Chapter 29
The air is electric with the boisterous chants of the fans, spurring us on. The puck hits the ice, my skates dig in, and I press forward like everything depends on this one game because it does. Championship night. The game I’ve worked my ass off for.
It’s still a tie for now and that’s mostly because we’ve been able to hold the fort down. There’s been no casualty either and I’m grateful for that.
As the game continues, I feel a weird, prickling sensation at the back of my head. It’s that type of feeling that comes when someone is watching you, which is ridiculous, because over twenty thousand people are literally watching me right now.
I ignore the feeling, and I push harder, chasing the puck, but my mind won’t let it go. I scan the stands mid-play, like an idiot risking a turnover just to figure it out and then I freeze.
My chest locks up and my throat goes dry.
What the hell is he doing here? How did he even…
Mr. Gray. My father. The man I promised myself never to be like.
He’s seated up there like it’s the most normal thing in the world. He’s wearing a black Italian suit, hair the same color as mine, his arms folded. There’s also that blank expression I’ve seen a thousand times in my nightmares.
For a second I feel my stomach churn and bile rises to my throat.
I’m convinced I might actually puke inside my helmet.
My vision blurs and my hands tighten on my stick until my knuckles ache.
He’s here, watching me as if there’s nothing off about his presence here on such an important occasion.
He’s probably here to prove to me that I’m a nobody just like he always told me when I was growing up.
How bold of him to reappear after all this time.
After this game, I’ll go right up to him and give him a piece of my mind, the press be damned.
“Cam! Move it!” Keith’s muffled voice cuts through the haze. The puck is back in play and I’m just standing here like an idiot. I jerk back into motion, shoving down the nausea clawing up my throat.
Shit. Focus, Cameron, Focus.
I lift my head and somewhere across the rink, Jack catches my eye. He’s grinning like a devil.
Sonofabitch!
I can swear he’s my father’s real son because of their mean streak.
He raises his hand in a mock salute like he planned this.
Did he? It will only make sense because this is the same person with whom he’s been taunting me with.
Leave it to my messed up father to agree to Jack’s plans. I can’t believe they’re in cahoots.
Rage pulses through my skin but I take a deep breath to keep it from overwhelming me. If I react, he wins. That’s what he wants. That’s what they both want.
I skate faster, pushing the noise and their faces out of my head. For the next few minutes, the adrenaline courses through my veins as I chase, retrieve and pass. The crowd’s cheers keep me going too until the final intermission.
The buzzer sounds and we’re retreating to the locker room. The massive score screen lights up. At first, I thought it’s just another highlight reel. The usual, to keep the crowd pumped.
My blood runs cold when I see what it really is. A hush falls over the entire rink.
It’s surveillance footage of Jack.
He’s bending down over my gear bag, the one I came with to this game. His hands are on my skates, fiddling with something while looking over his shoulder, a smirk plastered on his face even in the grainy video.
“Well, well, well,” I remark under my breath. It’s a good thing Keith convinced me to carry an extra earlier which I’m currently using. No wonder the bastard was looking smug a few minutes ago. He probably thought his plan was working.
A woman among the fans boos and the others join in, a ripple of outrage rolling through the stands like a wave.
Phones come out everywhere, recording and taking snapshots. Reporters in the press box scramble to get a good view. The officials are barking instructions for it to be turned off.
And Jack. You should see how pale he looks. His smirk falters for the first time since I’ve known him. He tries to laugh it off, gestures like it’s a joke, but it’s too late. The charm’s gone, the mask ripped off in front of thousands.
“It’s not what it looks like,” he says in his defense as our teammates circle around him.
“Do you guys remember how he put me in the hospital!” he snaps. “I’m supposed to be the man in his position on the team, not him. Even after almost beating me to death, he gets walk?” he asks, scanning the faces anxiously, looking for someone to back him up.
“Unbelievable,” Reed mutters beside me, eyes locked on the screen. “Who would have thought?”
At least everyone sees him now for what he is.
I should feel relieved, right? Finally justice will prevail but I’m still in shock.
Today is unfolding differently from what I’d imagined.
My head spins with my father’s blank face in the stands, Jack’s mock salute earlier and the media frenzy now at his downfall.
Coach storms over, shouting at refs. The officials scramble to contain the chaos. Some of teammates curse Jack out. The man himself is cornered by league officials, still trying to plaster on his grin like it’ll save him.
And me? My hands are shaking. My head hurts. I can’t afford to break own, at least not now.
This game is still on no matter what has happened, and the outcome is in my hands, and no video, no smirking bastard, no ghost of a father gets to steal this moment from me.
I lift my eyes, forcing myself to look away from the chaos, from Jack, from my father’s stone-cold stare. I search the stands, desperate for something else, anything else.
And I find her, My Brie. A strange emotion wells up in my chest at that admission.
Coincidentally, she’s looking right at me and smiles. I can interpret many things from that smile. It’s like she’s saying, ‘you’ve got this.’
Something inside me steadies. The noise fades, the chaos blurs, and all I see is her smile. My pulse evens out. Alright, fine. Let’s do this.
30
The noise out here is deafening. My throat’s already hurting from screaming and cheering, but I don’t stop. It’s almost like Cameron is relying on me to win this match, and I’m not about to let him down.
I’m still reeling from the revelation of the last few minutes. Was this Keith’s way of handling it or did someone else step in to help? Whoever is responsible for uncovering this conspiracy deserves an award.
My smile grows wider when the officials drag him out. Jack maintains that casual swagger like he’s unfazed by what just happened.
“Good riddance,” I mutter, palms stinging as I cheer with the others.
My lips twitch into a grin almost instantly when my eyes find Cameron’s. The game is back on, and this is the finale.
Jack’s gone, the storm’s passed, and it’s just him and the game again. He nods at me and takes his position with his teammates on the rink.
The clock runs down to only a few minutes left, but the score is still tied.
I’m biting my lips due to the nerves. Every pass, every crash of bodies, every sharp scream of blades on ice makes my heart want to jump out of my chest. Fans are on their feet, banners in the air, chanting and cheering, the whole place vibrating.
Their whole attention is on Cameron now. He’s moving so fast it looks unreal, defenders closing in, but he weaves through them like it’s muscle memory, and he was born for this exact moment. The puck’s on his stick, the goalie braced and crouched, and my nails are buried in my palms.
He shoots. Time slows as the puck cuts through the air and then the net.
GOAL!
The fans go wild. My scream comes out so loud I don’t care if I’ll have a sore throat after today. Strangers crush each other in hugs and flags blur in the chaos.
He did it!
Cameron Gray just scored the goal.
I’m grinning like a maniac, tears burning at the corners of my eyes.
I feel a strong pull, like static pulling my eyes away from the rink. Up, higher, into the stands and I see him.
The man that had held Cameron’s attention earlier who is clearly Cameron’s father. He doesn’t clap, doesn’t move with the chaos erupting around him. He just rises slowly and slips out through the side exit like he only came to prove he could.
A cold runs down my spine. I know what that look on Cameron’s face meant earlier, when he froze on the ice. That was the man who once had so much power over him and maybe he still does in little ways, but I’m glad Cameron didn’t let that weigh him down today.
I shake it off and force my focus back where it belongs. Cameron is swallowed by his team, helmets pounding, arms slapping his back, his name chanted like a war cry. The buzzer sounds followed by the final whistle echoing. The championship is theirs.
Before I even register it, I’m running down the concrete steps, across the edge of the rink, ignoring security waving me back. My heart slams harder with every stride. And then he turns, searching, and when his eyes land on me, nothing else matters.
“Brie!” His voice pierces through the noise and almost immediately, the people around him make a pathway for me to get through.
I leap and he catches me, arms locking tight around my waist, spinning me around like I weigh nothing. I’m straddling him, laughing breathlessly, tears spilling hot while he whirls us in circles, and the world tilts until it’s just him.
“You did it!” I choke out, smiling through the tears.
“We did it,” he corrects, his breath fanning my ear. He spins me once more before setting me down, still holding me tight like he’ll never let go.
He leans down and captures my lips in a kiss.
My hands fist into his jersey, pulling, desperate, and I don’t care about the cameras or the flashing lights or the crowd screaming his name.
This is our moment. I’m done acting like this is all for show because even though I hate to admit it, somewhere along the line, it got real, at least for me.