Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
The air in the locker room was fucking electric as we finished getting ready for the conference championships.
This was as far as we could go in club hockey, and it was everything we’d been working for all season.
There was no way I was going to be a liability on the ice like the last couple of times.
Not tonight.
“You good, Monty?” Foster asked, sitting down beside me. Our captain looked calm as always, but his jaw was tight with tension. This game meant everything to him too.
“Yeah,” I said, but my hands were shaking slightly. “Just thinking about last time.”
“Last time’s over,” Liam said from across the room, pulling his jersey over his head. That hint of Irish accent was already getting thicker—it always did when he got pumped up. “Tonight’s a clean slate.”
Easy for him to say. He hadn’t been the one who nearly blew our chance to play in the championships because he was too busy worrying about whether his daughter was okay.
Coach Maxwell stepped into the center of the room, and the chatter died instantly.
“Gentlemen,” he said, his voice carrying that quiet authority that made everyone listen.
“You’ve earned this. Every practice, every drill, and every game this season has led to this moment.
MSU is tough, but we’re tougher. We’re faster. And we want it more.”
He looked around the room, making eye contact with each of us. “Leave everything on the ice. No regrets, no what-ifs. Just sixty minutes of the best hockey you’ve ever played.”
The guys started banging their sticks on the floor, the sound building until it was thunderous. Foster stood up, his voice cutting through the noise.
“On three,” he shouted. “Conference champs! One, two, three—”
“CONFERENCE CHAMPS!”
The energy in the room was infectious, but as we lined up for warm-ups, my stomach was still twisted in knots. What if I fucked up again? What if I let the team down when it mattered most?
We skated out onto the ice, and the roar from the crowd was fucking deafening. The seats were packed with fans in a sea of Clark Fork maroon and Montana State navy. I took a lap around the rink, trying to find my center, when something in the stands caught my eye.
Ava was sitting about halfway up, waving like a maniac. Next to her were my parents, with Rory nestled in my mom’s arms, wearing the tiniest pair of baby ear protection headphones I’d ever seen.
All the anxiety in my chest shifted as a warm certainty settled in its place.
My daughter was here.
I skated over to the glass and tapped it with my stick. Mom grinned and lifted Rory’s little hand, making her wave at me. But it was the way Rory’s chubby cheeks smooshed into a toothless grin as I smiled at her that sunk me.
This was who I was playing for.
And I would do whatever it took to make my daughter proud of me.
The knot in my stomach disappeared completely.
When the puck dropped, everything fucking clicked like it always had before.
Foster won the draw clean, sliding it back to me at the point. Instead of the panicked uncertainty that had plagued me in our last few games, I felt completely calm. I surveyed the ice with perfect clarity and saw Liam already jumping up on the rush down the left side.
Liam deked around their defenseman like he wasn’t even there and fired a wrist shot that rang off the crossbar. Close, but it set the tone. We were here to play.
MSU came back hard, their top line cycling the puck in our zone with the kind of precision that had made them conference leaders all season. But when their center tried to spring their winger on a breakaway, I was right there to break up the pass and clear it up the boards.
“That’s it, Monty!” Foster called as we lined up for the next face-off. “Stay locked in!”
The first period was back and forth, both teams feeling each other out. I was reading the plays perfectly, anticipating their moves before they made them. When their power play unit tried to set up in our zone, I disrupted their passing lanes and cleared the puck cleanly every time.
I was fucking unstoppable.
With two minutes left in the period, we got our chance. Foster carried the puck into their zone and dropped it back to me at the blue line. I saw Liam positioned perfectly in front of their net and fired a slap shot that he deflected past their goalie’s glove.
1-0, Lumberjacks.
The arena erupted, and as we celebrated, I glanced up at the stands.
Ava was on her feet while she cheered. My parents were standing too, my mom bouncing Rory gently.
My daughter looked content, her face focused on the ice.
Even though she had no idea what was happening, seeing her there filled me with joy on a level I’d never experienced before.
MSU tied it up early in the second period with a goal that deflected off Gordy’s pad and trickled in. We regrouped at center ice for the face-off, the sting of that one still buzzing in my chest.
The goal lit them up—their bench was loud, their forecheck sharper—but we weathered the push. Three minutes later, Foster buried a rebound off a beautiful passing play, and just like that, the momentum swung back our way.
I was playing the best hockey of my life. Every pass was crisp; every defensive play was textbook perfect. When their fastest winger tried to break free on a rush, I matched his speed stride for stride and poke-checked the puck away cleanly.
“Holy shit, Drew,” Liam called as he skated past me, a wicked smile on his face. “You’re playing like you’re possessed.”
“Just trying to keep up with you,” I teased.
The third period was a fucking war. MSU came out flying, knowing this was their last chance.
They peppered Gordy with everything they had, but our goalie was standing on his head.
With five minutes left, their coach called time-out, and I could see the desperation in their eyes when they came back out on the ice.
But we weren’t about to let them have this win.
When the final buzzer sounded, the scoreboard read 3-2, Lumberjacks.
Liam skated over and threw his giant body at me, his face filled with excitement. “We fucking won!”
The celebration was chaos—guys piling on top of each other, sticks flying through the air, fans screaming so loud I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. But through it all, I kept looking up at the stands where my family had huge smiles on their faces, my mom still holding Rory against her chest.
We’d fucking done it.
And I’d played like the player I knew I could be.
The locker room was pure euphoria. Someone had brought in speakers, and music was blasting while guys danced around in various stages of undress.
I was sitting in my stall, still in most of my gear, riding the high of the best game I’d played all season.
My phone was buzzing with congratulatory texts, but I was too wired to focus on reading them.
“That was fucking beautiful out there,” Liam said, collapsing onto the bench next to me.
His hair was matted with sweat, and he had that post-game glow that came from leaving everything on the ice.
His Irish accent was thick now like it always got when he was emotional.
“You were dialed in from the first shift.”
“Thanks, man.” I started unlacing my skates, my fingers still buzzing with adrenaline. “It felt good to contribute instead of being a liability.”
“Liability?” Gordy looked up from his stall, raising an eyebrow in that way he did when he thought someone was being an idiot. “You were our best defenseman tonight. Coach is probably going to nominate you for player of the game.”
The praise felt good, but more than that, it felt earned. I’d worked through whatever mental block had been screwing with my game, and when it mattered most, I’d shown up.
Jake wrapped his arm around Liam’s neck. “I bet ya ten bucks Foster’s the first one to start another ‘We Are the Lumberjacks’ chant,” he said toward the chaos, grinning as our captain danced around with his gloves still on.
“Nah,” Liam countered smiling at me, “my money’s on Monty. He’s been vibrating since the final buzzer.”
Someone from across the room laughed. “Careful. Freshmen are probably taking odds on it already. Those idiots have been betting on everything lately.”
Laughter rippled through the room, and I shook my head, smiling faintly.
I hadn’t been paying much attention to team drama recently.
Between classes, practices, and sleepless nights with Rory, most of my world existed in fifteen-minute bursts of chaos.
Whatever they were talking about barely registered.
But as I finished changing, I noticed some of the freshman players—Beau Alden, Kyle Furst, and a couple of others—huddled together, talking in low voices and glancing in my direction. They looked like they were plotting some shit, and knowing freshmen, they probably were.
“Hey,” I called out, nodding toward the group of younger guys. “What’s got you idiots looking so serious? We just won the fucking championship.”
“Just talking about the game,” Beau called back, that cocky freshman grin spreading across his face. “Speaking of which, where was Harper tonight? Thought she might’ve shown up to support her project partner.”
The way he said project partner like it was some kind of innuendo made my jaw clench. “How the hell should I know? I’m not her keeper.”
“Right,” Kyle chimed in, exchanging a look with Beau. “Must be hard, being forced to work with your sworn enemy, although if my sworn enemy was that hot, I’d be hard too.”
The freshmen started laughing until Liam stood up. “Shut the fuck up, Kyle. That was disgusting and unacceptable. You talk to your ma with that filthy mouth?”
“Why are you guys asking about Harper anyway?” I asked.
Beau shrugged, still wearing that shit-eating grin that now officially had me on edge. “Just wondered if you played better tonight because you lost the bet.”
The laughter around us faltered. Even the music seemed quieter, or maybe it was just me hearing the blood rush in my ears.
I froze. “What bet?”
Liam, Gordy, and Foster were all staring at the younger guys with expressions of confusion that had to match mine.
“I play better when I’ve had sex too. Although you’re the one who said you’d bet everything on the fact that you’d never have sex with her.”
“You made a bet about whether I’d sleep with Harper,” I said, my voice deadly quiet.
“You’re the one who first brought it up,” Kyle said with a shrug. “We just decided to hold you to it.”
I was off the bench before I’d even decided to move, and suddenly I had Beau pinned to the wall. The high from our championship win had evaporated completely, replaced by a rage so pure it made my vision blur around the edges.
“First of all, that’s not how bets work, you fucking asswipes. Second, you think Harper’s some fucking game?” I snarled. “Some conquest you can bet on like a horse race?”
“Whoa, whoa,” Foster said, immediately moving between us, his captain instincts kicking in. “Drew, calm down.”
“Calm down?” I shoved Foster’s hands away, my voice getting louder with each word. “These assholes are treating Harper like she’s a piece of meat they can wager on, and you want me to calm the fuck down?”
“We didn’t mean anything by it,” Kyle said, looking a lot less cocky now. “It was just for fun.”
“Fun?” I could hear my voice echoing off the locker room walls, but I didn’t give a shit. “You think making her the punchline of your stupid joke is fun?”
“Since when do you give a shit about Harper Tinsley’s feelings?” Beau asked, confused but also still a bit defiant in a way that made me want to punch him in the face. “Thought she was the enemy.”
“She is—” I started, then stopped. Because that wasn’t true anymore, was it? Somewhere between Rory’s first night with me and Harper singing lullabies in my living room, everything had changed. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated,” Beau repeated, and despite being obviously rattled, he gave me a knowing look. “Right. Bet it is.”
“The bet’s off,” I said, looking around at all of them—not just Beau and Kyle, but the few other freshman guys who were now looking like they wished they could disappear into the floor. “Whatever money you put down, you’re getting it back. This ends now.”
“Can’t really call it off now,” Kyle said, trying to salvage some bravado. “We already collected from like six guys. Besides, you’re the one who started it.”
“I never started shit,” I snapped.
“You literally said you’d bet everything on it never happening—”
“I made a comment,” I interrupted, my voice sharp enough to cut glass. “I didn’t ask you to turn it into some fucking side show.”
The locker room was tense as hell now, the championship celebration completely forgotten. The older guys looked pissed and confused, while the younger ones were clearly starting to realize just how badly they’d fucked up.
“Look,” Foster said, his captain voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “Beau, Kyle, whatever money you collected, you give it back. This stops here.”
“But—” Kyle started.
“No buts,” Foster said firmly, stepping closer to them. “Drew’s right. This is fucked up.”
Liam moved to stand beside Foster, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by something much harder. “You want to explain to me how betting on whether our teammate hooks up with a girl isn’t completely degrading to her?”
“And how it’s not a massive violation of Drew’s privacy?” Gordy added quietly, but his voice carried the kind of menace that made people listen. “His personal life is not your entertainment.”
Beau looked like he wanted to argue, but something in the combined expressions of four older guys shut him up. “Fine. Whatever. We’ll call it off.”
“Good,” I said, grabbing my gear bag. “And if I hear anyone talking about this shit again, we’re going to have a problem.”
The younger guys nodded, looking properly chastised. Foster clapped me on the shoulder as we headed toward the door.
“That was fucked up,” he said quietly. “But you handled it right.”
Yeah. I had handled it. The bet was dead, and Harper would never have to know it existed in the first place.
Crisis fucking averted.
What fucking idiots.