Epilogue 1
DANIEL
“Landers is taking a pounding by Beauchamp on his left. Deacon coming for the assist . . . Oh! That’s rough. Deacon’s gonna be feeling that tomorrow. Beauchamp’s still in control.”
“Landers isn’t in the minors anymore. He can’t freeze the puck for long. There’s no way out. He shoots or turns it over.”
“There’s no way to make that shot from the boards, Dan. That puck is as good as gold for the Boston Rebels if he tries.”
“Dallas is finally making it out of the block to help Beauchamp!”
“Hey, Carston,” I say, sweat dripping into my eyes. “Are you gonna take me out to dinner after humping me all night? Get off my fucking stick, dick.”
Shoulder checking him, I finally break free from the asshole and dig my blades into the ice, charging to save Landers.
Damn rookies.
“What the fuck is going on?” I grumble, skidding into Dallas as he stumbles into the mess against the boards. Beauchamp knocks the puck from Landers when I get my stick in the mix of a board battle.
Time slows, the noise disappears, the crowds are gone. It’s me and the puck.
This is my game. My arena. My goal.
I take possession, turning so fast that my opponent catches his stick on my skate and flips to the ice as I break away.
My blades scraping through the ice.
The blood rushing past my ears.
My father shouting at me when I was ten, “Don’t fuck it up, Danny Boy,” has always played on repeat in my head.
I close my eyes, no longer giving him power over me.
I own every one of my goals, trophies, and successes. I only play for me now. And my son.
My muscles push me forward, the stick an extension of my body. I open my eyes and shift my arms back, putting the puck in flight over the ice, cutting through the air over the goalie’s shoulder.
Cutting behind the goal, I turn to watch it bounce against the net. “Yes!”
“Maverick puts it away!”
“Goal! The Breakaways win!
“The Maverick of Hockey showing why he earned the title.”
“Sutton is still going strong, Dan. Put the rumors to bed. I think we’re going to be seeing him for years to come.”
“Top of his game.”
Kovlov slams into me. “Fucking amazing, Mav!”
It was fucking amazing. My body vibrates with adrenaline as the moment washes over me. The energy from the fans is electric. The bench clears as my teammates rush to find me. Before they can do that, my gaze shifts to a set of the prettiest blue eyes staring down at me.
“I love you,” she mouths, her hands clamped together at her chest. I lift a glove her way just before my team drives me into the boards in celebration. Their cheers ringing in my ears, I laugh to myself. Damn, it feels good to be a part of something great.
But it feels even better to have my son and fiancée here to witness a legend in the making.
“Good job, old man,” Landers says, shoving my shoulder. “I knew you still had it in you.”
“Fuck off, Landers.”
“Got to keep you on your toes,” He grins, skating away as the crowd grows louder.
“Mav-rick! Mav-rick!” The chants echo around the arena. “Mav-rick! Mav-rick!”
Kovlov moves out of the way, smiling brightly. “Get out there so your fans can see you.”
Slowly, I skate toward center ice and bask in the moment. It’s a victory on the scoreboard, for sure. But it’s also a victory in other ways. I made it another year when not everyone thought I would, I’ve created a warm, stable home for Roman, and I’m marrying the best woman in the world.
It’s good to be me.
I spot Roman and Summer at the glass and skate to them. My son’s wide eyes are filled with admiration, something I hope he never loses for me. I push my forehead against his.
“Love you, kid,” I say.
“Love you, Dad.”
I pull away, my gaze traveling to Summer. She watches me with pride, but also with something that’s way more important. With love.
Her hands touch the plexiglass. “So proud of you.”
I take my gloves, drop them onto the ice, and press my palms to hers on the other side of the clear wall. “Marry me.”
Holding up her left hand, she points at the ring. “I am marrying you.”
“This weekend. Marry me, Sunshine. I don’t want to wait any longer.”
Her smile softens, and she nods. “This weekend.” Nodding toward the ice, she says, “Go celebrate with your team. Enjoy it.” She lowers her hands to Roman’s shoulders. “We’ll see you at the apartment.”
I grab my gloves and join my team as they head toward the tunnel. Slipping my guards on, I look back to see Summer and Roman watching. My whole fucking world waves at me. I raise my hand, committing the moment to memory, then head to the locker room.
Celebrating with the guys used to be fun.
Now, I want to see my family. I don’t need loud cheers or bottles of whiskey passed around.
I want to listen to Roman give a rundown of his favorite parts of the game, like he loves to do.
He slips in a little advice to which I always reply, “I’ll incorporate that next time.
” And then when he goes to bed, I’ll hold my girl on a lounger on the patio, taking in the crisp fall air, and talking about all the things we want to do next summer in the offseason.
It’s my favorite season, after all.