Chapter 29 Griffin
Griffin
The Oil Riggers are an easy five games, and it’s on to the Aces, a tougher six-game punch-up that gets nasty in game six when they decide if they can’t win, they can at least make us remember them.
The conference final is a close one, the Wolverines take us all the way to seven games, but we come out on top, with only one more hurdle to go, the Blizzard.
The winningest team this season, with the highest-scoring offense.
And the fuckers have home ice advantage.
But we attack hard, taking the first two on the Bliz home ice. Sure, we drop one back home, but now we’re on the cusp. One last game, three periods, against the Blizzard, and the cup will be ours.
We’re doing it. We actually might win this whole damn thing.
Hawks, Stanley Cup champions. Griffin Mahoney, Stanley Cup champion.
“Rawrrr! Let’s do this!” Brody roars, flexing his arms and posing.
“Put your jock on,” Howe tells him, covering his eyes like he hasn’t seen Brody’s dick dozens of times before.
Brody, being Brody, puts his hands behind his head and swirls his hips around, helicoptering his dick instead. “You know you like it,” he taunts.
Even Howe can’t resist laughing outright at Brody’s awful moves. “Careful, bro-man, or Dom’s sister’s gonna have you cheering with the dancers up there. Oh wait, maybe I should call her Griffin’s girl now instead.”
That stops all dick talk and dancing instantly as all eyes turn to Dominic and me, waiting for our reaction.
It’s been just over six weeks since everything blew up during the second game against the Torches.
Things are technically still new between me and Penny, but honestly, it feels like I’m finally home.
The invisible weight I’ve carried on my shoulders for years has fallen away, and I can be lighter, happier, even sillier, and those are three words that have never once been used to describe me.
But now, with Penny’s influence, I’m growing and doing better. All thanks to her.
Well, not forcing down my feelings probably has a lot to do with it too. Now that everyone knows and has accepted it with less fanfare than I expected, the anger inside me has lessened measurably. At least off the ice. So far, I’m still hitting harder than a Mack truck on the ice.
“Guess we’ll have to see what sweater she’s wearing tonight, won’t we?
” I quip, arching a brow and flashing a cocky smirk.
Of course I already know what she’s wearing, because I saw her pack her suitcase for the trip to tonight’s game, and there wasn’t a single Lee jersey in sight.
More importantly, she wore a Mahoney jersey last night while we had a double round of intense sex that was more than fucking, but a whole lot less tender than “making love.” In other words, just the way she likes it.
Seeing my name on her while she took my cock deep inside her did strange things to my brain, primal things I don’t want to examine too closely, but suffice it to say, it was sexy as hell, and I can’t wait to repeat that experience with a custom Stanley Cup champion jersey on her.
And nothing else. Except maybe those knee-high socks? Those are hot as hell too.
Just the thought of it has my cock responding, and I have to adjust myself, which is no easy feat through the layers of gear I’m already wearing.
“Quit thinking about my sister,” Dominic orders, popping my cup with the tip of his stick.
It doesn’t hurt through the thick plastic, but it does send blood flow elsewhere.
Namely, to my face, where I can feel a flush heating my cheeks.
I’m not embarrassed by my thoughts of Penny, but ten minutes before the most important game of my life isn’t the best time to be fantasizing about your girlfriend.
Girlfriend? Yeah, Penny and I are moving fast. Hell, I already asked her to move into my condo, but she wants to finish out her lease with Talia, which means six more months of back-and-forth between her too-small bed and my king-size one.
I’m also paying extra attention to the ring she’s designing for Miles Conniver.
She’s making it specific to his fiancée’s taste, but I’m learning a lot about what Penny herself would want in a ring.
“Oooh, they’re fighting again!” Brody singsongs.
Coach pops his head out of the office. “Lee, Mahoney, do we need to have a chat?”
“No, sir,” I bark.
“If it’s about Brody getting traded to the Beavers next year, yes,” Dominic answers with a grin. Brody mimes stabbing himself in the heart, and Dom responds by drawing a tear falling down his cheek.
“Get ready, you bunch of assholes,” Coach calls out. The stress of tonight’s game is hitting him, and he’s done with our bullshit.
Penny keeps telling me that she believes in me, that this is the Hawks’ season to win the whole thing, while tempering it with reminders that I’m not retiring after this season and I’ll have another chance to win again, or win for the first time if tonight doesn’t go the way we hope.
But for Coach? He’s nearing the end of his career, and this might be the last chance he gets to drink champagne out of the most special cup in hockey.
“Let’s do this for Coach,” I shout.
A chorus of “for Coach!” rings out through the locker room, and all conversation about me and Penny and Dominic is forgotten.
As soon as we take to the ice for warm-ups, I skate the wall in front of the section where Penny’s supposed to be sitting, looking for her.
She’s a spectator tonight since the Blizzard’s cheerleaders are performing and the Hawkettes are scattered around the arena, supporting but not performing.
As family, Penny and the Lees have prime seats only a few rows behind the bench. Dominic and I both made sure of that.
I quickly find Mr. and Mrs. Lee, a.k.a. Mom and Dad, as they’ve repeatedly insisted I call them.
And truthfully, they’re more parental than my own parents, so though I’ve resisted for so long, I’m happy to surrender and use the honor-filled names and be truly included in their family.
Or as Dominic likes to call it, indoctrinated.
True to Penny’s expectation, they were thrilled when we told them that we’re dating.
Mom hugged me tight and whispered in my ear that she was glad I finally figured it out.
I was shocked, but she simply gave me a knowing wink.
I guess I wasn’t as good at hiding my feelings for Penny as I thought I was, but Mom had kept my secret until I was ready. Or fate intervened, as the case may be.
“Where is she?” I shout, making sure they can hear me over the excited fans around them who are cheering.
Mom rolls her eyes, her smile bright as she answers, “Spilled her nachos all over her lap. She went to clean up.” She points up the stairs to the upper level where the restrooms, concessions, and thousands of people are currently wandering.
“Alone?” I bark, about to come over the wall and go hunt Penny down in the bowels of the arena behind the seats.
She’s safe from the Mob, but there’s no telling what mess she could get into or what damage she might cause.
Admittedly, I’ve picked up the baton on Dominic’s overprotectiveness where Penny is concerned, but we are in an away city, in a less familiar arena, with a high-stress game on the line, and she’s walking around in a signed Mahoney jersey.
Any number of things could happen to her, or because of her.
“Talia went with her. She’s fine.”
Oh.
I check their block of four seats, belatedly realizing that both women are missing.
I knew Talia was coming—Dom and I bought her seat, too—but I only have eyes for Penny.
I tell myself that Penny will be fine with Talia, who can go into the actual restroom, too, unlike me, who’d have to wait in the hall and would likely end up mobbed by fans.
In short, my presence would cause more problems than potentially help.
I grin sheepishly at Mom and Dad, knowing I almost grossly overreacted.
But they’re smiling kindly. Honestly, I think they like knowing that I’ll always take care of Penny, and also aren’t nearly as worried about me now that Penny’s taking care of me.
We take care of each other. It’s a dynamic I never thought I’d have, with a woman I never thought I’d be worthy of.
But somehow, through whatever magic she possesses, it’s working.
Dominic bangs his stick to the ice beside me. “Check up!”
He lifts his chin, greeting his parents, and then together we skate away to finish warming up.
While we run through our usual drills and routine, I keep one eye turned toward Penny’s empty seat.
When she returns, she waves both arms in the air with a big smile to grab my attention, totally oblivious that her absence might’ve distracted me. I grin back around my mouth guard.
“God, you’re such a pussy.” Dom laughs.
“For her? Fuck yeah, I am. Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I reply, pushing at him playfully, getting us both ready for the upcoming battles we’ll face down tonight.
Minutes later, we’re in position for the opening puck drop, all banter falling away as we get serious. This game is the culmination of years of work, blood, sweat, and tears.
I can’t hear Jack Off and the Blizzard’s center, McKinnon, but they must have words, because the instant the puck hits the ice, they drop their sticks to go at each other.
The crowd goes wild, loving the aggressive action right off the jump.
It’s messy and more of an ugly hug than actual fighting, though they act like they’re throwing power punches here and there.
It ends with McKinnon getting two minutes, the refs not wanting to hand out five in the playoffs unless there’s actual contact or blood, and being escorted to the box.
My gut tells me the Blizzard’s goal was to get Jack Off taken out for a full five-minute, and now that they’ve failed, he’ll be the number-one target.
Pretty Boy and Castaway are good, though, and they’ll work together to keep Jacofovich clear.
The three of them quickly run a slick power play, pitting their offense against the down-a-man Blizzard and slipping around the backside of the crease to score an early goal.
The crowd explodes, and to be honest, the boos of the Blizzard faithful are music to my ears.
Play continues like that, with endless back-and-forth battles across the ice, but when the horn sounds at the end of the first period, it’s still Hawks 1, Blizzard 0.
As we hit the locker room for the first intermission, Coach checks in with everyone, telling us to stay alert and be aggressive before disappearing into his office.
No specific guidance means we’re doing well, but I think we already knew that.
We can feel it in the air surrounding us, the energy flowing through us, and we’re ready for more.
In the blink of an eye, we’re hitting the ice again.
It’s immediately obvious that the Blizzard are changing their strategy from period one’s Take Out the Offensive Line plan.
Now they’re coming after defense. I guess they figure if they can’t keep us from scoring, they need to make sure they can score too.
It’d be a solid plan except for one ginormous problem.
Me.
Every time they cross the blue line, I’m there to do a meet and greet . . . with my hip, my shoulder, and a couple of times, with my forearm. Elbows up, motherfuckers. Somehow I manage to only get in the box once, and though the Blizzard do score, so do we.
By the end of period two, the score is Hawks 3, Blizzard 1.
The locker room this time has a different vibe. We’re not prematurely celebrating, but it definitely feels like the Cup is close, barely out of our reach. Even if we don’t score again, the cushion we’ve gained makes our victory feel like a near sure thing.
I sip a Red Bull and steadily chew through a bag of sour apple gummy bears, getting the caffeine and sugar into my bloodstream for what promises to be the longest twenty-minute period of my life.
“Ready?” I grunt at Dominic, who’s sitting next to me, wiping his face with a cold towel.
“Fuck yeah. You?”
“Absolutely.” As we line back up to take to the ice one more time, he holds his fist out, and I pound it with my own. “You and me, two against the world.”
“Always, brother. Hey, maybe one day you’ll actually be my brother.”
“That’s the plan,” I tell him, totally serious.
He’s not mad. In fact, he looks excited about us truly being related. But he still punches me in the shoulder. “You’d better tell me before you do it. You owe me that. It’s literally the least you can do.”
“All right. That’s fair,” I agree easily.
I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m basically an open book at this point, with every thought that passes through my head falling out of my mouth, which is a new experience for me.
Both to express myself that way, but also to have someone—or someones, if I include Dom, which I do—who want to hear it all.
The small break is just the mental refresher I need, and when we hit the ice again, I’m ready to finish this game the way I’ve always dreamed . . . as a winner. As a Stanley Cup champion.
We fight hard. We play harder. And when the final horn sounds out, I can’t believe we’ve actually done it.
We’re not on home ice, but it doesn’t matter.
Helmets and sticks scatter across the ice, confetti and streamers fall, and the Hawks fans’ cheers are a loud roar as the whole team mobs Howe, making a dogpile of Hawks players, all celebrating.
I feel the sting of tears as my heart bursts in my chest with joy. Even feeling the truth of it, I double-check the scoreboard on the jumbotron, needing to see it spelled out for me. Hawks 4, Blizzard 2. And then the whole screen goes black before it flashes Stanley Cup Champions—Hawks.
We did it. I did it.
And though it was a team effort and I love my guys, I search for Penny in the crowd once more.
She’s crying openly, a wide smile stretched across her face, and her hands clutched over her chest. Making a heart with her hands, she mouths, I love you.
Or maybe she screams it, I can’t be sure in the chaotic cacophony surrounding me.
I don’t think this day could get any better.
I got the girl. I got the trophy. I kept the best friend. And I found myself along the way.
“I love you too!” I yell across the ice. She can’t hear me, either, but I know she reads my lips all the same, because she throws her arms in the air, shaking her fists like she’s cheering with invisible poms.
That’s my Penny. The best cheerleader I’ve ever had.