Page 53

FIFTY-TWO

declan

If I thought the first two periods were violent, they have nothing on this one. My old captain, Hank, has been going for my knees. He was out for most of the season with a shoulder injury, but he made it back in time to try to cripple me.

“What the fuck, man?” I shout at him when the whistle blows after my pathetic shot on the net that Finn easily stopped. It’s hard to shoot against a guy who knows all your tricks while defending your knees from a former teammate.

“I want the fucking cup,” Hank growls, skating by me, hitting my shoulder in the process.

“So do I! You don’t see me going for your shoulder like a cheap asshole.”

The whistle blows again, the refs way of telling us to get our asses into position.

“There’s less than two minutes left, Dec. We’ve got this.” Gideon claps my back as I skate by him to take my spot to his right.

I nod, my focus on the puck and nowhere else. It’s the only way I’ve been able to get through this game. If I let my focus slip back to what’s at stake, I make stupid mistakes.

Gideon loses the face-off, and the puck is sent down the ice. I race after it, leaving Hank. Gagne, the asshole that replaced me, takes a shot on Bouchard. I hold my breath and let out a sigh of relief when it’s caught. Coach takes the pause in play as an opportunity to call us back to the bench.

“I am going to need to meditate for several weeks after this game,” Slava says next to me. Ivanov never came back so he’s been the left wing on my line.

“You meditate?”

“You do not?” he asks, sounding confused.

“Uh, no. Should I start?”

“Yes.”

I nod, keeping my eyes on the game. It might not be a terrible idea with the amount of stress I’ve been under recently.

The game clock is down to thirty seconds when Coach calls for another line change. I throw myself over the boards immediately, ready for the carnage that will be the final seconds. San Diego pulled Finn since they have nothing to lose. The sixth man could be a real issue if they did it earlier.

Gideon wins, passing it to me. I pass to Slava who passes to Martinez. He passes it to me. I watch the clock. We’re letting the seconds run out. We don’t need to score again. Do I want to as a middle finger to the team that refused to re-sign me? Yes. The empty goal is so tempting, but not worth the risk of leaving Bouchard vulnerable.

Just as I think about it, a clear line to the goal opens up in front of me. Slava must see it too, but he calls my name and passes the puck back to me. The moment it hits my stick, I send it flying. Time slows as my eyes flick back and forth between the clock and the puck. I’m probably the only person in the whole building holding their breath right now. The only person this particular goal is important to. The puck hits the back of the net the moment before the clock hits zero.

My teammates pile on my back, taking me down to the ice in their excitement. I laugh along with them, pushing them off so I can get back on my feet. Brushing the slush off my jersey, I look up to the owner’s suite. Sinclair meets my eye and nods. The owner of the Barracudas is standing next to him, scowling down at me. I give him my best smile, wanting to flip him off, but knowing that’s a bad idea. He turns around and storms off, making me laugh.

A carpet is being rolled out for the people coming on the ice for the presenting of the cup, but I see a sexy as fuck woman with lilac hair barreling her way through everyone. Quickly skating to the open door to the tunnel, I grab her the moment she gets to the ice.

“You did it, hockey boy!” Willa yells, wrapping herself around me. She pushes my helmet off my head and kisses me. I hear it slam onto the ice behind me, but I don’t care. It’s not like I’m going to need it ever again. “I’m so proud of you!”

“We did it, Princess. My entire career has been because you believed in me. You pushed me to be the best. I should’ve realized how in love I was with you a long time ago.”

“I love you so much, Declan,” Willa says, tears in her eyes and a bright smile on her face. I kiss her again, only stopping at the sound of a throat clearing next to me. People really need to stop interrupting me kissing my wife.

“Coach is about to accept the cup. Quit making out,” Bouchard says. I didn’t even see them wheel it out here. I look around Bouchard to see Maggie in a similar position in Gideon’s arms. “Married people,” Bouchard mumbles under his breath. I frown.

“Where is your wife?” Willa asks him.

“With her tennis instructor in Bali,” he grumbles and then skates away.

“I’m impressed,” Willa says. I cock an eyebrow in question.

“His wife left him, and he somehow kept it together to have a shutout in the Stanley Cup Finals. That’s pretty impressive,” she explains.

I skate over to the carpet with Willa in my arms. I keep her there even when I step onto it. Sinclair gestures me over to him from where he’s standing near Coach, who is giving a speech which I know will end in his retirement announcement. Mine is going to be coming tonight too.

“You can put me down, Dec,” Willa says.

“Not a chance,” I say, stepping up next to Sinclair.

“You’re going to be wanted for press after this. I made sure you’re first. Answer a few questions, announce your retirement, then get to my office.”

“Yes, sir,” I say immediately. The high from winning and having my wife in my arms for it comes crashing down quickly.

I watch the rest of the ceremony. Bouchard gets MVP, which was well earned. Ben gets pictures of the team and the cup. I had to put Willa down for that, and I wasn’t happy about it. Not that I think she’s in danger right now, but I feel better when I can feel her. I have to leave her to go to the press room too.

“I’ll stay with her. I’m not needed anymore.”

I look over my shoulder and see Ben walking up to us, two cameras slung over opposite shoulders.

“Thanks, man. I’m going to try to get out of there as fast as I can.”

Ben nods and offers Willa his elbow. She takes it with a smile and turns to me. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I know, Princess.”

I watch Ben lead her away in the direction of the elevator that will take them upstairs to the offices. If this doesn’t work, I’m taking her straight to the airport. We’ll be on a plane to whatever country she wants, but we’re leaving.

Making my way to the locker room and changing as quickly as I can, I follow Gideon and Bouchard to the press room. The reporters ask their usual questions about plays and strategies. Congratulations are intermingled there. I answer robotically, my mind elsewhere and not in the mood for this.

“I’m retiring,” I announce, interrupting the reporter in front that was in the middle of another stupid question. The room is silent for a few seconds before everyone speaks at once.

“Shut up and he’ll explain!” Gideon yells into the mic. They listen, only the clicks of the cameras making noise.

“As everyone is well aware, I’ve had more than my fair share of knee injuries. Half my time off the ice has been spent in physical therapy. I’ve had an amazing career and winning the cup tonight was a perfect ending. I appreciate everyone in the NHL for letting me live my dream. The players and coaches on the Barracudas helped shape me into the player I became, and for that I will be forever grateful. But Anderson Sinclair took a risk signing me when no one else wanted me and to him I want to say, thank you for that belief, and I hope I didn’t let you down.” Reporters all start asking questions at the same time again, but I hold up my hand. “I’m not done. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the sacrifices my parents made to ensure I could play the sport I loved, but most importantly, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for my wife. Willa believed in me from the moment we met as kids and has never wavered in that belief. She’s the reason I signed with Boston. The reason I worked so hard to get the win tonight.” I look into the news camera closest to me. “I love you, Princess. Thank you.”

I stand, ignoring all the questions thrown my way. I need to get up to Sinclair’s office and get this over with. Gideon and Bouchard can handle the rest. I’ll have to thank them with concert tickets or something later.

The hallway to Sinclair’s office is empty. Which makes sense considering everyone is either in the press room or the locker room celebrating. It’s just eerie at this time of night. And of course, his office is at the very end of this hallway. I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. My knees hurt. My shoulder hurts. Hell, my whole damn body hurts. I’m nervous he’ll tell me to fuck off and not help me.

And why wouldn’t he? I’m not his player anymore. My contract expired at the same time that buzzer went off signaling the end of the game. Then I retired. He owes me nothing.

I notice the light is on in Sinclair’s office and there’s no sign of Willa or Ben outside of it. She must be in there already. I hope Ben stayed with her. I pick up my pace, ignoring how stiff I’m getting. I don’t know Sinclair well enough to leave my wife alone with him.

“These things are really sharp.” I freeze at the voice and slowly turn around.

Jon. . . I mean, Patrick, is standing there, holding a skate in his hand and smiling at me like we’re old buddies.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” My voice is practically a growl.

“Eva sent me to give you a message,” he says, creepy smile still on his face.

“What message?” The question barely leaves my lips before his arm flies out. I’m too slow to stop it. I feel the burning pain of my skin splitting, my hand flying up to my throat. Hot, sticky blood coats my fingers and slides down my neck.

“Told you these things are sharp,” Patrick says, laughing and tossing the skate at my feet. My knees buckle, slamming to the floor. “You should really be more careful.”

My body falls to the side, too weak to do anything else. I have my hand to my throat, trying to stem the bleeding, but it won’t be much use if someone doesn’t find me soon. I watch Patrick’s retreating form. He’s still laughing.

The edges of my vision blur, and I know this is it. The last thing I hear before everything goes black is the sweet and scared voice of the most beautiful woman in the world.