Page 26 of Barn Burner (Love The Game #2)

Jesse

“This is so fucking cool,” Cooper says beside me. He’s almost bouncing in his seat with excitement as he looks over the railing at the arena, which is quickly filling up.

Because this is it. The Bobcats just have to win tonight’s game, and they’ll be crowned Stanley Cup Champions.

I would say I can’t believe that the Bobcats have made it to the Stanley Cup Finals, but I’m not surprised in the slightest. Seeing the hard work they put in, Brayden especially…

they deserve this. The blood, sweat, and tears—because, fuck, seeing Brayden cry causes me more pain than falling off the roof did—have all been for this moment, and I’ve been in a state of suspense all day.

I want this for Brayden more than I want anything, aside from him, of course.

“Hi, Jesse.” Greta smiles, easing herself into the seat next to me. She’s six months pregnant and glowing. We’ve become friends since November, and whenever I come to Brayden’s games, she keeps me company. Company, as in she talks at me, and I listen.

“Hey, Greta. How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Stressed.” She laughs, then turns her attention to the bowl. There are two minutes until it all starts. “I just want this so bad, you know?”

I nod, understanding. “Yeah, me too.”

It’s been nice having someone who understands it.

Brayden’s and my relationship requires work from both of us because there are times where we don’t see each other for weeks on end.

During the winter months, I helped with the cattle, then from April, the trail rides started up again.

He’s on the road, sometimes for weeks at a time.

But in a way, I think the separation makes us stronger.

I love him with my entire being, and seeing him soar in his career has me bursting with pride.

The arena goes dark, and the crowd erupts as the intro video plays on the jumbotron. A reel of the season highlights, a majority of them being goals scored by Brayden. His bright smile fills the screen, along with his goal celebration that never fails to make me laugh.

He ended the regular season as the top goal scorer, so there’s going to be another award to add to his name.

I’m so fucking proud of him, and when we spoke in February about what his future looked like playing professional hockey, I reassured him that I would support him, no matter what.

Then he sat me down and showed me his income, and I nearly fell off my seat.

I figured he was on an amazing salary, but nothing could have prepared me for the number of zeros.

But after we discussed different options and scenarios, we decided that he should work to renew his contract with the Bobcats for another three years, once the two years that are left on his current contract expire.

This would mean he would retire around his thirtieth birthday, and he would have enough money in the bank for both of his parents to retire and live comfortably, along with setting us up—and the ranch—for life.

Because what’s another six years when we have the rest of our lives ahead of us?

We all stand for the national anthems, and when I retake my seat, my knee bounces. Goosebumps erupt over my skin as the arena chants, “ Let’s go Bobcats! ”

Brayden goes through his usual sequence: skating behind the goal, crouch, shimmy, then lines up for the face-off.

Washington hasn’t made it easy for the Bobcats. Three of the first four games have gone to overtime, and Brayden scored the game-winning goal in two of them.

Brayden wins the face-off, and within the first minute, it’s physical. Players are slamming each other into the boards and playing aggressively. But luckily for my heart rate, Brayden misses all the hits.

The Bobcats are working hard in the offensive zone, keeping the puck moving between them as they create a scoring opportunity. Petrov takes a shot on the net. It bounces off the goalie’s pads, but Brayden’s right there, capitalizing on the rebound, and slips the puck past the goalie’s far side.

I’m on my feet in an instant, clapping so hard my palms sting as the arena goes wild around me. My eyes stay glued on him as his teammates huddle around him and slap his back. Tears are already pricking the back of my eyes, and we’re only five minutes into the first period.

“Holy shit!” Rhett shouts over the deafening crowd. “I know I say this every single time, but he’s incredible.”

I nod, facing aching from my wide smile. “He’s magnificent.”

The rest of the first period goes scoreless despite both teams taking several scoring chances, but then with forty-three seconds left, one of the Bobcats’ defensive players snaps up a loose puck in the neutral zone, and Petrov is right there with him as they cross the blue line.

The puck lands on his stick, and he sends it flying into the back of the net.

Greta throws her arms up in the air, screaming at the top of her lungs before launching herself into my arms.

“Oh my God! Jesse! Oh my God!” is all she manages to say.

The puck is constantly on the move in the second period, but Washington is unable to close the gap on the scoreboard, and the Bobcats try hard to increase their lead but none of their attempts stick.

But a minute into the third period, David redirects the puck in the neutral zone, then Brayden’s on a breakaway.

I lean forward, hand covering my mouth as Washington’s defense tries to stop him, but he’s too fast. He does some magical spin move around the opposing player, then just as he reaches the goal crease, the puck travels through the goalie’s legs, and the lamp lights up.

It’s 3-0 to the Bobcats, and my heart is in my throat.

With three minutes left, Washington pulls their goaltender for an extra attacker, but it’s not enough to stop Brayden. The play moves from the Bobcats’ defensive zone, and as Brayden reaches the blue line, he takes a shot, and the puck sails into the empty net.

Hat trick.

He scores a fucking hat trick.

I’m unable to stop my eyes from filling with tears as his teammates swarm around him. Fans throw their hats onto the ice, and if it was possible, the energy in the building increases even more.

The camera pans to where he’s sitting on the bench, his eyes wide in a trance as he stares at something and chews on the corner of his mouthguard.

My knee doesn’t stop moving, hands twisting in my lap as he takes the ice for his final shift, but the other team seems to have given up.

Players sit on the bench with their heads in their hands.

There’s no way they can claw back four goals in the final minute.

They played hard, but it wasn’t enough to beat the Bobcats.

The clock dwindles down. Fans are on their feet, waving their rally towels in the air. The atmosphere is electric, and when there are five seconds left, the Bobcats’ bench clears. Helmets, gloves, and sticks are thrown in the air as they swarm the ice and head to their goalie.

With emotion lodged thick in my throat, I can’t stop the tears from falling down my face.

He did it. He fucking did it.

A year ago, he was being torn apart when he was at his lowest. He doubted his worth, his value. But then he came back stronger than ever, and he brought the Cup back to Calgary for the first time since the year I was born.

He proved everyone wrong, but not me.

I knew he could do this. I knew he was capable. And I’m so fucking proud of him.

Brayden’s face appears on the jumbotron screen. His eyes are red and glassy. His beautiful smile is so wide you could probably see it from the moon.

“Come! Let’s go see them!” Greta says, tugging on my arm.

I shake my head. “I can’t. They’ll see us.” I motion to the fans and the cameras. We’ve been conscious of keeping our relationship private, and I don’t want to risk ruining all that. No matter how much I want to run down and take him in my arms right now.

“Pfft,” she says, blowing a raspberry. “Trust me, he’ll want to see you.”

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I think it over for a moment before nodding. “Okay, but my brothers can come, too, right?”

She nods and throws her arms up in the air. “Of course!”

We make our way down to the ice level, flashing our passes at security, and watch from the sidelines as the Stanley Cup is carried out, and the league commissioner goes through the presentations.

The Bobcats captain, Henrik Hallstrom, is the first to lift the Cup, and then he passes it on to the alternate captains.

When it’s Brayden’s turn, I take my phone out and film him with a wide grin.

He brings it to his lips, kissing the trophy before holding it over his head.

Once the presentation and photos are done, they allow us to step onto the ice.

The guys head straight for their significant others, and I catch the moment Brayden looks around, as if he’s searching for me.

When his eyes land on me, his face lights up, and he skates over to me.

I hold out my arms, and he launches himself at me.

I catch him in my arms as he wraps his around my neck.

His skates make him the same height as me, but he still hides his face in my neck and sobs happily.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, baby,” I say, kissing his neck. “So fucking proud. There’s no one on Earth who deserves this more than you do.”

I tighten my hold on him as his body shakes and continue telling him how much I love him and how proud I am of him.

He lifts his head, eyes red and wet. I wipe my thumbs over his flushed cheeks before cupping his face and smiling.

“You’re a champion, baby.”

He lets out a choked laugh. “Fuck. I can’t believe it.”

“I can,” I say. “People might not always see it, but I do. You’re the brightest star in the night sky, Brayden, and nobody can ever dull your shine.”

“I want to kiss you so bad.”

“So do it.”

With my brothers shielding us, I reach up and take my hat off. I hold it by our faces, blocking out the nearby cameras. He grins widely. Taking my face between both hands, he slams his lips on mine.

I’m aware of another blast of confetti falling around us, but right here in this moment, all that matters is Brayden.

And he will continue to be all that matters for the rest of my life.