46. You Can Do Whatever You Want #2
Adam’s a wreck as the period comes to an end, and Carter swings an arm around his shoulders as they make their way through the players’ tunnel for a quick break and regroup.
Fifteen minutes later, with the ice ready to go and the low thud of the music that drives my anxiety through the roof, I hear Carter’s booming voice.
Everyone close enough gathers around to watch his speech, the team lining the wall as Carter paces the length of the tunnel, pointing his stick, clapping helmets, hyping his boys up.
“We’ve come way too fucking far to let this slip away. The transformation we’ve made from day one to here is un-fucking-believable. I’ve never been prouder of a group before, and let me tell ya something, this is one hell of a fucking group!”
“Oh my,” I accidentally murmur out loud. Heat rushes through me, and I barely resist the urge to fan my face.
“I’ve never been more attracted to Carter in my life,” Cara breathes.
“I will literally let him do whatever he wants to me tonight.” I’m more meaning to think it, not say it out loud, which is probably why I earn an elbow in my ribs from Jennie. “Sorry.” I look to Holly; she lifts her shoulders.
“I’m counting down the days until I become a grandma. Bring it on.”
All righty then.
Carter’s voice gets louder, and I keep getting hotter.
“We can do it! This is it! This is the team! My fucking team! My boys! I love this fucking team, so get your asses out there and let’s bring this fucking cup home! Let’s fucking do it, boys!”
The tunnel erupts as Carter ushers them onto the ice, slapping every single one of their asses. The crowd turns feral as their home team takes the ice for overtime in the Stanley Cup.
Carter waves me over before stepping onto the ice. He taps his cheek. “Good luck kiss.”
“Oh, baby.” I take his face in my hands. “You don’t need luck.” I kiss his lips, then his cheek. “Now get your sweet ass out there.”
His crooked smile is electric, pulling his dimples in. “And score you a goal?”
“Eh. Only if you feel like it.”
You should know—if you don’t already—that Carter is an unstoppable force when he’s motivated. The man is the most relentless human being I’ve ever known. No isn’t an option for him; if he wants it, he’ll find a way to make it happen.
Which is why he takes off like lightning on his second shift, racing up the boards after the puck is poked loose. His head just barely tips in both directions, looking over his shoulder for his linemates as he moves fluidly up the ice, but they’re not with him.
“It’s you!” Emmett hollers from behind.
The entire arena is on their feet.
“All you, baby!” Garrett races up his right, trailing him. “Let it fly!”
And the crowd is silent.
My heart’s in my throat as I watch Carter slip effortlessly by one defenseman, then twirl around the other.
Holly’s gripping my hand so hard the tips of my fingers are numb.
Cara and Jennie have their faces pressed up against the glass, and Hank’s got his buried in his hands, for what purpose, I’m not sure.
Carter finishes his spin with flair, lifting one foot off the ground, and takes note of the forward who’s flying toward him, ready to send him straight into the boards. But Carter looks oddly calm.
He pops the puck off the ice on the blade of his stick as he dodges left, turns halfway around, and flicks that puck right over the goalie’s shoulder.
The arena’s a freaking zoo. All of us are crying, even Hank, and Carter gets tackled to the ground as his entire team piles on top of him. Adam whips down the ice, throwing his stick, glove, and blocker to the side as he finishes the dogpile, jumping on top of everyone.
Seriously, I can’t stop crying. I regret letting Cara do my makeup. I wipe at my cheeks and my fingers come away smeared with black.
Cara’s weeping. Weeping . “I’m gonna let that man put a baby in me next weekend,” she sobs, slapping the glass. “I love you, Emmy! I love you and your big, magical dick, baby!”
We watch them roll out the carpet as both teams line up.
The Stanley Cup is carried out and placed down on a table as another hush falls over the arena, only the odd holler and whistle echoing through, bouncing off the high ceilings.
In a turn of events, Carter gets to present the trophy for the most valuable player.
“Every single guy on this team is invaluable,” he starts, talking into the microphone.
“Every single one of them. But we wouldn’t be where we are right now if it weren’t for this guy right here.
” He points at Adam, who stumbles backward in shock before the guys push him forward.
“Ladies and gentlemen, on your feet for the best fucking goalie in the world!”
“Courtney fucked that one up, huh,” Jennie hums.
Cara claps her hand. “She sure as hell did.”
When the Vipers are left alone on the ice, the cup is the captain’s to hold first. Carter reaches for that huge, shiny silver trophy, but pauses, his hands hanging in the air.
He twists slowly, gaze finding mine, and he starts gliding across the ice to me. He opens the door to the tunnel, gesturing for me, and my cheeks blaze. This is his accomplishment; I don’t want to take anything away from him.
But still, I go to him, because I always will.
“Congratulations, baby,” I whisper, grinning down at him and smacking my tears away.
He crooks a finger at me. “Come here.” He brackets my chin in his hand. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making me feel like everything is within my reach if I work hard enough. This is amazing. Everything I dreamed of as a kid. But it’s you who makes my world complete.” He touches his lips to mine. “I love you.”
With a wink and a smile, Carter steps back onto the ice. My heart bursts in my chest as he lifts that cup above his head, letting out a wild, unrestrained scream that the entire arena echoes back at him.