22. Chapter Twenty-Two #3
The Jumbotron shows Ranger's Instagram handle, then cuts to a quick montage — Ranger at the photo shoot, Ranger in the locker room with Kevin, Ranger wearing his tiny jersey.
Then it lands on a live shot.
Section 118. Right now.
Ranger's on the Jumbotron. Sitting perfectly on his settle mat, wearing his custom Stampede jersey with ST. CLAIR across the back. Ranger’s face fills the entire screen — those big brown eyes paired alongside his goofy dog smile.
The crowd cheers and Ranger, because he's the bestest boy who ever lived, tilts his head at exactly the right moment.
Diane's filming all of this on her tablet. Ranger's tail is wagging at a speed that would make the guys flying up and down the ice jealous.
And I'm trying very hard not to cry at a hockey game.
Because this — this moment right here — this is what saves the rescue. This is what pays the rent increase. This is what gives every dog in our kennels a better chance at finding their forever home.
This is something Kevin and I did together. His connections and my rescue. It’s something that will last and will make a difference right here, where we both live.
Where our baby will live.
I have all the pregnancy hormones right now, but none of them are stupid.
All of them are grateful.
Stupid grateful.
The Jumbotron cuts back to pre-game hype content, but the energy in the arena has shifted. People keep looking over at section 118, pointing, smiling.
Ranger's famous now.
And Kevin St. Clair made all of this happen.
The lights drop further. The pre-game video starts playing on the Jumbotron — highlight reels and pump-up music and shots of fans screaming, and the guys pointing sticks at the camera while blue and orange lights flash behind them.
Ranger settles at my feet like he's done this a hundred times instead of never. The ear protection is doing a great job — the noise isn't even bothering him. We've watched countless hockey games on TV, Ranger and me. I guess it's all been training for this moment.
Somehow, he knows this is where Dad goes to work.
I reach down and give him a rewarding scratch behind the ears.
"Good boy. Thank you for saving the rescue, buddy."
TexTech Arena plunges into darkness. The crowd roars.
Orange spotlights sweep across the ice as the PA encourages the sell-out crowd to their feet and the starting lineup is announced. The Jumbotron glows with footage of the guys that could be straight out of Hollywood and the noise level in the arena is maxed out.
Good thing I popped Ranger’s hearing protection over his ears.
"From Sherbrooke, Quebec, in goal, number twenty-nine, Josh Bertrand!"
"From Hartford, Connecticut, at right wing, number forty-four, Liam Callahan!"
"From Huntington Beach, California, at left wing, number nineteen, Tyler Morgan!"
"From Sherbrooke, Quebec, on defense, number three, Graham Bertrand!"
"From Highland Park, Texas, on defense, number six, Kevin St. Clair!"
"And from Essex, Vermont, at center, number seventeen, your Captain, Aiden McCrae!"
Ranger stands up, raises a paw, and howls as his dad and his dad’s best friends are announced — as if on cue. I didn't teach him that. How does he just know? He really is the best boy.
No one will believe me when I tell them it was spontaneous, all Ranger's doing.
He cheers right along with the crowd, and I find myself cheering with him. It's probably not professional not to cheer for the whole team, since we're here representing the full Stampede brand.
But I'm filled with so much pride for Kevin — I know the roller coaster he's been on for the last forty-eight hours — and I can tell, even from here behind the glass, that he's locked in.
He skates to the blue line with his helmet on, stick in hand, and I can see the determination in every line of his body.
The anthem starts.
I stand, hand over my heart.
Kevin's standing at the blue line. Hand over his heart. Eyes forward.
Then — just for a second as the music ends — he scans.
His eyes stop at Section 118.
Finds me.
Our eyes meet across the ice and the noise and the twelve thousand people surrounding us.
He taps his stick once on the ice. I can see through the visor. He's raising his eyebrows. A tiny twitch of a smile creeps across his face.
It's small. Quick. Could be anything.
Might just be everything.
I lift my phone. Snap the photo like this is just content.
He grins — full teeth visible behind the clear protection of his mouthguard.
Around us, people are actually filming Ranger. Posting about the dog in his tiny jersey, the rescue, Super PawMart.
But Kevin's not looking at Ranger.
He's looking at me.
That look hits me straight in the chest like a punch. I make myself breathe.
Everyone thinks this moment is about the dog.
Two of us out of twelve thousand know better.
Then the ref blows the whistle and drops the puck and the game explodes into motion.
Austin wins the opening draw; Aiden settles it back and Kevin is off. He’s already hunting Dallas and the game is in full motion.
I press my palm to my abdomen — barely a touch, just enough to bring one more very important person into this moment.
Okay, little one. Let's watch your dad work.