Chapter Twenty-Three #2
My stomach tied in a tighter knot. “Yeah…well, no. I-I didn’t practice today.
I can’t.” Anxiety made it impossible for me to sit still, and I walked past the island to the living room and stood by the expanse of windows overlooking the river.
“Matter of fact, I spent my afternoon sitting in a hydro bath, then having a massage and acupuncture, after which I watched my team practice.” Adrian touched my shoulder, and when I turned, his puzzled gaze met mine.
“Yeah. You heard me. I’ve been benched.” My voice caught, and horrified, I turned away, but Adrian put his arms around my waist.
“Tell me everything.” He led me to the sofa and we sat.
I repeated my conversation with Coach and Hutch from the morning, and I could see Adrian’s heart breaking for me in his eyes. I struggled to control my emotions.
“It’ll be okay. I’ll rest and get treatment—it already feels better after only one day. I’m sure I’ll be on the ice for the series.”
“Rip. You don’t have to pretend with me. Come on.” He patted his lap. “Lie down.”
“I’m fine. Really. I’ve made peace with it.”
His gorgeous face remained stern but tender. “I doubt it. Stop trying to pretend you’re tough. I know what being in the final—what winning the Cup—means to you.”
I held on to him, fighting the tears. “No you don’t, but that’s okay.” Self-conscious, I sniffled. “Something funny. Denis apologized for his behavior and wished us the best. And told me he and Gordie broke up.” I tried to laugh. “Maybe there’s hope for him yet.”
Adrian kissed me. “There’s always hope.”
**
The Blades needed all the hope we could get because it was the seventh and rubber game of the Stanley Cup finals and we were tied, 3-3.
The Polar Bears had taken advantage of Lindstrom’s inexperience both as a center and team leader to capitalize on our mistakes, plus we’d failed to exploit on any of the multiple scoring opportunities.
It wasn’t all hopeless because the Bears had suffered a major loss when their All-Star goalie tore his meniscus diving for a power-play shot on goal.
Their backup goalie, Marcus Bernard, was only a second-year player, and hopefully, his newbie status boded well for us.
I’d come in for short shifts at the end of the past two games to test my knee, and it had held up after each turn on the ice. I’d even assisted on a goal. That morning, Hutch had proclaimed me ready to play, and I was vibrating with barely restrained energy. The entire team gathered around me.
“You’re starting tonight?” Chitty asked, hopeful. “You’re playing?”
My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. “Yes. My knee feels great, and Hutch says I’m a hundred percent. So we’re gonna do it tonight. Bring that cup to New York where it belongs.”
“Yes, Cap!” everyone shouted.
“You know they’re gonna come after me with everything they got.
Dirty tricks and all. But we don’t need tricks.
When we get the puck, drive to the net to the far post, set up whoever’s following the puck carrier, and look for a chance to score.
Press the defense. Make them turn over the puck.
Look to intercept when they’ve got control.
And remember.” I faced each of the guys.
“No one is to be a hero or looking to score the most goals. You see someone open in front of the net, or with a clear shot on goal, you pass the puck to them. Got it?”
“It’s good to have the captain on the ice with us, where he belongs, n’est ce pas?” Denis said, meeting my eyes. “We will win tonight because we are the best. I feel the destiny in my bones.”
Denis wanted this win as much as I did—he’d come from the Icers, having missed their glory years, and part of our initial bonding was from our mutual, ferocious desire to win.
“Protect the net. Don’t let Denis get drawn out into the crease. Are we ready?” I stood and grabbed my stick.
Everyone trailed after me, and we walked through the tunnel to the rink.
The roar of the fans to watch us practice was as loud as if we’d scored the game-winning goal.
God, it felt good to be on the ice instead of watching from the sidelines, and as I got the feel of it under my skates, I saw Adrian, Neil, and Lisa sitting with Jolie and hers and Seb’s two girls, along with an older woman I believed was Jolie’s mother.
Seb, Chitty, Peter, and I sped down ice toward the net, cycling the puck as we traveled.
The arena was ready to rock and roll when the starting lineup announcements were made, and I couldn’t help but raise my stick to the thunderous cheers as my name was called. I skated to the red line for the face-off with their center, Piers Hansonn.
“How’s the bum knee, Tremaine?”
“As solid as your thick skull, Hansonn, but thanks for asking.”
My nerves were on fire and tingling. The energy of the arena flowed through me as I waited for the three-inch circle that controlled my entire life to drop.
I heard my guys calling out to me and each other.
The puck hit the ice, and we were off. My knee held strong as Hansonn and I battled for the puck.
He grabbed it away from me and passed to his right winger, but it was intercepted by Seb, who flicked it to Chitty, already on the move.
The screams from fans made it impossible to hear anything my teammates were saying, but we’d practiced for this all year, and we were in sync.
I whizzed past Chitty, and he passed the puck to me.
Surrounded by Bears players, I didn’t have a clear shot on goal.
I fought to keep control but lost it to the groans of fans.
Peter picked it off and sent it to Chitty, who smashed it at the goal.
Bernard slapped it away, right onto the blade of Seb, who flicked it between Bernard’s legs.
The light went on, and we’d drawn first blood.
We held that tenuous one goal lead well into the third period. Coach had rested me periodically throughout, which I didn’t mind, but now there were only two minutes left. We took a time-out.
“How’s the knee, Rip?”
“Great. No problems.”
“All right, then. You know what to do. Protect the goal at all costs. Don’t let them near Denis. And you”—he pointed to Denis—“don’t allow them to draw you out in the crease. You fucking superglue your body to the net.”
“Absolument.”
I’d never taken drugs, but I imagined this out-of-body sensation must’ve been what it was like to feel high. My heart hammered, goose bumps popped up on my skin, and my breath came short. We stood in a tight circle on the ice and I spoke to the team.
“I don’t care what happens. Don’t get called for a penalty. They’re gonna come after us to try and force us to make stupid mistakes. Keep your head. Be smart.”
As predicted, the Bears attacked us like beasts after raw meat. They tried to draw us into our end, but we anticipated that, and when the puck hit a bump in the ice on a pass, I grabbed it and sped away.
“Fuck you, Tremaine,” Dubois, their defenseman, spat and slammed me into the boards.
“No thanks,” I snarled and fought for possession. Covering my body with his, he punched the base of my spine, and I grunted but pushed through the pain to jam my elbow into his stomach. He fell off me.
Hansonn slid his stick in, and to my horror, sped off on a breakaway. Just him and the puck. Straight at Denis.
“Get him,” I screamed. “Seb, Chitty, Peter, go.”
I tore after them, but I was too far behind. My teammates were gaining. I knew time was running out, but my entire focus was on Hansonn facing off against Denis.
The crowd was on its feet, and I vaguely heard them counting down. Hansonn pulled his stick back to take the shot, and I sent a silent prayer.
Please, please, miss.
Helpless, I watched the puck sail toward the net, certain it was going in. A big black glove reached up and out, and at the last second, pushed the puck off to the side, halting its forward motion.
The buzzer sounded, and the arena exploded.
We won. We fucking won.
I threw my stick up in the air and screamed with unbridled happiness. “We did it. We fucking did it.” I skated to Denis. He ripped off his face mask, tears of joy streaming from his eyes. There was no animosity—only absolute joy.
“Rip.”
“Denis. We made it.”
We jumped each other, and the rest of the team surrounded us and we hugged en masse. Seb and I embraced as the team broke its huddle.
“I can’t believe it. Finally. Finally.”
Coach joined in our celebration, and we each hugged him and shook his hand, then the hands of everyone on the Bears team.
The Commissioner and his assistants set up the small podium.
I could see Adrian and Neil filming the ceremony.
Denis was rightfully named the most valuable player of the series, and I didn’t feel a single twinge of jealousy.
He’d played the best games of his career.
The Commissioner finished his speeches and handed the Cup to me.
I kissed it, the metal cold against my overheated skin, and I could barely see through the tears. Fifteen years of hoping and waiting, all came to this moment in time. A moment I knew I’d never forget. I kissed the Cup again and held it up to thunderous applause and cheers.
“Thank you to the Blades organization and Coach Chopard and all the coaches for teaching us how to be a team. To the best teammates in the world. We did it.” I held the Cup closer.
“I owe this to my mother, Abby Tremaine. She’s no longer with us, but she sacrificed everything so I could play hockey.
And she taught me to never give up my dreams.” I took a deep breath.
“Thank you to my best friend, Neil, for being my brother in every sense of the word, and to my boyfriend, Adrian…thank you for being you. To Mom and Dad Hunt, for giving me the chance. And most of all, to the fans who’ve stuck with us through good and bad. This is for you.”
I held up the Cup and skated around the perimeter of the rink, showing it off to the cheering crowd. I savored this experience, wishing I could hold on to it forever.
I returned to my teammates and handed it off to Denis, who in his usual showboating behavior, did spins, then approached an older man in a wheelchair and held it high.
The man blew him kisses, and I recognized him as Denis’s mentor, the famous Canadian youth hockey coach, Gil Girard, whom I’d met once at the beginning of our relationship.
Each teammate had their chance with the trophy, and the noise inside the area was growing louder. I looked over to where I knew Adrian and Neil were sitting when screams and shouts diverted my attention.
In horror, I watched as the top-level railings on the right side of the arena, a new section that had been installed the year before, collapsed, and all the people disappeared in a shower of crumbling concrete and metal.
The rubble fell on top of the crowd below.
Plaster dust and screams filled the air, and I lost sight of Adrian, Neil and Lisa, and Seb’s family.
“Holy shit. Oh, my God.”