52. Piper
FIFTY-TWO
PIPER
“Hudson. We’re heading into the final period of game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals. All season, your team has worked for this moment. What are you feeling right now?” I ask, holding out my microphone to the defenseman.
“I’m not going to lie, I’m nervous as hell.” He laughs. “There’s pressure on us, obviously, especially because we had the best record in the league this season. Being at home helps; I can feel the fans behind us, you know? That’s going to give us the push we need for these last twenty minutes.”
“What are you going to focus on as we head into the third period?”
“Consistency. We let our focus slip when we get excited with a breakaway and come up short on converting a good possession to a goal. We have to follow through.”
“Thanks, Hudson. Enjoy the rest of the game.”
This is the most stressful night of my life.
After a thrilling series with the San Diego Bearcats, we’re back in DC for game seven, just like everyone thought we would be. The teams have exchanged victories up to this point, and if history is anything to go off of, the Stars should win tonight.
That’s the agony of sports, though.
Nothing about them is guaranteed, especially in game seven.
The tension in the arena is palpable. The hometown fans have been on their feet for the entirety of the game, and the noise is deafening. I’m afraid to breathe too hard, fearful a forceful exhale will bring the puck too close to Liam and sneak by him.
I glance at him now, poised in the goal, mumbling under his breath and moving side to side to stay loose. He’s been unreal tonight, only giving up one goal while stopping nearly twenty-five.
He tracks every player, every stick movement, every slice of a skate with excruciating precision. I’m not sure I’ve seen him blink, and when the guys came out after the last intermission, a focus I haven’t seen from him this season graced his face.
My attention moves to the clock, the two minutes left in regulation moving too slow. Both teams have a single goal, and a tie would mean overtime. With how fatigued the guys are looking, the last thing we need is free hockey, no matter how thrilling the sudden death gameplay might be.
Everyone—from the players, to the fans, to Bernie behind the camera—knows this isn’t going to be a back-and-forth shootout; both defenses are too good.
The next team to score will be the winner.
The referee blows his whistle, signaling the end of the timeout, and adrenaline echoes in my ears.
“Goddammit.” Emmy bangs her fist on the glass. “Let’s fucking go Miller.”
Maverick tears past us in a blaze of white jersey and a cocky grin, blowing her a kiss before taking off after the puck. I laugh and drape an arm around my best friend.
“He is the only guy in the league who would purposely move away from game play so he could flirt with his woman,” I say. “You’re a lucky lady, Emerson Hartwell.”
“I want him to win more than I’d want myself to win. Maybe that makes me a terrible player, I don’t know, but I don’t give a shit. He sacrifices so much of himself for this game. I want him to have something tangible to show for it.”
I said the same thing to Liam earlier this afternoon in his living room when he was packing his game day bag. We were quiet while he slipped into his routine—a late lunch. A candy bar. Classical music blaring in his headphones as he stretched before putting on his suit and tie.
He reached for me, though. Intertwined our hands and stroked his thumb over my knuckles when I kissed his palm. I whispered to him how proud of him I was. How honored I was to watch his performance this season and that no matter what happened tonight, I’d be on the other side waiting for him.
I want him to win so badly though, and I know he wants to win so badly too. I saw the determination, the grit and the desperation in his eyes during warmups, and even from all the way over here, I can see it now.
“If there’s anything the guys can do well, it’s play under pressure. I think?—”
A burst of excitement at the other end of the rink cuts me off. I crane my neck and stand on my toes. A shot gets fired off toward the Bearcats’ goal. I gasp when it comes up inches short and the Bearcats collect the rebound.
“Shit,” Emmy hisses as the Bearcats offense takes off. Their destination is obvious, and the air leaves the building as they head straight for Liam.
“Come on. My fingers curl around my microphone. My hands won’t stop shaking. “Come on, honey. You can do it.”
Liam crouches down. Points his toes forward and holds his left hand out in front of him, ready for whatever shot they might fire his way. He moves an inch to his left then an inch to his right, squatting even lower as number forty-seven winds up.
The defender pulls back like he’s going to fire between Liam’s knees but changes direction at the last second. He aims higher, for the upper left corner of the goal, and Liam’s body goes flying as he dives, stretches back, and reaches his hand behind him.
Liam lifts the puck in his glove. The building erupts, and before I have a second to catch my breath and celebrate his stop, he’s passing the puck to Maverick, who takes off in the other direction and covers the ice in eight long glides.
I glance up at the clock and there are ten seconds left. Nine, eight?—
“Fucking shoot it, Miller,” Emmy yells, and I swear to god he turns his head our way. Grins at her. Pulls back with the slap shot of all slap shots that goes soaring into the net as the final horn and goal horn sound sound simultaneously.
Everyone around me screams. Emmy jumps up and down, and I grab my small notebook out of my back pocket, ready to grab someone for an interview. Confetti drops from the ceiling and covers the ice and the crowd. Music blares, and I can’t hear myself think.
I watch Liam skate over the red line. His teammates surround him and Maverick, but he shoves past them. Throws off his gloves and drops his stick on the ice. He bolts toward me, blades slicing across the Stars logo, eyes locked on mine. I don’t have a second to breathe before he’s yanking me out of the tunnel. Sweeping me off my feet and hugging me to his chest.
“Holy shit,” he yells into my neck. “Holy shit .”
“Oh my god.” I start to cry. A sob escapes me and I hug him tight, afraid to let him go. “You did it. You did it baby.”
“Did you see that?”
I wrap my legs around his waist and pull back to look at him. I unbuckle his helmet and yank it off his head, throwing it to the side. I touch his sweat-soaked cheeks and brush his hair out of his eyes.
“Every single second. I’ve never seen anyone play so hard. That save was phenomenal. Something they’ll be talking about for years.”
Behind us, the rest of the team is celebrating. Maverick is on Hudson’s back, his arms in the air. Grant is lying on his back and making snow angels in the confetti. Ethan skates a lap around the rink, the trophy over his head, and Riley is putting a Stanley Cup Champions hat on his head.
“You should be over there,” I say. “With them. Your brothers. Not with me.”
“No.” He shakes his head and cups my cheeks. “The only person I want to celebrate with is you.”
His skate slips out from under him and we go tumbling to the ice. All I can hear is his laughter. All I can feel are his strong arms around me. All I can see is his bright and smiling face, and it’s all perfect .
“I am so proud of you,” I whisper, a moment I want just for us. “You do unbelievable things.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“ Me ?” I laugh. “I haven’t done anything!”
“Bullshit. You encouraged me. Supported me. Believed in me. You make life so fucking fun. You’re the thing that’s keeping me afloat. I always got by on being happy enough, but I didn’t know what happiness was until I met you. Not really. Now every day is the best day of my fucking life. Because of you.”
My shoulders shake and tears stream down my face. I know my makeup is running. I know I have snot in my nose, but I can’t bring myself to care. Not when he’s looking at me like I’m the most important thing—like I’m the only thing in the whole goddamn world.
“I love you,” I whisper. “I love you so much, and—” Another sob rattles my chest. “I’m so proud to be a chapter in your book, Liam.”
“A chapter in my book?” Liam pushes up on his elbows, his mouth inches away from mine. I see a scrape on his cheek. The flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes and the salt on his forehead from dried sweat. “You’re the whole damn story, Piper. There’s some hazy version of myself that existed before I met you, and then everything after. I’ve never loved anything like I love you, and I’ll never love anything else like I love you.”
My insides twist tight. I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry harder. Maybe a little bit of both. How can I not when he just accomplished the most important thing in his career and he’s spending time with me ? When he’s saying things that make me believe in a forever where I’m not going to get hurt? A life that’s full of joy instead of sadness. That’s full of laughter instead of feeling like I’m not good enough.
I could shatter into a million pieces.
“Hey, you two lovebirds.” Ethan loops his arms under my shoulders, hoisting me off Liam. “Keep the PDA down. There are children around.”
Grant takes my spot, jumping on Liam’s chest as Maverick and Hudson follow suit. I laugh when Ethan skates across the ice and stretches out my arms.
“Tell me you’ll never let go, Lil P,” he jokes.
“I’ll never let go, Easy E.”
“Even when that goalie pisses you off?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, fine. How about when you accidentally get married in Vegas again? I can’t believe you kept that from us, by the way. You’re sneaky.”
“Not even then.” I smile and close my eyes. “You’re stuck with me for the long haul, Richardson. You all are.”
“Good. You keep things fun around here.”
We make a full lap of the arena, and I take in the celebrations. The fans still in their seats, clapping and high-fiving. The arena operations crew rolling out a carpet for the commissioner to make his way onto the ice. Bernie waves at me frantically, and I know I need to get my microphone and get in front of the camera.
“You have to put me down, Ethan. I need to finish my job like you all finished yours,” I say, and he sets me down next to the group of guys clustered near center ice. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Anytime you want to have some real fun, you know my number.” Ethan winks and takes off after Riley, chasing down the trophy.
“If he lays another finger on you, I’m going to murder him,” Liam draws out. He hands me my microphone and scowls in Ethan’s direction. “Someone needs to put him on a leash.”
“That’ll be the day. Maverick,” I call out, looking for the captain. “Come talk to me, please.”
“He’s on ESPN,” Hudson says, gesturing to the large headset Maverick is wearing. “Who do you want instead?”
“Back off, Hayes.” Liam nudges him out of the way. “I want to talk to my wife on camera.”
“You want me to interview you ?”
“Why not? The last time went well. I can pretend to have a good time for two minutes.”
“Are you sure? I bet Hudson is more than willing.”
“I’ll be in the wings on backup in case he starts acting like he’s going to get in trouble with the FCC,” Hudson teases, and Bernie gives me the one-minute warning.
“No cursing,” I tell Liam sternly, and he rolls his eyes.
“It was one time, and it slipped out,” he says. “How much longer am I going to have to pay for my crimes, Pipsqueak?”
“For a very long time.” I tug on his collar and bring his mouth to mine. “Forever, maybe.”
“Sounds like I need to do it again. Just to make sure I can keep you around.”
“I swear to god if you?—”
“Five seconds,” Bernie says, and I smile at the camera.
“We’re back at United Airlines Arena and I’m here with Liam Sullivan, who might have had the play of the year in the final seconds tonight with a game-winning save. Liam, what went through your mind during that sequence?”
“Couldn’t let Miller show me up,” he says, bending down to talk into the microphone. His arm loops around my waist and pulls me close. “Gibbons had a heck of a shot, and I was in the right place at the right time.”
“What’s the first thing you’re going to do to celebrate?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?” He looks down at me. “Should we get some burgers and fries? Take a trip to Europe for the rest of the summer? Go to Disney World like the NBA and NFL guys do? Maybe we can have a night with Pico on the couch. Pretty sure my hamstrings are going to hurt for a fu—very long time after that.”
I blush at his inclusion of me. Our friends might know about our relationship, but the outside world doesn’t.
I guess they do now.
“I think Pico would like that very much,” I manage to get out. “Any comments on Maverick’s game-winning goal?”
“Dude’s a fu—dang showoff.” Liam grins and I narrow my eyes at him. “But he deserved for that to be his. It’s about time the trophy came home to DC.”
“Thank you, Liam, and congratulations on the win.” I turn to the camera, but I can feel him staring at me. “We’re going to send it back to Bradley who will break down all the stats from tonight’s game. Stick around.”
Bernie gives me the all clear, and I tuck my microphone in my back pocket.
“Almost had you there, didn’t I?” Liam says, kissing the top of my head. “Wanted to keep you on your toes.”
“You’re never allowed to be in front of a camera again.”
“Well, shucks. How will I survive?”
I shove his arm and he picks me up, skating me toward the bench.
“Put me down.” I laugh. “What are you doing with me?”
“Giving you time in the sin bin for that rough hit. Means I get a power play, Pipsqueak.”
“And what the hell are you going to do with that?”
“Dunno. Might ask you to marry me for real. Might move you into my apartment so I can see you every morning. Might love you until you’re so sick of me, you’ll be fucking begging for me to leave you alone. And you know I like it when you beg.” He opens the penalty box and sets me on the bench. He crouches in front of me and grins. “Want to stick around to find out?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, the pressure in my chest expanding when my eyes meet his. When he takes my hand and kisses my palm, resting it against his cheek. “I think I’d like that a lot.”
“Good.” He taps my knee. “I’m just getting started with you, Sunshine.”