42. Mallory
Mallory
And the clock was bleeding out.
Beside me, Ava clutched a branded foam finger like it was a lifeline, her eyes fixed intently on the glass. Her other hand was wrapped tightly around the edge of the drink rail in front of us, knuckles white. She hadn’t blinked in what felt like minutes.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” I muttered.
Ava tore her eyes away for a split second to grin at me. “Right? Like, I’ve been with Logan for years and I still can’t watch him take a hit without threatening to storm the bench.”
I shifted Lola slightly in her wrap, resting one hand over her soft little belly. She was miraculously asleep, nestled against me like the chaos in the arena didn’t matter to her at all. Her earmuffs—comically oversized and pale pink—slipped slightly over her eyes, and I adjusted them gently.
“ She’s so chill,” Ava said, still watching the game but softer now. “Too chill. It’s rude, honestly.”
“She’s saving the drama for later. Like prom night or when she starts dating.”
Ava snorted. “Ugh. Don’t even. If I ever had a daughter, I’d have to buy a taser and a lie detector.”
“She’s definitely going to be a handful,” I said, rocking a little from side to side, more to calm myself than her. “But right now I just want her dad to win this game.”
The third period was slipping fast. Every second was a knife twist. The puck moved like lightning, players colliding against the boards, sticks clashing like swords.
The Knights looked dangerous, but not deadly.
You could see the fatigue starting to drag at their skates, the extra half-second it took them to switch off the rush.
And the HellBlades? They smelled blood. They were circling.
Connor passed to Logan. Logan to Jaymie.
The chemistry on that line was almost too much to take—like watching a ballet of bruises and instinct.
Then Jaymie passed back to Darren, who wound up for another slapshot, but the puck bounced off a stick and went wide.
Gasps. Groans. Swearing.
Lola stirred slightly in her wrap, a tiny grunt of protest. I hushed her softly, heart hammering against hers. “Shh, baby, just a little longer. He’s almost there.”
Then—chaos. A turnover in our favor. Connor launched forward, stick outstretched. He chased the puck into t he corner, battled hard against the glass with two defenders hanging off him like armor. And somehow, he got it loose. Just enough.
He didn’t even look before passing.
He knew.
Jaymie caught it just inside the left circle, knees bent, posture lethal.
And then—
He fired.
It felt like time stopped.
The puck soared.
The red light flashed.
GOAL.
I screamed.
The entire suite detonated.
Ava flung her foam finger across the room and grabbed me by the shoulders. “HE DID IT! YOUR MAN JUST WON THE FREAKING STANLEY CUP!”
People were crying, hugging, jumping. Glasses were tipped, phones out recording, strangers embracing. Someone’s toddler ran across the suite barefoot, trailing a streamer. I laughed and sobbed at the same time, every nerve in my body lit up like it couldn’t handle the joy.
I turned to the ice in time to see Jaymie drop to his knees, arms lifted, helmet flying off as his teammates tackled him into the boards. Connor was on his back. Logan was huggin g him and yelling in his face. Darren was screaming something indecipherable as he flung his gloves in the air.
And Jaymie?
He was beaming. Sweaty, flushed, breathless—and completely lit up.
Like a man who’d just won the whole damn world.
“Oh my god,” Ava choked out, wiping tears from her cheeks. “Logan’s going to cry. I know it. I feel it.”
“You're crying,” I said, laughing.
“So are you!”
True.
A stream of congratulations came at me from all sides.
“Oh my god, Mallory, that was Jaymie, right?”
“That was your guy?! He won the game!”
“You must be so proud!”
Someone handed me a glass of champagne. Another person hugged me before I even realized who they were. There was confetti on my boot somehow. The suite had become a bubble of euphoria, untethered from gravity or rules.
And in the middle of it all, Lola stirred.
Her eyelids fluttered open, lashes fluttering like they were still unsure about the bright lights and loud world.
“You missed it,” I whispered, kissing her forehead. “Your dad just made history.”
Ava leaned in, peering at her like she was sacred. “She looks smug.”
“ She is smug. She knows exactly what just happened.”
I turned back to the glass, watching as Jaymie hoisted the Stanley Cup above his head, teeth bared in a grin that could’ve lit up the whole city. The camera zoomed in and for a second I imagined he was looking straight at us.
Straight at her.
Straight at me.
“I love you,” I whispered, even though he couldn’t hear it yet. “We love you.”
I pulled out my phone with one hand and typed through tears:
You freaking did it. That goal was everything. Lola and I are so proud of you. I hope you’re ready for the most chaotic, love-filled life ever. You’ve earned it, superstar.
I hit send and closed my eyes.
And let it all sink in.