Epilogue
Denis
Six months later
We had a chance to make team history at home.
The Blades led three games to two against the Gold Miners in the Stanley Cup finals.
If we could win this game, we’d have accomplished three Stanley Cups in a row.
Not an unheard of feat, but by no means an easy one.
Of course the other teams hated us for our domination, but we didn’t care.
They’d hate us anyway. We were brash, cocky, and made no bones about it.
We played hard and gave everything in our hearts and souls to win.
It was a New York thing, a Brooklyn thing, and why I loved playing for the Blades.
I adjusted my stance and waited, the ice vibrating under my skates. The whistle blew, and Rip took his position center ice to take the drop. Our fans roared, and behind my mask, I grinned. They seemed to want this win even more than we did.
I knew Sterling was there, in the lower bowl near center ice. Gil was next to him, and I was thrilled he’d brought his lady friend, Sarah. I’d chatted with them before the game.
“I’m glad you’ve decided to enjoy life again, Papa.”
“You are looking happy as well, mon fils.”
I cast my gaze to Sterling by his side. They’d become good friends, and Gil was teaching him French.
“I have my two best guys with me. What more could I want?”
“A third Cup?” Sterling pointed. “Go out there and get it.”
Like an invisible line tethering Sterling to me, I could feel the power of those big blue eyes.
And that was all I needed. Shot after shot came at me, but I smothered each one.
I felt invincible and refused to be denied.
And when the buzzer rang, we’d won. The fans shrieked and cheered.
I tore off my gloves and mask, and after hugging it out with my teammates, skated to Sterling and Gil.
I’d kept the last puck the Miners shot at me and held it up to Gil.
“Pour toi, Papa.”
I kissed my fingers to Sterling, who smiled in return. As always, I didn’t need grand gestures or declarations from him. I knew, and so did he. It was enough.
I returned to my team for the celebration and Cup presentation.
Seb, who’d scored two goals and had an assist, was named Most Valuable Player and awarded the Conn Smythe Trophy, and holding up the Stanley Cup, skated first to his wife and girls.
It was cute to see their little excited faces.
When it was my turn with the trophy, I skated around the ice, returning of course, to Gil and Sterling.
“You have been my greatest accomplishment, Denis. Not only as a player but as a person. Je suis fier de toi. So very proud.”
“I am as well,” Sterling said. “You were magnificent.” His smile warmed me through and through.
“Merci, mon amour.” I blew him a kiss, unaware we were on the Jumbotron, and the crowd clapped and whistled. Sterling turned red, but my grin grew wider. “I will see you later after the circus.”
Seb, Coach, and I did the media circuit, and as usual, ever since the press learned that Sterling was Dahlia Dumont’s son, the questions they directed to me shifted from my play to my relationship with him. I’d held out a faint hope that it would change with winning our third Cup in a row.
“Denis, how are you and Sterling Forest dealing with his newfound fame?”
“Denis, there’s a rumor your boyfriend may be buying the team. Will you still play for the Blades?”
“Denis, there are rumors that Sterling Forest will have to move to LA to handle Dahlia Dumont’s estate. Are you planning to go with him? Are you asking to be traded?”
That broke my casual, keeping-it-light-and-easy demeanor, and I slapped a hand on the rickety table. The microphones rattled, and Coach grabbed at the one in front of me to keep it from toppling to the floor.
“J’en ai eu assez! Do you hear yourselves?
How ridiculous you all sound? Like a pack of wolves.
” The crowd turned silent. “We have just won our third damn Stanley Cup, and all you ask me about is my personal life. Not one question about the game. That is unfair to my team, our coaches, and me. We’ve worked our butts off to get to this point.
Stop it. Please. It’s demeaning. But let me say this.
” I drew in a breath and saw Sterling slip into the room.
“I love being on the Blades. I don’t ever want to play for another team or be anywhere but here.
Playing for Brooklyn, with my teammates, is all I want.
” I couldn’t help my lips curving. “But so you will stop asking me these incessant questions, before I slip away to the off-season, no. I am not asking to be traded. No one is moving to LA or anywhere else. Sterling is not buying the team—that’s a rumor I hadn’t heard, and it’s a good one. ”
The entire room laughed with me.
Coach adjusted the mic and took over. “As Denis said, it’s time to talk about the game. And I’ll also add my two cents to say he’s correct. He hasn’t asked to be traded, and we’re not looking to get rid of the best goalie in the league. Next question?”
They listened and finally directed their attention to Seb and Coach, and after another three or four minutes, it was done.
The locker room was jubilant, and champagne was being sprayed everywhere.
Press from all over were interviewing players, and when they saw me, I was rushed. Laughing, I put up my hands.
“Guys, guys, please. Arrêtez! Can I please shower? I need to get out of the uniform. Trust me, you’ll thank me.”
I left them there, stripped off my clothes, and jumped into the best and hottest shower of my life.
Clean and dry, I put on my shirt and slacks.
A young reporter with dark-brown eyes and a head full of curly blond hair approached me.
He held a microphone with the logo of the Canadian news station from my hometown.
“Excusez-moi, s’il vous pla?t, may I ask you some questions?”
I smiled, always happy to help someone from home. “Of course.” Other reporters approached, shouting questions, but I wanted to give him a chance. He was very young but had a brazen confidence. Reminded me of…me, at that age.
“Do you have any plans to ever come to Canada and meet the fans there?”
I cocked my head. “I think that would be a wonderful idea. I can contact the league, and I’m sure we could work something out.”
“Why haven’t you ever returned to your hometown to meet all your young hockey fans?”
I blinked. “I-I’ve taught at many hockey camps throughout the years. I let my publicist pick which ones.”
“When you were young, did you ever think you’d be this much of a star?”
That I could answer, and I flashed him a grin. “I wanted to be the best.”
“You’ve said you owe everything to Coach Gil Girard. But isn’t it true that your father, uncle, and grandfather started you on your road to playing professional hockey?”
My mouth dried, and my heart pounded. This kid…who the fuck was he with his piercing dark eyes and slight smile? Like he held the answer to a secret.
“I don’t talk about my family.” I glanced up to the other reporters. “Anyone else have questions?”
The interviews lasted about five more minutes, and I spied Sterling entering the locker room, shaking hands with Rip and congratulating Seb before making his way to me.
“Thank you, everyone. Time for me to go celebrate with my friends and family.” The young Canadian reporter hadn’t interviewed anyone else, and I shot him a curious look as I walked past. His fierce expression startled me. What was his deal?
I reached Sterling and kissed him, promptly forgetting about the reporter. Even after all our months together, his touch had the ability to drive away any other thoughts but how much I needed him. “Thank God. Where are Gil and Sarah?”
“They’re with Rip’s father. We sent them ahead with their aides to the restaurant to get to their table.”
“Good.”
The reporters had gone but for my young hanger-on, who lingered near my locker. Sterling noticed my attention. “Who’s that?”
“He says he’s a reporter.”
“You doubt him?”
“No.” I thought for a moment. “But I think he came with an agenda. He asked me questions about my family and why I never came to my hometown to meet kids.”
Sterling’s brows pulled together, and I waited.
Ever since he left Channel 8 for his own news show on cable, he’d perfected the art of ferreting out information from the most reticent guests.
“Let’s go talk to him.” Without waiting for my response, he walked up to the man. “Sterling Forest. And you are?”
“Davide.” He hesitated. “Davide Bouvier.”
Sterling’s gaze flicked to me, and I licked my dry lips. It was possible. Davide had been a little boy when I left.
With a defiant tilt to his jaw, Davide met my eyes. “Je suis ton cousin.”
“I…see.” I folded my arms. “And you asked me all those questions as what? A test?”
“I wanted to see if you were truly as arrogant as I’d heard.” He smirked with no humor behind it. “And they were right.”
“The fuck you come in here, pretending to be a reporter to ambush me.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched my teammates gather beside me.
The little bastard laughed in my face. “I am a reporter for our local news station. And it’s not an ambush. It’s true. You walked away from your family and never bothered to come home. Not when my mother—your tante—died, not when grand-père passed. No, you were too busy being a superstar.”
I swayed, and Sterling put an arm around me. “Hey. That’s enough.”
“That’s your boyfriend? The news reporter?” He seemed a bit starstruck by Sterling. More than meeting me.
“Yes. If you used any of the brains you were given, you’d realize I left because my family made it impossible for me to live there with their ignorant attitude about queer people. I’m sorry about Tante Isobel and Pépère, but you don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about.”
White-faced, Davide wisely remained silent as my words tumbled out.