Chapter Forty
On Top of the World
Shane
Six Months Later
“This was a hard-fought battle, and I think our team needed the win more this season than ever before. I mean, I don’t have to say it for all of you in this room to know we’ve had a tough go of it. A lot of changes. A lot of distractions along the way.”
The room full of press murmured their acknowledgment to my statement, some of them sharing knowing looks across the room.
“I’m always proud of this team, win or lose, because I know how hard we work.
I know the personal and professional sacrifices we’ve all made along the way.
But I’m extra proud tonight. I’m…” I shook my head, running a hand over my jaw.
“These guys played their hearts out in this last series, and I know they didn’t just win it for themselves.
They won to make a statement. The Tampa Bay Ospreys are here to stay, and we’re a threat — not just this season, but every one. ”
Hands flew up around the room, everyone vying for my attention to be the next one to ask a question, and I couldn’t help the goofy grin I wore despite how exhaustion was seeping into my bones the later the night turned.
I was damp and cold from having a cooler full of ice water thrown on me.
My voice was hoarse from screaming. Every bone in my body ached like I’d run a marathon, but none of it mattered.
Because we’d won the Stanley Cup.
It felt even more surreal than the first time it happened for me.
I always imagined the day I’d make it there as a player, the day I’d hoist that trophy over my head and kiss it as I skated around an arena full of screaming fans.
But as a coach? It hit even deeper. I felt pride like I couldn’t explain, knowing what every single player had to overcome and push through in order to make the win happen.
I nodded to a local journalist in the back of the room. “What do you think this means for Perry?”
I chuckled. “Well, I guess it means he gets to retire the way all athletes dream, doesn’t it? Going out on top.”
The room laughed and nodded, cameras flashing.
“No, I know this means so much to him. You’ll have your time with him and you can hear it from his own mouth, but no one works harder than Pickles.
He’s been the heartbeat of this team for years, and we’re going to miss him like a limb, but Sandin is ready to step in.
He’s proven that this season against all odds.
” I balked at the choice of words. “No pun intended.”
The laughter was a little uncomfortable then. It was hard to make light of such a serious situation, but at the same time, we couldn’t run from it. What Nathan had done, the way so many players and staff had participated — it was as much a part of our story this season as the championship win was.
The last six months had taken the organization by storm, an investigation leading us straight into chaos.
The fallout had been brutal and immediate.
Ownership had moved fast with public statements, internal audits, and emergency leadership brought in to stabilize the team while the investigation tore through us.
We finished the season without a general manager, the front office run by an interim committee while the league monitored every decision we made.
I was relieved to find I hadn’t been the only one on our team who was suspicious.
Several members of the staff and team had suspected something was off before I ever spoke up, questioning betting lines and injuries that never quite healed the way they should.
But no one had imagined the scope of it. Not until it was too big to deny.
We’d found proof that there was a trainer working against Will — one who’d poisoned him the night he vomited on the ice, and then purposefully fucked with his recovery plan to make his injuries flare up rather than get better.
It’d taken weeks to get him back up to top playing shape, and in that time, Ben had been suspended as he underwent investigation.
We’d survived on a third-string goalie, one pulled up from our AHL affiliate, a kid who still looked like he needed permission to grow a beard.
He’d stood between the pipes like he had nothing to lose and everything to prove, and somehow, that had been enough to keep us afloat while the rest of the house burned.
Ben’s name had been dragged through the mud early on.
What the public never saw at first was the leverage Nathan had used to trap him.
Ben’s father had been dying from aggressive pancreatic cancer, and Nathan had promised access to elite care and a clinical trial that had promise. And for a while, it worked.
But the moment Ben hesitated, the moment Nathan suspected he might turn, that access vanished. Appointments were delayed. Paperwork was stalled. The next round of treatment never came.
That was what led to his father’s death in the end.
The league ruled what had happened for what it was: coercion. Ben was cleared. But cleared didn’t mean untouched. He lost months of his career, his privacy, his father. The punishment for him was never about the law — it was the cost of surviving someone who never should’ve had that kind of power.
When he came back, he played like hell itself was chasing him. I’d never seen someone channel pain so cleanly, so relentlessly. The locker room followed his lead.
Not everyone made it back.
The investigation tore through the organization with surgical precision, and there were more players in Nathan’s sick game than we realized or hoped for.
Trainers. Support staff. A couple of players who’d known more than they admitted at first. Some were fired.
Some were suspended indefinitely. A few were quietly cut loose and would never work in professional hockey again.
It hurt to look at the empty stalls, the missing faces, but it hurt worse to think about what would’ve happened if none of it had come to light.
As for Nathan: there was no redemption arc waiting for him.
By March, the league had terminated him for cause. His name was stripped from everything, his contracts voided, his reputation scorched. The league barred him permanently. And the criminal case that followed ensured he would never again hold a position where power could be mistaken for entitlement.
By April, law enforcement stepped in. By May, the words criminal investigation were no longer whispered but printed in bold type, his face splashed across screens with language that left no room for spin.
The man who’d once commanded rooms with charm and money now couldn’t buy his way out of the consequences.
He tried to reach out to Ariana once, using his lawyer as the messenger. His request was a bold one: he wanted to see her, to get “closure.”
Ari never replied.
She didn’t owe him another word.
Later, we’d learn how close we’d come to losing everything.
One of the staff members we trusted had tipped Nathan off with details that never should’ve left our circle.
Nathan didn’t know everything, but he knew enough to start watching.
Enough to tighten his grip. Enough to pay attention and play dirty.
That was why he’d read right through Carter’s attempt to lure him at the party.
Amidst all the insanity, the Tampa Bay Ospreys rebuilt.
Piece by piece. Line by line. Trust by trust.
We played angry hockey. Honest hockey. Hockey that didn’t fuck around or give anyone room to doubt us. We showed up every game with something to prove — and we did it.
So tonight, somehow, impossibly, we stood on top of the world.
The press conference wrapped up in a blur — handshakes, flashes, congratulations shouted over the din. When I finally stepped back into the hallway, the celebration roaring from the locker room down the way, I let out a long, relieved sight.
And then I saw her.
Ariana stood just beyond my office, her hands clasped in front of her, shoulder leaning against the wall. She wasn’t wearing team colors — an oversized blue and white sweater paired with jeans, hair loose around her shoulders, her smile soft and real in a way I hadn’t seen in years.
My heart galloped at the sight of her.
Six months ago, she’d been counting her life in court dates and survival breaths. Now she lived in a small place of her own, sunlight pouring through windows onto the library she’d built herself, and a bed she could sprawl out in without fear of the person crawling into it with her.
The divorce was finalized.
It had been mostly clean and quiet, especially in comparison to the investigations into Nathan’s activity with Vegas. Georgie was still in med school, his future intact, paid for without strings attached thanks to a judge who understood all too well what Ariana had been put through.
And Ariana was back where she belonged — working in social services again.
She’d started working with the local hospital, Sweet Dreams too tainted with Nathan for her to pick up where she’d left off with it.
Instead, she passed it to the very capable hands of our organization and turned to community work, specializing in helping women and kids find their way out of the very hell she’d survived.
She was turning pain into purpose without letting it swallow her whole.
Therapy was a part of that journey for her, and I was so proud of how vulnerable she was being not just with her therapist, but with me, too.
We were taking it slow. She lived at her place, and I lived at mine, but there were many nights we stayed over.
Mostly, we were having fun dating again — drinking smoothies as we walked the beach, buying books from the used bookstore downtown, going to concerts as we found new artists to fall in love with.
Learning each other again.
We were uncovering the people we’d been together all those years ago, clinging to the connection that had made our foundation so strong.
We were exploring who we were now, who we’d grown into in our time apart.
And more than anything, we were building the people we’d become — the people we wanted to be together.
Her eyes met mine, and her smile widened, pride bursting through those bright blue eyes.
“Not bad, Coach,” she said as I approached. “Second period was kind of sloppy, but hey, we can’t all be perfect.”
I smirked, taking her under my arm and kissing her hair. “Keep up that bratty behavior and I’ll have to bend you over my knee.”
“In that case… your speech on the ice kind of sucked, too.”
I grinned, tickling her sides as she squirmed beneath my touch, giggling and swatting me away. When I finally took her in my arms, it was with a long breath of a kiss, my hands clasping behind her hips.
“I love you.”
She smiled, trailing her arms up around my neck. “And I love you. More than anything.”
“More than Coldplay on a rainy day?”
“More than that.”
“More than the perfect smoothie?”
“More than that.”
“More than your first edition of Pride and Prejudice?”
“Don’t get greedy now.”
A cheer erupted from the locker room as I bent to kiss her with a laugh, and then I was getting ripped backward.
“Come on, Coach! Plenty of time to kiss that beautiful woman of yours later. But right now, we’ve got a victory boat parade to plan, and Jaxson has a brilliant idea.”
It was Carter Fabri, his hair soaked and grin wide as he waved at Ariana and threw his arm around my neck to drag me into the locker room.
“By brilliant, he means absolutely idiotic,” Daddy P grumped.
“You’re just mad you didn’t think of it,” Vince chided.
“Picture this—” Jaxson held up his hands wide. “A zip line strung between two yachts, and we pass ride back and forth hanging from the trophy before doing a keg stand on the other side and tapping the next player in.”
Aleks blinked at his teammate, shaking his head. “Der spinnt doch.“
“Exactly!” Jaxson exclaimed, pointing to Aleks. “What he said.”
“Pretty sure he insulted you,” Daddy P pointed out.
“But he didn’t say he wouldn’t do the zip line,” Vince added with a finger aimed at Aleks’s chest.
The bickering continued on, and I chuckled, crossing my arms and taking in the glory of a rowdy team who’d earned this night.
My eyes flicked back to the hallway just in time to see Maven loop an arm through Ariana’s, Grace and Mia falling in on either side of her, laughter spilling from them as easily as it always had.
She wasn’t watching from the sidelines anymore.
She had her own team now.
This was the love I’d always dreamed of.
It was support and comfort, safety and encouragement, room to be ourselves while also carving out an existence together.
The Cup was right there in the center of the noise, and the night was loud and electric and unreal — but somehow, the best part of winning wasn’t the trophy at all.
It was knowing we’d both made it here together.
Time and circumstance had ripped us apart, but we’d found our way back — as if there was no other option, as if our souls were tied to one another.
And here we were. Still standing. Still choosing each other, even when it was impossible to do. Still building something honest out of the wreckage that tried to claim us.
It all started with a hand flying into the air, with a girl who captured my heart the second I laid eyes on her.
And from where I was standing, there was no ending in sight.