Chapter 31
MAVERICK
“Shit, Mav, tell us how you really feel.” Akers drops beside me on the bus, phone in hand.
“What are you talking about?”
He turns his phone to me, and I see a thick, black headline across the screen: “Small-Town Boy, Big-Town Star.” Susan Jackson’s article is online.
Leaning my head back against the seat, I couldn’t care less. “What did she see fit to print?”
“Although the darling of LA hockey is reluctant to say it, being sidelined was nearly a deal breaker,” Akers reads aloud. “Murphy feigned ignorance of trade discussions earlier this year, which would have made him the highest-paid player in Carolina Bolts history.”
“What’s this about us going to Carolina?” Owen walks up the aisle in his gray suit, grinning down at me. “You know I wouldn’t object.”
“Feigned ignorance,” I scoff, shaking my head. “That offer must’ve got lost in the mail.”
“Didn’t know you had a thing for Don.” Saxon scrubs the top of my head from the row behind me. “And all this time I thought you were my puck boy.”
“Guess you thought wrong.” My eyes drift over to Donovan’s, and he lifts his chin.
Of all the shit, I don’t mind her printing that item. It’s no skin off my back, and it takes the heat off our captain.
Besides, I’ve just finalized my own plans, and once they’re made public, all these rumors will seem pretty silly.
We’re almost to the arena, almost time for our walkout in designer suits—one of the traditions Coach Leek insisted we maintain—when a text appears on my phone.
Gina
Mom just told me Dove’s uncle is selling the orchard. Thought you’d want to know.
My brow lowers and my jaw clenches as the bus pulls to a stop, and the guys start collecting their bags. My thumbs fly across my screen, as the guys are filing out by rows.
Maverick
Gina just told me. Where are you? Can you talk?
“Hey, Big Town, you coming or what?” Saxon stands at the edge of my row, and I shove the phone into my breast pocket, grabbing my bag from the overhead bin.
“I’m impressed she can invent so much and still get paid for it,” I grumble.
“She’s a natural-born storyteller,” Sax continues.
“Natural-born something,” Gavin quips, nodding for the cameras as we file off the bus.
A blinding line of photographers greets us as we arrive, and we walk in a line to the arena entrance.
We’ll head to our locker room, where we’ll change for what I hope is the final game, but as soon as we’re inside, I duck away, into a corner and tap her icon on my screen, listening as the phone line buzzes.
“Maverick?” It’s noisy where she is, and I cover my ear with my hand to hear better.
“Dove?” I say her name louder. “Where are you?”
“I’m a little drunk.” The smile in her voice eases the tension in my neck. “I’m at Lagniappe with Darcy and Boo. We bribed the bartender to put the game on all the TVs, and we’re all cheering for you. Except for Bob. He’s a Georgia guy, but he can stay if he keeps his trap shut.”
She’s putting on a brave front, but I know the truth. “Are you okay?”
“Not really.” Her voice turns quiet, and my eyes squeeze shut.
I press my fist against the post, dropping my chin. “I should be there with you.”
“No. For the next three hours, we’re going to watch you win. Win for me, Maverick.”
My throat is thick, but I clear it. “I will.”
We disconnect, and I’m running out of time. Turning over my phone, I scroll through my contacts, thankful his number is right at the top.
I hear the guys rattling around in the locker room, and I quickly tap his photo. He answers on the first ring.
“Dad, I need you to help me with something, and it needs to happen now—today if possible…”
We’re halfway through the first period, and Atlanta is coming on strong.
It’s the most physical game I’ve played since my injury, but there’s no avoiding it. Everybody’s getting hit hard, and we’re all chasing the puck, slip-sliding over the ice, extending sticks, and slapping shots hard.
The game is tied at the end of Period 1, and it’s tough not being on our home ice. The stadium echoes with chants of “Frost, Frost, Frost,” and everywhere we look is navy and gold.
Haddy and Gina made the trip with Lucy and Maddie, since this game could decide it. They’re the one bright spot in their purple, white, and black team jerseys, blowing air horns, and chanting Mav and Gav along with the small group of fans surrounding them.
We march back to the locker room in all our gear, and Coach Leek gives us something of a pep talk.
“You’ve played hard all year.” He looks around the room at the team whose confidence he has yet to win. “You worked to make it to this game. Don’t let it go now.”
Donovan is the next up, and he’s team captain for a reason.
“Sax, Hancock, remember last year against Edmonton? Keep putting that pressure on the defensemen, shake them up. Schultz, keep slamming those big guys. Keep them off Mav. Sly? It’s your first season with the big boys.
You’ve proven you belong here. Mav and Gav? Time for the dynamic duo.”
We slap gloves in a circle, and we march back to the ice.
Another period, another cluster of flying sticks and body checks. The Number 91 Frost attacker slides into the paint hitting Akers. They both go down as the puck sails past, and Coach Leek challenges the score for goaltender interference.
We glide around, back to center ice. Akers isn’t injured, 91 is sent to the penalty box, and we’re on the power play for two minutes. The goal isn’t taken off the board, and we’re still tied at the end of the second period.
Fatigue is hitting me hard as we trudge back to the room.
“You good?” Gavin is at my side.
I dig in my bag, pulling out my last red Mountain Dew and chugging it. “I’m okay.” I tap the middle of my forehead between my eyes. “A little blurry, but we’re almost there.”
His brow lowers, and he gets right in my face, staring into my eyes. “You’re not dilated.”
“It’s good.” I’m breathless from drinking the caffeinated beverage fast. “They’re hitting hard.”
“Schultz,” Gav yells, waving our enforcer over. “Watch him out there.”
I shake my head, giving the big goon a wave. It’s a nice thought, but everything happens too fast on the ice. Owen finishes taping his stick, and Hancock polishes off a jar of peanut butter.
“This is it,” Donovan shouts. “Who are the champions?”
“We are!” We all yell at different times, and he calls it again.
This time when we answer, it’s a powerful unison, and I feel the surge of adrenaline in my chest, likely aided by the jolt of sugary caffeine. We’re winning this.
“Cookie, Mav…” Akers grabs my shoulder, holding his last piece of chocolate chip to my mouth. “Eat a cookie.”
“Get off me,” I laugh, tossing my empty container in the bin as we trudge back to the stadium.
It’s time for the face-off, and I’m up against Frost center Number 11. The puck is dropped, and I drive it forward to Gavin. He scoops it up fast, looping it around and sending it straight into the slot for our first lead of the game.
The stadium response is quiet, and I miss being in LA where a play like that would set off an explosion of cheers, chanting, and music.
I hear the faint noise of air horns, and I look up to see Haddy and the girls waving their arms and screaming. Maddie shakes Zander wildly over her head, and I look down laughing, thinking about Dove.
She’s not too far away with her friends in a bar. I picture her in my jersey doing the hand motions to “All I Do is Win,” and we’re back in it.
Hancock brings it across the line, passing it to me, and I stretch out to shoot. It flies to the net but bounces off the post. Fuck.
I’m circling back again when a big guy nails me right in the chest, lifting me off my feet and slamming me into the boards. Schultz is on him at once, and a group fight breaks out around us.
I’m caught in the middle, doing my best to disengage when I catch a hit to my left eyebrow. Blood spurts onto my visor, and I glide over to the bench to clean up.
“You good, Mav?” Coach Leek is at my side, and I nod quickly wiping the smear off my helmet.
The truth is, I’m rattled. I can’t take another hit like that if we’re going to win. My aim is off, and my vision is blurry.
Number 11 takes the puck away from Saxon, and he’s sailing down the ice with Gavin hot on his heels. Gav is our fastest skater, but he can’t catch him. Akers hits the ice, putting his pads together, but the puck takes a crazy bounce and flies over his shoulder.
It’s too quick for him to catch, and we’re back to tied. The fans are back in the game, and the noise is deafening.
“It’s okay, we got this,” I say, grabbing Gavin in a hug and speaking in his ear. “T3G.”
He makes the signal to Hancock, and I alert Owen. We’ve been saving it, and the third period is quickly coming to an end. It’s our chance to win it and avoid going into overtime.
The pressure is tight in my chest as I bring it down the middle. Hancock is coming up on my side, but we play a twist we’ve been working on. They’re all expecting me to go right, but instead, I go left, sending it to Owen.
He brings it around for the play, shooting it to Hancock. Gavin’s coming up behind the net, but fucking Frost 91 slams him, sending his back to the boards and his stick flying across the ice.
Owen is right there for the save, passing it to me. My eyebrow is bleeding again, and I’m blinking against a curtain of dark red clouding my vision. I’m heading down the center, and I know this is the last play of the game.
I feel a large body coming up on my right side, and I’ve got to take a chance. Blinking hard against the blood and the blur, I see what looks like an open net and shoot the shot. It’s silent for the space of a breath, and it’s good.
The buzzers sound, and I’m surrounded by my guys hugging and yelling. Akers’s gloves fly in the air, and helmets are off. Gavin has me around the neck, and I can’t see a damn thing. All I know is I’m laughing. The whole team is spilling off the bench to join us on the ice.
“You’re a fucking mess,” Owen laughs, shoving a towel into my hand. “But you did it.”
My helmet is off, and I wipe the blood out of my eye.
“Best thing I’ve seen all night.” Saxon grabs me around the neck.
“We did it,” Donovan laughs, slapping my back. “We fucking did it.”
Owen receives the Hart Memorial trophy, which is the MVP in Hockey. We all slap him on the back, congratulating him as he glides past. Then two fellows in suits carry the three-foot silver trophy out and set it on the table.
Another guy talks about how iconic and hard it is to win, then I’m called up to receive it for the team.
He says something I don’t even hear, and my eye is bleeding again, so I can’t read his lips.
I nod and smile, taking the cup off the table and turning to the guys.
I skate to where they’re all waiting, and when I get there, they circle me cheering.
I skate it around the rink, holding it over my head and cheering, and the guys are right at my side. Gavin takes it from me, skating over to the place where Haddy and Gina stand with the girls. I wipe my eye again, going to where they are, and we all shout to each other.
My cousins laugh as they wipe their faces. Owen takes a brief turn before handing it back to me. The guys point and yell, and I take it to the center, lowering it to kiss the side.
It’s back over my head, and a guy has a mic in my face asking how I feel. I find a camera, looking straight into it.
“Dove,” I yell as loud as I can. “We did it, Dove. That’s one. Now I’m coming for you.”