Chapter 23
Ronan
I kiss my lucky hockey skate keychain before shoving my bag into the overhead compartment. The team is loading up for game one in the series. The energy on the flight is buzzing with nerves, excitement and anticipation.
“Vegas here we come, baby!” Someone hoots, immediately met by a round of cheers and whistles in return.
I plop into my seat next to Ryan, extending my legs
as much as I can. He leans across me to argue with Fitz, who’s sitting across the aisle.
“He’s gonna be on time. It’s the fucking finals.” He spits. Fitz simply places his hands behind his head, the picture of relaxed.
“I voted against Fitz last time. I think I’m gonna have to agree with him this time.” Ripley sighs, pulling out snacks. “I can’t keep losing these bets, my daughter has to go to college.”
“Yeah— seventeen years from now.” Ryan rolls his eyes. “You make the big bucks, captain.”
“I say he’s on time.” I shrug. No way Alli would let him sleep in on such an important day.
We all watch the door with baited breath. If he gets on before Coach, Ryan and I win a couple bucks. Starting our luck early.
Although losing the bets have been keeping us winning. I frown. Maybe I should change my bet.
Coach King’s head pops in, his sleeves are rolled to his elbows displaying his colorful tattoos.
Ryan groans next to me. Lose some cash, win the Stanley Cup. A fair trade off in my playbook.
I’m just slapping the cash into Fitz’s hand when Tate bursts onto the plane. He’s red faced and panting.
Coach King turns to him, a death stare on his face. RIP Tate. You were a good brother-in-law. He holds his hands up in surrender, fitting his stupidly muscled body between the seats.
“I already know. You don’t have to say anything. Sorry, Sir.” He mutters, not looking Coach directly in the eyes. Once he’s inched past Coach, he rushes to the back with us and all but dives into his seat.
“Fucking again?” He exclaims at our hands, still frozen in the middle of the aisle as we were watching his entrance.
Fitz snatches up the cash and gives half to Ripley.
“Bet on you this time, man.” Ripley says, patting Tate’s shoulder.
“Thanks, man.”
“Aren’t you tired of riding the plane all sweaty? Don’t your balls itch?” Ryan asks, grimacing. Tate shoots him a look.
“Allison’s been having morning sickness. I had to wait for the nanny to get there before I could leave. I didn’t want her and the boys alone.” He mutters running a hand through his hair again, messing it up more than it was before.
“She’ll feel better after she can get her medicine down, don’t worry.” I reassure him. I know this because Alli tells him all the time. I’m glad she has him doting over her. “Besides, she won’t be alone. Isn’t Gloria coming to the game with them?”
He nods as he pulls a spare shirt from his backpack. As the plane takes off, everyone pulls down eye masks and puts headphones on, settling in for the ride. I’m about to do the same when my phone buzzes. I almost don’t look at it, hoping to ignore whatever it is Ford or Dante wants.
Emmy
Good luck!
Emmy
(In case I don’t see you before the game)
Ronan
See me before the game.
Ronan
I want to have that conversation. It’s been marinating long enough.
Emmy
It was just about switching up Poppy’s diet…
Does she really think I’m going to fall for that? I’ve known Emalyn long enough… I saw that spark in her eyes. One I’ve been waiting for long enough. I’m a patient man. Normally.
Now, I’m like a shark with blood in the water. I just need to find time to get her alone, get her to open up. Nearly impossible in the middle of the finals. Perfect timing, Emmy.
Emmy
*1 Image*
My heart warms at the mini Grady jersey she put on Poppy along with silver bows on her ears.
Ronan
I just died from cuteness overload.
Emmy
*1 Image*
I slap my phone to my chest, glancing back and forth.
Heart racing in my chest as I narrow my eyes on Ryan.
No one’s paying attention. No one saw the picture she sent.
She took it over her shoulder, showing off her back in the full length mirror.
Wearing a Grady jersey that ends shorter than mid thigh but not short enough I get to see anything.
My name and number plastered across her back, curls wild around her and that devious little smirk on her lips.
Emmy
LOL are you there?
Ronan
No. You killed me.
Ronan
Wear that for me tonight.
Emmy
I planned on wearing it to the game.
Ronan
Feeling braver, Emmy?
There’s a long pause in the texts as I watch those chat bubbles pop up and disappear. After the fifth time, I shoot another text before locking my phone and closing my eyes.
Ronan
Take your time, Emmy. I’m not going anywhere.
“But the chains and the whips excite me..” I sing one of my favorite Rihanna songs as I block DuPont’s slapshot.
I’ve lost count of how many shots of his I’ve blocked during this game.
His face reddens with barely contained anger.
Tate sends the puck down the ice to Ryan and DuPont has no choice but to take off after it.
I track the puck, my singing helping my focus as it’s passed between the team. DuPont takes his frustration out on Ryan, our winger, with a nasty slam against the boards.
A second later, the gloves come off and they’re holding their fists up.
I grin watching their little penguin dance.
Hockey fights can look really stupid sometimes.
I’ve gotta hand it to the rookie— wait, not a rookie anymore.
Ryan can fight. He hits DuPont so hard one of his teeth flies into the glass along with a spray of blood.
Right in front of my two ten-year-old nephews.
They scream and cheer like bloodthirsty maniacs.
My eyes flick up to the curly haired photographer behind the bench. Emalyn snaps away on her camera, probably getting a clean shot of that goal Ripley sent home just in time for the second break of the game. I get a lot of pats on my helmet and pads as I skate to the tunnel with the team.
I remove my masked helmet and fall unceremoniously to the locker room bench. I press two fingers first to my lips then to the polaroid picture tucked into the lining of my helmet.
Ripley sits next to me. His grumpiness has only gotten worse as the season has progressed into the playoffs. I scoot over a centimeter so it doesn’t rub off on me.
“Hell of a goal.” I nod my chin at him. He runs a hand through his hair but doesn’t say anything. Just watches as Fitz unties and ties his skates. I look Cap up and down. His shoulders are slumped and the bags under his eyes have grown to be… unflattering. To say the least.
“I’m saying this as your friend, and your goalie, who you don’t have the power to make skate laps…” I say solemnly. “You look like absolute shit.”
“Oh, Fuck you.” He rolls his eyes.
“Not even if you begged.” I grin. I easily sober up to ask, “Seriously, though. What’s going on with you?”
Ripley runs his hands through his hair again.
Then scrubs at his jaw and twiddles with his helmet.
I just wait silently. He glances around the locker room.
I follow his gaze, making sure we have privacy in a rowdy locker room.
As good as it gets, given the setting. When I look back to him, he’s leaned back against the lockers, arms draped on his legs.
“Alexis left us.” His voice cracks and his chin drops to his chest, “Me and Rosie.”
My mouth drops open. That was not what I was expecting him to say. My head tilts to the side, trying to recall the last time I saw his girlfriend. It’s been a few months actually. Guilt nags at my chest for not paying closer attention to my friend.
“When? What happened?”
“When Rosie failed her three month hearing test, they sent us to some specialist. When they confirmed she has major hearing loss in one ear and moderate in the other… she just left. It was too much for her, I guess.” He shrugs weakly, smothering a sniffle in his glove as he wipes his face.
I feel like shit for pushing him to talk about this now of all times.
We are supposed to be getting pumped up and I’ve just made our star center and captain cry.
“You and Rosie are not too much. I’m always here for you two.” I reassure him. He nods, giving me a small smile.
I pull him to his feet and wrap my arms around him in a bear hug. It’s slightly awkward with the goalie gear. Then, because it’s getting a little too Eat, Pray, Love in here, I jump up so he has to catch my legs. Can’t let the goalie get hurt and all that. I take full advantage.
“I’m… gonna swing like a chandelier…” I belt out the lyrics, swinging one arm in the air and drawing the attention of the entire locker room. When the feelings get too feely, we lighten the mood. Cap’s face is beat red as he holds onto me. Our teammates whoop and whistle.
“Ripley, put Grady down. I don’t need my center or my goalie getting hurt in the finals!” Coach King barks. I see the glint of amusement in his eyes, even if he wants to try to mask it.
“I didn’t—“
“Now, Captain.” Coach interrupts him.
I grin at Ripley as he lets me go. He rolls his eyes, but fails to hide his smile. He mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “batshit crazy” but I choose to let that slide.
Coach King gives us his speech. One that has everyone on fire and ready to finish out the game on top. Tate slings an arm around my shoulder.
“You know, that singing used to bug me. Now, I get it. Sing all you want, man— just keep stopping that puck.” He grins.
I tap his shin with my hockey stick.
“Thanks for the permission, Dad.” I draw out with sugary sweet sarcasm. “I’m just trying to make sure we win so you have to fulfill your promise and host everyone at your ranch. I wanna ride a horsey.”
“Again, Ronan. You can ride one anywhere.” Tate says, punching my shoulder, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed… You’re kind of rich. Being the number two goalie in the league will do that to you.”
We skate back onto the ice together, ready to win. My eyes easily find Emalyn while she looks through her camera lens. As I’m skating back to the net, I lean over the boards directly in front of her and blow the camera a kiss.
She giggles and I hear the click of the camera. The little wink she sends me makes the butterflies in my stomach go haywire.
DuPonte’s agitation grows each time I block his attempt to score. I know my singing isn’t helping things. I’m certainly not amping it up just for him. I don’t think Rihanna is his favorite, so, obviously, he has bad taste.
“Can you shut the fuck up?” He grits out as he has control of the puck trying to get it past me.
I drop my leg just in time to block it. And because I’m a shit stirrer, I wink at him.
Fitz, being one of my defenseman, knocks him away and steals the puck.
It’s quickly sent down the ice to our captain, Jordan.
I keep singing, helping myself to focus on tracking the puck in play but damn if I don’t keep glancing over to my Emalyn.
Bouncy curls and that bright smile that lights me up every damn time. The girl who has been my every lucky penny and shooting star since I was fifteen. She finally feels within reach. Kind of.
I still need to plan some grand gesture.
We’ve been orbiting each other so long, it’s like we need a supernova to mark the official beginning.
I blink, realizing there’s a large figure hurdling toward me on a breakaway. DuPont.
Ah, hell.
I do my best to get into position before the puck comes flying toward me. His stick makes a thwack when he attempts a slapshot.
I block it, dropping the puck from my glove. Tate and Fitz are there in an instant, fighting it out. Tate checks another opposing player into the boards.
I turn to track the puck, dropping down into the butterfly position to block it.
When I glance back again, Tate and the other guy are dropping their gloves and fisting each other's jersey for a fight.
I don’t see who barrels into me from the side, slamming the back of my head into the goal post. Caught off guard with the hit, the air is forced from my lungs.
Pain blooms from where my helmet hit the post as I go down.
My arms feel too heavy to catch myself and the force of the hit sends me to the ground where my head bounces against the ice again.
My helmet thankfully remained on, but doesn’t protect against the hurt that takes over my head before everything goes dark.