts. Even Anna cheers in Caleb’s arms and high-fives me. Watching her get so excited at the games makes every sacrifice worth it.
All the late nights. The crying missing Mommy when she can’t be with us. Giving up this game I love so damn much.