42. Mackie
MACKIE
I’m at the bar.
Not just any bar. The bar. The one the team reserves for every event, and the only one I’m allowed to be in because of who my dad is.
The Cup is in the building somewhere. Last I saw, Rodriguez was holding it up with his arm hooked through Brody’s, attempting to drink from it at the same time like some bizarre wedding toast gone wrong. He tilted it too far and Brody got a face full of champagne instead.
They’re on the fourth replay of “We Are the Champions” and everyone is still screaming along.
Juliette is next to me filming her third video of Rodriguez for what she’s calling insurance.
I laugh in the right places, but I stopped really paying attention a while ago because I can’t find Zach.
He’s been moving around all night, taking pictures and chatting with anyone who stops to congratulate him, but now I’m wondering if he got overwhelmed from all the noise and made his escape onto the patio.
I’m on my toes, craning my neck to see around a group of people and considering standing on a chair to get a better vantage point.
Then the crowd splits and I see him. He’s leaning against the wall, beer in hand, watching me. I start winding my way through the crowd toward him, but suddenly he’s right there next to me. Before I can speak he drops his arm over my shoulder.
“Hey babe. Sorry that took so long.”
Tears burn hot behind my eyelids. They're happy tears, but I can’t help the wild giggle that bubbles out of me. He’s handing me back the exact line that started this whole thing months ago, when he thought he was saving me from an annoying guy in this very same spot.
I look up at him. “Took you long enough.”
“Had a couple things to take care of first.”
“Like what?”
“Like winning a Stanley Cup.”
“Mmm. Heard about that.”
He drops his head and kisses me. Someone jostles us from behind and I press closer to him, letting my fingers comb through his hair. He doesn’t pull back when someone whistles, but I feel him smile against my mouth before we break apart laughing.
The bar erupts in whoops. Rodriguez yells, “GET A ROOM!”
I hear my dad reply over the noise, “Too soon, Rodriguez.”
Zach doesn’t move his arm, but leans down and whispers, “Patio,” into my ear.
He pulls me down the hallway and through the door, letting the music drop to a muffled bass behind us.
The patio is empty, but the June air is warm now instead of the October chill from the last time we were out here.
I hop onto the picnic table and he steps between my knees, placing both hands on my hips.
“Well, this is unexpected,” I say, tucking my hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “Don’t you want to get to know a girl first?”
He hesitates, then grins. “Tell me something interesting about you.”
“I cried during overtime tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because you stood on your head for every single save, and every one of them is going to live rent-free in my head forever.”
He doesn’t say anything for a beat. Then he pulls me forward to the edge of the picnic table so my hips are flush against his and kisses me again.
His tongue tangles against mine the second my mouth opens—the kind of kiss that says I don’t care who interrupts us out here, I have plans for you later.
He’s got his hand in my hair while I hook my legs around his hips to pull him closer.
He makes a sound when my teeth catch his bottom lip.
“Mackie,” he mumbles against my mouth—a warning, but I know he likes it because he’s still smiling.
I pull back to catch my breath and keep my forehead against his.
“Tell me something interesting about you. Not something about hockey,” I whisper.
“I used to not be able to sleep without noise.” He whispers back. “Then I met this girl and now my brain is quiet.”
“Maybe it’s the win,” I say. “Or maybe you’re just exhausted. Or maybe—”
“It’s you,” he replies. “Mackie, it’s you. It’s always been you. You’re the noise. The kind that drowns out everything else. Since October.”
I’m sobbing now, I can’t help it. I press my face into his chest. He wraps both arms around me and lets me have my moment.
The patio door bangs open behind us.
“Z. Bro.” Rodriguez is holding two beer bottles in one hand and somehow drinking from them at the same time. “Why is she crying? WHY IS SHE CRYING? We won, Mackie. We won. What did you do to her, Zach?”
“He didn’t do anything.” I lift my face and wipe under my eyes with the back of my hand. “These are the good kind.”
“Oh. Okay. Okay, good. Because for a second I was about to get into a goalie fight, and considering the entire team actually likes him now, I don’t think I’d have much backup.”
“Noted.”
“Anyway. Inside. Both of you. Z, you’re up.”
Zach’s hand stills on my back. “Up for what.”
“Speech. Barrett wants you to say something. Cup goalie. You know. It’s a whole thing.”
“I’m not making a speech.”
“You’re definitely making a speech.”
“Rodriguez—”
“Z. Goalie of the playoffs. Two minutes. You can do anything for two minutes.”
I slide off the picnic table and squeeze Zach’s hand. “I’ll be in the front.”
He looks at me. “You’re going to make me cry.”
“Then we’ll be even.”
Rodriguez throws his arm over Zach’s shoulders and steers him toward the door. He looks back at me from the doorway. I mouth, I love you.
He mouths something back that I’m pretty sure is help.