Epilogue
Ransom
A year later
When the season ends with a gorgeous Stanley Cup in my hands, I think my life can’t get better.
Because really, this is the motherfucking tops.
This is what I’ve played my ass off for my whole life over.
This chance.
This victory.
This Cup.
And it is awesome.
It is magic and moonlight and everything good in the world.
Plus, the Yankees are having a killer start to the season and that makes my sister all kinds of happy.
Yay, us.
The next morning, my wife smiles when I wake and tells me she has news.
“What’s that, sunshine?”
From her spot in bed, she grabs something from the nightstand and waggles it. A white stick with two pink lines. “Looks like the Stanley Cup winner is going to be a dad.”
And yeah, my life keeps getting better. I wrap my arm around her, kiss her like crazy, then slide a hand over her belly.
“Looks like we scored quite a goal.”
She kisses me back, smiling for days. “I’d absolutely say we did.”
And even though winning the Cup feels awesome, this right here is my real win in life.