Page 51

FIFTY

declan

The ice feels cool against the small amount of exposed skin on my wrists as I stretch. This is it. My last game. The last time I’ll be on the ice as an NHL player.

I made love to Willa before the sun even came up this morning. It was slow and sweet, a complete contrast to how hard and desperate it was for most of the night.

She came to see me in front of the locker room before warm-ups. The worry shining through her eyes even with her trying to plaster a smile on her face for me. We’re going together to speak to Sinclair after the game, win or lose. All our eggs are in one basket.

I go through the motions, doing the same warmup routine I’ve been doing for a decade now. Taking a deep breath, I turn my focus to the game, where it needs to be.

San Diego didn’t take the loss lightly. I know that team, and I know their coaching staff. They’re going to come out of the gate with a new strategy. Finn will have watched the tapes from every one of our playoff games and studied the shots taken on goal. It’s part of what makes him as good as he is.

Unfortunately for them, we’re ready to give everything to secure this win. Even if that includes both my knees. It’s probably the first time in history someone’s life depends on the win. It sounds dramatic even thinking that, but Theo and Harrison are both secure in their guess that Maverick would be in danger once Eva was arrested.

A warrant for her arrest was issued this morning. They didn’t know what she did exactly, but it was bad enough that it forced the authorities’ hands, and they had to take her in. Eva got a heads up from someone and ran. Maverick has already been questioned about her whereabouts. Luckily, his dislike for his “mother” has been well documented in both the media and within her inner circles. So, he’s able to be here to watch my game and not stuck in a police station being asked questions he’ll never be able to answer.

We need help, and we need it yesterday. I shouldn’t have waited to ask. But Harrison said that everything he found on Sinclair was that he’s a grumpy asshole and unapproachable. So waiting for a win that would put the Stanley Cup in his office for a year made sense.

But I can’t help thinking about how nice he was to me when we spoke. Well, maybe not nice. Definitely approachable, though. Sort of.

I look up at the private box I bought for my family. This last game is on home ice, and I know Willa wanted to be front and center to see us win. I appreciate her not fighting me on it. I really thought she would once we got down to the last game.

My perfect wife is front and center, smiling when she catches me looking at her. Maggie is to her right and Belle to her left. Willa drags her thumb across her throat and points to the visitor bench.

I snort while a laugh comes from next to me. I turn to see Martinez looking towards Willa.

“Your wife is the best kind of aggressive. If she wasn’t so tiny, I’d suggest getting her signed and in a pair of skates.”

I laugh with him. “She wouldn’t even need us out here with her. She’d handle everything herself.”

Martinez tilts her head as he thinks. “Do you think it’s too late to add her to the roster? We’re going to need her.”

I shake my head. “We’ve got this, man.”

“I like your attitude, best friend.”

I roll my eyes and skate to the tunnel. Warmups are over and they need to flood the ice.

Gideon and Coach give their motivational speeches about how everything we’ve done has led to this moment or something. I’m not listening. My mind is on the pretty girl with the lilac hair.

“Monroe!”

I startle at the loud voice in my ear. I turn to see Gideon looking at me with concern. He has to do it through his hair, which has gotten long and is in his eyes. The helmet keeps it out of his face, thankfully. Hockey players are notorious for their superstitions. So none of us have cut our hair or shaved our faces since we made the playoffs. Ivanov usually shaves his head, so it was a shock to us all when his hair came in red. Slava’s dark mane is so long he can tie it back.

“I know you’re nervous, Dec, but we need you in this game with us,” he says.

I swallow thickly. “Got it.”

“What the hell’s going on?” he asks and because he’s being so loud with his concern, everyone is now looking at me.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” I look around to see that not a single one of my teammates or coaches believes me.

Fuck it.

“The guy that killed my wife’s tour manager the night Gideon was there is still free and could very much be after Willa and her friends,” I explain plainly. “I think Sinclair can help us keep her safe, but we were hoping to win the cup to butter him up.”

“Jesus fuck, Dec,” Gideon says, running his hands through his hair while his eyes bug out of his head.

“Alright,” Coach says, clapping his hands once. “We’re going to skate tonight like Willa’s life depends on it. Got it?”

“Yes, Coach,” everyone says immediately.

I tear up as I look around at the team that accepted me when they didn’t have to. “Thank you,” I say, but it comes out as barely a whisper.

“No one touches one of ours,” Martinez says, looking angrier than I’ve ever seen him.

“We will help you if Sinclair will not,” Slava adds. I nod at him because that’s all I can manage around the lump in my throat. “He is not the only one with connections.” His Russian accent is suddenly thicker than usual. I don’t have time to question it because Coach announces we need to get back on the ice.

I take a deep breath before following Gideon. The weight on my shoulders lifts slightly, but that’s enough for me to be able to see the light at the end of this bullshit tunnel.

The first two periods have been brutal. Both teams are taking their share of time in the penalty box. No one has scored on either goalie. Finn has anticipated every shot made on his net while Bouchard has had some amazing saves.

My knees are throbbing. My shoulder took a hard hit against the boards within the first minute of the first period and has been stiff since then. Gideon has a bloody lip that keeps splitting open, and Slava’s right pinky is broken and taped to hell so he can still play. Ivanov is back with the doctor after a hard hit that had him keeping weight off his left leg.

My team is broken and bleeding, and they have every intention of spilling more blood on the ice, if it means protecting my wife. I want to cry with gratitude and scream in anger simultaneously. Instead, I take a deep breath, ignoring the painful tug on my ribs from a hit last period that I’ve been pretending didn’t hurt.

Both first lines from each team head out onto the ice to start the last period. The tension in the air is so thick you could cut it with a knife. I glance at Finn as I take my spot. His eyes meet mine. The usual intensity that’s there for every game turns into a concerned frown with whatever he sees in my face. I don’t have the time or desire to reassure him with a smile.

I turn my attention to the ref just in time for him to drop the puck. Every slap of my stick and pass of the puck makes me angrier. This game should be for me and my team. We should play to win because we deserve it. Not because I need the owner to do something probably shady to keep my family safe.

Is it wrong of me to think Sinclair should help no matter what? I’m a player on his team. A player who might be able to get him whatever it is Ezra knows if he helps us.

I respect Harrison, but this plan is absolute bullshit, and I’m mad at myself for waiting to speak with Sinclair. I don’t even know if he’ll speak with me. We could win, and he could still deny me.

Coach calls my line back, and I throw myself over the boards to take my seat next to Gideon.

“Something has to give. We can’t do this for another period if it goes into OT,” he says.

“Dec.”

I turn to see Ben coming up behind me on Coach’s bench. Coach, to his credit, just lifts his eyebrows and then turns back to the game.

“Sinclair is going to meet us after the game. He said if you’re needed for press to meet him in his office immediately after.”

“You’re my best friend,” I tell Ben, needing him to know how much he means to me. He nods and quickly gets out of the way of the players and coaches.

“I’ll try not to take offense to that,” Martinez says, leaning around Gideon to glare at me. I roll my eyes and focus back on the game.

Some of my anger has dissipated, knowing Sinclair agreed to the meeting without the outcome of the game having a part. I’m sure winning will still help the odds of him helping, but now I want to win more for my team. For me. For Willa and all the unwavering support she’s always given me.

“Finn is a Hall of Fame level goalie. He’s well on his way to being the best of all time,” I say.

“Great,” Gideon mutters next to me. “Maybe don’t give any pep talks.”

“No one has taken more shots on him than I have.”

“That’s really helped you,” Coach says from behind me.

I sigh and chew on my mouth guard. “I’ve also scored on him the most.”

“You have about thirty seconds before you’re back out there, so make your point,” Coach says.

“I’m going to fall back to defense. Martinez will take the puck. Finn won’t have watched your plays because you almost never shoot on the net. Finn is as good as he is because he studies and then studies some more. You’re a wild card. That’s what we need.” I look over at Martinez after I explain. His brows are furrowed, but he nods.

“Do it,” Coach says. “Gideon, win that face-off, get the puck to Monroe. You know what to do from there.”

“Yes, Coach,” we all say before we’re throwing ourselves over the boards and back onto the ice.