26. Chase
Chase
Game six in the last round of playoffs. Win this and we win the series—and play for the Cup.
I’m not surprised we’re here, or that we’ve dominated every series in postseason before this one. I don’t know if it’s the hunger in us to prove we’ve got what it takes to reach the finals or if the chemistry between us is just that good.
We’ve hardly made a mistake. Our games have been flawless and that says a lot about our coaches as well as us players.
Nobody wants to slack off. We’re training harder than we have all year, and we trained hard from the beginning.
All season we’ve been under the microscope. Every member of the team—the org itself—has received a lot of attention. Conversations with a Rogue have added to the usual media frenzy around a winning team.
We were dealing with it—I was comfortable with it—until it was my turn to have a conversation with Cami. When that episode aired, when I talked openly about the death of my parents and the choice I made at twenty to raise my three younger sisters, the media went stupid.
At one point I thought we might have a repeat of the craziness surrounding Whit and Bex. But thankfully, the worst we had was a couple of photographers trying to sneak pictures of the girls coming and going from school and the arena.
I’m pretty sure Gem had something to do with them stopping. She and Cami’s father, Fenton Barnes, had their heads together at the Rogues end of season party far too often for me to ignore the timing of our sort-of stalkers stopping.
I can’t lie. Playing through the anniversaries of our parents’ deaths wasn’t easy. And I had to remind myself repeatedly that I was living the life they always wanted me to live. It helped.
It helped even more when the twins decided to celebrate our parents by cooking their favorite meals and talking about good times spent together every night for the month of April.
We cried. How could we not?
We laughed. Because we’d had a great childhood with wonderful parents.
And we felt so much better than we would have because Gem, with her calm and understanding, her insightful words of wisdom, was there every step of the way.
Honestly, dancing around my attraction for my wife when I know she’s not oblivious to my appeal has been the hardest thing to deal with in the last few months.
Whatever had her pulling away back in February—and I’m fairly sure it was the locker room incident—ceased to be an issue by the end of March. A few days before the back-to-back anniversaries of our parents’ deaths, the Gem who guided me and my sisters through the first Christmas without our parents was back.
Every game, home or away, she and the girls cheered from the box or seats behind the bench. It was surreal to have them rink-side. And hilarious because Gem bought Candace a pair of pink fluffy noise canceling headphones to wear. Of course, my baby sister spent most of the time yanking them off.
And the twins weren’t to be left out. They convinced Gem they needed matching pairs. Although they never actually wore theirs either. They spent the games with them wrapped around their necks instead of on their heads. Not that I care. Those bright pink puffs make it easy to find them in the crowd.
Crouched in front of the net, my gaze darts to where I know the girls and Gem are. They’re jumping up and down, yelling out who knows what, each of them—except Gem—with my name and number on the back of their team jersey, pink headphones around their necks—including Candace—and I grin.
I love having them with me my first season in the league.
And Gem has made sure they’ve been on every step of this history-making ride with me, homeschooling the twins with the help of Deanne Harper of all people.
She hired Mrs. Harper to homeschool the children of any players who wanted their families traveling with the team for the playoffs. It’s working so well she’s talking about offering her a full-time position for the entire school year.
Pulling my gaze back to the game, I focus in on the play. We’re a goal up but only because Vegas scored for us. Caron’s attempt to clear the puck hit the back of his own teammate and ricocheted into the very place he’d been trying to avoid.
That was two minutes ago. And the puck has been up and down the ice non-stop for those two minutes. Back and forth, back and forth, no one able to make a break and get it close to either goal.
Which is fine with me. Although, I know I can’t get complacent. They’ll be gunning for me, hungry to even the score.
Especially Caron. He’s got a point to prove now.
Even as I think it, Caron breaks free with the puck and heads my way. One of the league’s top scoring centers, he has a look on his face that says stopping him is going to take everything I have. It’s crazy, but I know this one is going to test me like nothing else has all game.
It’s in the way he moves, the way he seems to vibrate on his blades.
Byrd gets in his way, and at first, I think he’s got him, but then the puck shoots out and Caron zips around Byrd like he’s standing still and with what looks like a gentle sweep of his stick, collects the puck and has control again as though he never lost it.
The guy is a master, and I heard a rumor he signed with New York for next season. But right now, he’s playing for Vegas and like the rest of us, he doesn’t care what team’s jersey he wears as long as he wears one and gets to play. And in this second, his sole focus is keeping his Cup dreams alive this year.
He’s closer now, a bunch of Rogues and Vegas players closing in as well. The puck comes at me, and I deflect, only for it to come back again. And again.
It’s almost too fast for the eye to follow and I know I’m barely keeping ahead of the play because I’m good at guarding my goal.
There’s a tussle for the puck, two Rogues and a couple of Vegas wingers. Bodies are contorting and one is going down…
And before I see it, the puck is behind me, the light on the top of my goal going off and the crowd going wild.
My gaze zips to the Jumbotron above center ice and I watch the replays while Vegas celebrates evening up the game. I study every second of those clips and once they finish showing them, I know there was no way I could have stopped that one.
It was a brilliant goal. I might be disappointed I let it slip past, but I’m not mad at myself. Even if I was perfect, I didn’t stand a chance against that one.
Both teams are over by their benches, the game stalled to allow for a commercial break, and I look down the ice to see my counterpart has his water bottle in hand and is skating toward his teammates.
My gaze goes to our bench—to Coach. He’s shaking his head. And I don’t understand until things get moving again.
Vegas pulled their goalie.
I search out the clock, see we’re less than a minute out from the end of the game and I know why the goal I’m staring at is unguarded.
Vegas doesn’t want to win in overtime. They want to score now. Put them one up tonight and even the series. Force us into another showdown.
The play is crazy, Vegas is pushing up, all players with only one purpose, to sink the puck they have control of into my net.
It. Isn’t. Happening.
I don’t need to see the looks on any of the Rogues’ faces. I know they’re all set with determination. Single-minded resolve. Keep the game even and go into overtime, or if the chance arises, get the puck down to that open net.
Every man on the ice is converging on me and I’m sweating more than I have all game. But I’m not going to be the man that forces us into another game this series.
The players are bunching up, to the side against the boards, then right in front of me, and I hold my breath and concentrate on the little black disc no one seems to be able to get control of. It’s like watching a group of five-year-olds trying to work out how to use their sticks.
Bodies move as one until they separate just enough to leave a gap barely big enough to see the other end of the ice. Then it gets bigger. A split second later that black disc appears.
And I don’t think. Just react.
Pulling back, I slap that thing out the far side of the gap.
I should get back in position. Guard my house. But I’m standing straight. My gaze aimed down the ice, following a puck that is making a beeline for the other end of the rink.
And that open goal.
I don’t think I hit it that hard. But it’s traveling so fast the players in front of me haven’t even worked out it’s gone.
Half a second later the goal lamp lights up and I’ve done something few goalies do.
I’ve scored a goal.
In the dying seconds of game six in the last series of the playoffs, I scored a goal.
Giving the Rogues a ticket to play for the Cup.
“Holy fudge sticks!”
Bex is on me. Yelling, “We’re playing for the Cup!” in my ear. The weight of him sends me off balance and we topple to the ice.
Then everyone in on us. Bran, Mikel, Tasman, and Gannon. More weight piles on and I think the whole team is on top of me.
Bex’s face is in mine and next thing I know, he’s grabbing my helmet and giving it a shake. “We’re going to the Cup!”
“Holy fudge sticks!”
“I think you can say holy fucking shit right now, Chase,” Bran laughs. “The kids aren’t out here yet but they’re coming.”
I turn my head and through the arms and legs and torsos and gear, I see what he means. Everyone is pouring onto the ice. Is the game even over? I don’t remember hearing the horn.
It has to be though. No one would be out here if it wasn’t.
I see the girls before Gem. The twins have Candace with them, and I push up, shoving guys off me so I can get to my feet—get to them. I don’t want any of them slipping on the ice.
Out from under my teammates I see the ice is full of people. And the crowd on the other side of the glass is going crazy. I can’t hold back the grin. Don’t want to. I just put us in the Cup final!
This is why we moved. Why I trusted a stranger to help me make my dream of playing in the NHL a reality.
Cass launches herself at me and I catch her. Spin her around. Stell, with Candace on her hip, arrives at a slightly more sedate pace but she’s still moving faster than I want on the slippery surface.
“Here. Give her to me.”
I reach for Candace, scoop her against my side and throw my other arm around Stell. Lifting her off her feet, I give them the same treatment I gave Cass. And when I put Stell back on her feet, Cass presses against my front.
“You won!”
I nod. Because suddenly the moment is sinking in. I scored a goal. Won the game that puts us within touching distance of the Cup.
“You scored a goal!” Stell looks at me with astonishment and I have to admit, I’m feeling the same.
“Crazy, right?”
“I told you you’d break more records.”
Cass’s words have me turning my head and that’s when I see Gem. She’s a few steps away, congratulating each member of the team as she draws closer to us.
Every instinct I have wants to kiss my wife. It’s insane how sharp the need is. Except I can’t. She’s the reason I’m here. The reason I was able to make that record breaking, game winning goal, and I can’t do more than say thank you.
Maybe give her a hug.
It sucks.
And when she’s right in front of me and I see the desire in her eyes I almost say fuck it and crush her to me.
But I know it wouldn’t be a good move. Especially with the media capturing everything.
In spite of the gnawing need in my gut, I reach out and pull her close for a hug. Candace is between us, her small body blocking mine from Gem’s and that’s probably a good thing.
“Congrats! I’m so proud of you, Chase.” Her words are a whisper in my ear, and I tip my head so I can whisper in hers.
“You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now.”
Her body jolts but she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t speak either. But her arms around me tighten and I take that as a good sign. An acknowledgment of the want and need brewing between us.
It’s been building for weeks. Months.
Less than a year ago I had no idea who this woman was. Now she’s my boss, my co-parenting partner, my housemate—my wife.
Without her I wouldn’t be standing here. Wouldn’t be heading for the Cup final.
And I wouldn’t be surrounded by hundreds of people sporting a hard on beneath my uniform.