Chapter 28 #2
Of course, as soon as Shay scored, D’Angelo leaped off the bench.
He hasn’t sat down since.
See, difficult patient.
Eden pulls D’Angelo closer to him to steady him, as if he’s only hugging him. I rush to the other side, blocking him from the view of the cameras and do the same.
D’Angelo is pale.
Too pale.
“Do you need to leave?” I whisper.
“I may need to hurl,” D’Angelo says through clenched teeth. “I’ll get back to you on that. But I’m not leaving.”
“Stubborn.” Eden curls his arm tighter around D’Angelo’s shoulder.
“One of my best qualities.” D’Angelo raises his gaze back to the rink and yells, “Keep fucking pushing!”
I sigh.
I should have known that D’Angelo couldn’t resist being a captain. He isn’t wearing the jersey, but the C is sewn invisibly onto his back. Wilder didn’t take that away from him.
If the team can only win tonight, then D’Angelo will know that the team won because of him even if he wasn’t on the ice.
I study his furrowed brow. “Who knew that you turned into an even grumpier bear when ice denied.”
“I’m something else denied,” D’Angelo replies.
I chuckle.
Then I duck my head, when he casts me an offended look.
How hard is he in his trousers?
I’m happily sated, on the other hand. Shay dropped to his knees in front of me in the foyer, pushing up my pretty dress and sliding aside my lace panties. He tongued me to a screaming orgasm just before we left for the game. He licked his lips afterward just as satisfied as I was.
“No strenuous exercise until tomorrow.” Eden doesn’t look away from Zach, who saves another attempt on goal with an amazing dive.
The crowd cheers.
Zach is giving everything, throwing himself at every shot with a fearless intensity.
D’Angelo glares at Eden. “Why did I train you again?”
He doesn’t mean as either player or PA.
“We only need one more goal.” I reach up to touch my pendant, which my partners gave me. I trace over it. I adore that I don’t need to keep my love secret. “We can do this. If they’d only leave Philippe alone long enough for him to pass to Shay…”
The warmth and scent of D’Angelo next to me is grounding, while Wilder casts us glances like he’s in control here and about to destroy our lives.
He’s wrong.
Right?
“Philippe can step up.” Tremors are running through D’Angelo’s muscles, but he manages to keep standing.
“Ty has been working with him and training him hard. He’s fast. This is a big ask, but I trust every player on my team.
I have their backs. He’s doing this in my place, but also, for all of us.
Wilder won’t bully anyone else out of their career or their future. ”
D’Angelo’s frosty gaze meets Philippe’s, and he gives an encouraging nod.
Philippe’s expression firms. He straightens his shoulders.
He has the puck, and he glances at Shay, who is working out space in front of the goal.
Wilder doesn’t appear to notice. He is too distracted — his entire attention is focused on the replacement player.
Big mistake.
I hold my breath.
Is this the trick that…at long fucking last…defeats my asshole ex? D’Angelo’s rival who has hazed and hurt him since college?
Next to me, D’Angelo is just as tense.
He nudges his hip and shoulder against me, needing to feel the closeness to me in this moment as much as I do.
“Shit.” I flinch when Wilder and the Penguins’ muscled enforcer slam into Philippe at the same time.
They crash him into the boards, dominating Philippe. Their elbows jostle.
Is Philippe about to lose the puck?
But then, Philippe twists with a speed that takes the larger men by surprise, ducking under another hit by Wilder. The puck is glued to his stick.
The cheeky asshole glances over his shoulder and winks at D’Angelo.
“He really is a mini-you.” I laugh.
“I’ll need a word with Ty.” D’Angelo is trying to sound stern, but I can hear both his amusement and pride.
“I didn’t know that he was training the newbies to be cocky assholes like me.
But Philippe has outplayed Wilder and made him look like he’s too slow to be the Golden Child of the NHL. So, I approve.”
Suddenly, I let out a shocked breath, as Philippe threads a pass that is just as brilliant as anything I’ve seen by D’Angelo to Shay, who has worked his way into the perfect position.
He is completely unchecked.
“Yes, yes, yes…” I breathe.
Shay catches the pass mid-stride and with a flick of his wrist releases the puck spinning at the net.
The goalie desperately dives but can’t touch it.
When the puck hits the back of the net, the arena explodes with cheers.
The goal horn blasts, sharp and triumphant. A split second later, and the final buzzer signals the end of the game.
And the end of the Conference Finals.
We did it.
We won.
Joy and excitement surge through me.
The Bay Rebels have made history.
Shay has.
The crowd leap to their feet, waving their Bay Rebels scarves and banners, chanting and hugging each other.
D’Angelo and Eden hug me too.
Coach leans on the boards, yelling praise for once.
Cody and Noah are bouncing around each other like a pair of excitable kittens.
Shay freezes like he can’t believe he scored.
The rest of the team, however, are throwing off their helmets and gloves, grabbing onto each other and whooping. Atlas skates to Philippe, who is standing to the side shyly, and pulls him into a quick one-armed hug.
I wave at Shay. “What a shot! We’re going to the finals!”
It appears to snap Shay out of his shock. He smiles over at me. Then he raises his stick at all three of us like he’s dedicating not only the winning shot but every shot he’s ever made to us, his new family.
“We did it.” D’Angelo is shaking. “We fucking did it. We’ve reached the fucking Stanley Cup Final.”
He’s dazed.
We all are. This is fucking huge.
“And Wilder didn’t.” Is it bad that I take such schadenfreude in that?
“Don’t faint.” Eden doesn’t let go of D’Angelo.
“I make no promises.” D’Angelo is grinning. “Worth it.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” I grin so hard that my cheeks ache. “You’re staying right here and celebrating with Eden, me, and the rest of your team because we’ve earned this. You’re watching, while finally we take revenge on Wilder. Look…”
D’Angelo follows the direction that I am pointing, before a slow, cold smile spreads across his face.
His shoulders relax, and he stops shaking. “Truly worth it. I feel better than I have in years.”
I’m pointing at Wilder, who has fallen in horror to his knees.
In front of his teammates, his rivals, the crowds, the millions watching at home, and the press who are now filming and taking photographs of his defeat, he’s the loser.
This will be his legacy. The last memory of him that the world will hold.
That I will.
Wilder is breathing hard, slamming his gloved hand into the ice.
When he raises his gaze to lock with mine, his expression is devastated.
He’ll be left forever with the nightmare, just like he’s left both D’Angelo and me with nightmares.
Never breaking eye contact with my ex-husband, I push myself up onto my tiptoes to kiss D’Angelo.
D’Angelo and I have won.
Wilder’s lifelong dream has been crushed. Finally, I can move on together with my new lovers, without him crushing mine.
I’m high on the thrill, feeling more powerful and independent than I have since I came back to Freedom.
Tomorrow, I will celebrate.