Chapter 67 Adrian
ADRIAN
The first game of the season, the Vancouver Wings are playing against the Stanley Cup defending champions. The whole stadium is abuzz, fans wondering who’s going to win.
During our pre-season games, we’ve picked up a lot of momentum. But today, we’re playing against the Denver Blizzards, the grittiest, most stacked roster in the league. They’ve been called a beacon of hockey excellence.
I breathe in, feeding off the energy crackling in the locker room.
“This is it,” I say loudly. “We have to prove to them we belong there on the ice. Our GM is watching, and we need to show him no one is fucking expendable on this team. To do that, it’s not enough to win. We have to dominate.”
I raise my hockey stick and bring it forward. Immediately hockey sticks descend, criss-crossing over mine.
“Together,” I shout.
“Together,” the Wings yell.
“It’s time,” says Coach Forrester. “Leave it all on the ice, boys!”
As I lead my team onto the ice, my mind goes to Sonya.
Her audition is tomorrow, so I know she can’t be here tonight, but even without her watching, I’ll be playing differently.
She’s inside me, influencing me. I’m so proud of her dedication to ballet, and can’t help but be inspired and fueled harder because of it.
The Wings race across the rink and start warming up.
Ten minutes later, I tell Lokhov, “Go do your thing.”
He always skates over to Kavi, and they have a quiet moment together before the game starts.
Without a word, he heads in that direction.
Quinn comes and taps me on the shoulder. “You should go over, too.” He’s waving at someone. “Look.”
Kavi is there, wearing his jersey. I also wave at her, and then beside her is—
Almost tripping, I skate to her, awestruck.
“You’re here?”
Sonya nods. “I couldn’t be anywhere else.”
But her audition is tomorrow, and these are the last few hours she could be practicing for it.
It’s the biggest performance in her career, her chance to make history and get chosen as a principal dancer.
I didn’t expect Sonya here. I would’ve understood that she couldn’t make it, but the fact that she is?
My heart thumps against my ribs. No matter what happens on the ice, I’m going to treasure this moment for the rest of my life.
Beside us, Lokhov and Kavi are doing their pre-game ritual. Pressing and matching their palms against the glass for good luck.
I tentatively lift my palm up, to press it on the glass in front of Sonya. A little shyly, wondering if she’ll want to do this, too.
She shakes her head. “Wait.”
Before I can ask why, she takes her jacket off.
“Holy shit,” says Kavi, whipping her head to stare.
My jaw drops open. Holy shit is right.
A tsunami of emotion crashes into me. Sonya doesn’t wear anything but black. And she’s never worn a hockey jersey in her life, but here she is, wearing mine. The number three is proudly displayed on her arm.
My grumpy, stubborn ballerina does a slow spin for me. So I can read my name spread across her back. Then she arches an eyebrow, waiting.
I practically crash myself into the boards, and my stick drops to the ground. That’s because I need two hands for this. It’s hard to do wearing thick hockey gloves, but I shape them into a heart and rattle it against the glass.
“Are you going to do it back to him?” Kavi asks, teasing Sonya.
“She doesn’t have to! She’s wearing my jersey!”
Sonya covers her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking softly. I know she’s laughing.
I blow her a kiss.
She peeks between her fingers and catches it, quickly and sneakily bringing it down to her own heart.
“I wish I could just…” I make a show of trying to climb up the glass and she huffs out a laugh. Kavi joins in, too, as Lokhov grabs my shoulder and says, “Come on. The game’s starting.”
It is. Referees are blowing their whistles. I can’t keep standing there. Blowing my ballerina more rapid kisses, I skate to position, grinning and laughing up a storm.
The player across from me balks at the sheer happiness I’m exuding. It’s exploding out of every pore of my body.
“We’re going to win tonight,” I tell him, my blue eyes glinting. “Because my girl is here and she’s wearing my jersey!”
“I doubt it,” he scoffs.
“Just watch!”
The puck drops.
Three periods later, we defeat the defending Stanley Cup champions five to one.
The stadium roars to life, fans screaming and getting to their feet.
The Wings players on the bench storm the ice, and we surge into each other.
Everyone is celebrating together, but it’s Sonya I look to.
She hoists a leg up as if she wants to climb up over the glass and join me.
I grin, flying towards her, my arms outstretched.
We’re both being silly, and this is one of those days I’m going to remember for the rest of my life. I couldn’t be happier, and I couldn’t be prouder of the Wings.
I just know that, watching from the box above somewhere, our GM got to see that nothing can stop the lineup we have from going all the way. I can feel it in my bones. This team is going to win the Cup this year. We’re going to get there by working together.
Later that night, the only thing Sonya’s wearing is my jersey. I’m on my knees, massaging her feet, softly rubbing ice over the spots where she’s swollen and bruised.
I’m so dedicated to the task, that it takes a few pokes from Sonya to get my attention. When my eyes rise to meet hers, she scowls.
“Don’t mention this to anyone. If you do, I’m going to pretend it never happened and that you made it up all in your head.”
“Darling, pretend what—?”
Before I can finish asking, she makes a heart shape with her fingers. The same one I made for her at the game. “It’s so corny, but I’m doing this because you won and I’m so proud.”
Silent laughter. Because I’ve softly tackled her and she’s fallen back on the bed, and I’m above her, without putting any weight on her body, kissing her cheeks. Nose. Neck. Mouth. Forehead.
After what must be the hundredth kiss, she reaches for the button on my jeans. I deflect her hand and pull back. “Your audition is tomorrow. You have to rest and save your energy.”
She brings her hand to my chest, over my hammering heart. “What if I need you?”
“Fuck,” I groan. “Baby, don’t say that to me right now. We can’t strain your muscles.”
Her mouth curves. “It’ll relax me, I swear.”
And that’s how she convinces me to have her spooned against my front as I stroke in and out of her so slowly, it’s unraveling us both.
“You don’t move,” I say, pushing a lock of her hair back. “Not an inch.” My hand comes around and I find her clit, drawing circles. “You’re going to let me do all the work.”
She shivers and nods. And I kiss her shoulder, then look into her eyes as I help her fall apart, following closely behind.