11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Kevin
We're playing Florida and they came to fight. Their top line is fast — faster than our scouting report suggested — and I'm matched up against their center who's got about fifteen pounds on me and a chip on his shoulder the size of Disney World.
"Fancy tape job, St. Clair," he chirps after I take the puck away from him in the corner. "Your girlfriend do that for you? You should give tape tips on TikTok."
I ignore him. Stay focused. Make the outlet pass to Aiden who carries it through the neutral zone.
We're up 2-1 going into the second.
The second period is a grind. Florida scores twice — once on a power play where I'm in the box for a questionable hooking call, and once on a deflection that Bear had zero chance of stopping.
3-2 Florida.
Coach is pissed during intermission. "We are playing sloppy hockey. Missing assignments. St. Clair — talk to your partner out there. Callahan — you keep leaving the zone early. No more. Get back first. Defense comes first, eh? Always."
But all I can think about is that Sarah's going to be watching the third period.
And I need to be better than this.
Third period.
I hit the ice with renewed focus. Sarah's out there somewhere in the stands and I'm going to find her.
And I'm going to show her exactly why she won't regret coming to find me after.
Five minutes in, I intercept a pass at our blue line. Florida's forwards are pressing, trying to put it away, and their defenseman makes a lazy cross-ice pass. I read it perfectly, step up, take it away clean.
"Sunshine's got wheels!" Tyler shouts from the bench.
I carry it through the neutral zone, scanning. Aiden's flying up the left wing. Graham's driving the middle. I see the play developing — Florida's defense backing up, expecting me to dump it in or pass off.
Instead, I keep it. Cut to the middle. Their defenseman commits.
I slip the puck between his legs and Aiden's there to collect it in space.
"Fuck yeah, Kev!" Aiden yells, driving hard to the net.
He fires. Goalie makes the save but kicks out a fat rebound.
Liam crashes the net and buries it.
3-3.
The bench explodes. I glove-bump Aiden as we skate back.
"Filthy pass, Sunshine," he says.
"Just getting started."
And that's when I start looking for her. Scanning the stands during stoppages.
There's a TV timeout and I'm bent over at the blue line, catching my breath.
In no time at all, I feel it.
That pull.
Like a rope tied around my ribs, tugging me toward something. Someone. The way I always know when she's near — in the arena, at Wing Wednesday, anywhere. Like my body's compass only points one direction and it's always toward Sarah.
I look up. Section 104. About fifteen rows up.
There she is.
Sarah's changed into a Stampede shirt — not my jersey, because boundaries. She's holding her phone up, taking a photo. When she sees me looking, she waves.
My heart flips a little, having nothing to do with cardio conditioning and everything to do with the fact that she's here. Watching me. Smiling at me like I just scored the game-winner.
I tap my stick on the ice. Once. Then I give her a grin.
She laughs. I can see it even from here and it makes everything worth it — the losses, the injuries, the lying about what this is between us.
"Dude, is that Sarah?" Liam skates up beside me. "You actually found her."
"Told you I could."
"You're such a simp."
"Fuck off, Crash."
The puck drops. I'm energized now. Playing with an edge I didn't have in the first two periods. Every shift I take, I'm aware of where section 104 is. I’m focused on making sure my plays are clean. Worth watching.
Eight minutes left. Florida's pressing. Their top line is out against ours, hunting for the go-ahead goal.
Their winger gets the puck in the corner. I'm on him immediately, using my body to pin him to the boards. He tries to muscle through me, but I've got position.
"You're gonna have to do better than that," I grunt.
I get my stick on it, deflecting it out — but it sails all the way down. Icing.
"Go to work!" Coach yells from the bench.
Face-off in their zone. Our offensive guys are out — Tyler, Aiden, Liam up front. Graham and I stay behind on the point.
Tyler wins the draw back to me.
I walk the blue line, looking for a lane. They’re collapsing low, protecting the slot. But I see the captain sneaking into space behind their defenseman.
I fake the shot — their goalie drops — and slide it across to Aiden.
He one-times it.
The goalie's still out of position from biting on my fake.
Top corner. Bar down.
4-3 Stampede.
The building loses its mind.
Aiden's skating toward me, arms up, and I grab him in a hug before the rest of the guys pile on. When we break apart, I do something I probably shouldn't.
I look right at section 104 and point.
Sarah's on her feet. Even from here, I can see she's beaming.
"Did you just dedicate that to your not-girlfriend?" Aiden asks as we skate back.
"Shut up."
"You totally did."
"I got the assist. I'm allowed to celebrate."
"Yeah, but you don't usually point at someone specific in the stands."
He's right. I don't.
But I don't usually have Sarah watching me play either.
Florida pulls their goalie with two minutes left. Six on five. All hands on deck.
I'm out there for the final shift, protecting the lead. Every second feels like an hour. Clear the puck. Block the lane. Don't let them set up.
Their defenseman winds up for a one-timer from the point. I drop to block it.
The puck catches me in the ribs — right where the bruising still lingers from the Canada trip — and the pain is instant and white-hot. Like someone drove a spike between my bones.
But the puck stays out.
You gotta defend what matters.
"You good?" Liam asks, tapping my stick as he hauls me upright.
"Never better," I lie, ribs screaming, but we’re thirty seconds from a win and pain doesn’t matter when you’re that close to getting what you want.
We lock it down — glass-and-out, chip, pressure — bleeding the clock until the horn finally blares.
Liam bumps his helmet to mine. "Hell of a block, Sunshine."
"Anything for the boys," I say.
Anything for her, I mean.
Now that the last-second adrenaline is slipping away, I can feel it all. My ribs are screaming. My shoulder's throbbing. But we won and Sarah was watching and she's coming over after and that's all that matters.
Postgame media asks about Ranger's deal. I keep it brief. I've got places to be.
I'm in my truck heading home when my phone buzzes.
Ranger's Mom
Your dog's trending on social media. This is insane.
He's very marketable.
Ranger's Mom
Are you home yet?
Pulling in now.
Ranger's Mom
Good.
Before too long, there's a knock on my door.
Sarah's there with Thai food, but I can read the look on her face like the whiteboard in the locker room. Talking and Thai food can wait.
"Congratulations on the win," she says.
"Congratulations on Ranger's deal." I'm moving toward her. No hesitation.
"We should celebrate."
I've never agreed with her more.
The food gets abandoned on the counter. I grab her before she can say anything else. Back her against the cabinets and the smooth quartz. Slide my arms around her and pull her close. Kiss her like I've been thinking about doing since she texted me this morning.
"You pointed at me," she breathes between kisses. "In front of everyone."
"Got a problem with that?"
"No." Her hands are already working at my belt. "But now everyone's going to know."
"Let them." I'm not thinking clearly. I'm riding the high of the win and the way she looked at me from section 104 and the fact that she was in my barn watching me play and now she's here, in my house, wanting me just as much as I want her.
She pulls back slightly, studying my face. "You played incredible tonight."
"You were watching."
"That's all it takes? Me watching?"
"Yeah." I kiss down her neck, feeling her pulse jump under my lips. "That's all it takes."
Her laugh turns into a gasp when I bite gently at that spot below her ear. The one I've learned makes her knees weak.
"Kevin—"
"We should find somewhere more comfortable than the kitchen," I manage. "Couch is over there. Or wherever. I don't actually care."
"Bedroom. Your ribs… I saw that blocked shot."
Of course she saw it. She was watching for me like I was watching for her.
We barely make it down the hall. I'm trying to get her shirt off while walking backwards and she's laughing at me, which just makes me want her more.
"You're going to trip—"
"I've been trained to skate backwards. I should be able to walk that way too. I’m not drunk this time."
I immediately lose my balance as my foot steps down on Ranger's tennis ball.
"Very graceful," Sarah says, but she's got her hands on me to steady me…and then we're falling onto my bed together.
I wanted the brand deal for Ranger. I wanted the win. But I realize I haven’t wanted anything more today than this.
I finally successfully get her shirt off. Then mine. She's working on her jeans and I help, sliding them down her legs along with her underwear because I'm impatient and I need her naked now.
"Someone's eager," she teases, but her voice is already breathless.
"You have no idea." I kiss down her stomach, feeling her muscles tense under my mouth. Lower. "I've been thinking about this since the second period."
"You were thinking about sex during the game?"
"I was thinking about you. Same thing." I settle between her thighs, looking up at her. Making sure she sees exactly what I'm about to do. "Is this okay?"
She threads her fingers through my hair. "Are you seriously asking me if I want your mouth on me?"
"Consent is sexy, baby."
"Then yes. Absolutely yes. Please—"
I’m not about to make her beg. Mostly because I can’t wait any longer.
The first taste of her makes me groan against her skin. She's already wet, already ready for me, and I take my time. Long, slow licks that make her hips arch off the bed.
She tastes sweeter than sugar and tangier than salt, and I'm addicted.