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Chapter

Thirty-Three

André

On Saturday night, the Saddledome buzzed like an angry hive, the stands jammed past the club level with screaming fans, kids waving signs, and enough flash photography to give a man a seizure. André tightened the chin strap on his helmet and grinned as he skated past the blizzard-blue centreline. This wasn’t just a game—it was a damn show.

“Bowen, you mic’d up?” Jack Harrison circled like a smug bastard in his Blizzard jersey. André would’ve chirped, but tonight Jack was his smug bastard, so he turned to Tyler instead.

“I know all your tricks, bud. Don’t expect me to bite on those outside edges, eh?”

Tyler flipped him the bird and pointed to his helmet in response to Jack’s question, then turned back to his team on the bench for the night. The Snowballs were split fifty-fifty with the pros, and André couldn’t wait to get a good check on Country. Hopefully two.

It was Team Maddox versus Team Thompson. Country captained one side, Sean the other. Fly had suited up, much to everyone’s delight. The man’s knees looked like they’d been stitched together by a blind raccoon, but he was grinning like a kid in a candy shop.

Jenna had helped extend player invites, and she’d been right about the branding. She went for controversial picks, hot heads, and personalities. He had to give it to her. These NHL players drew a crowd.

The puck dropped, and it was pure chaos in the best way. Even though nothing was on the line, every guy out there played class A hockey. Because hockey didn’t know how to be casual.

Hockey was always a show, not in the flashy plays, not in the lights, but in the way it demanded your whole heart. The boys knew that. You laced up, you taped your stick, and you gave everything. Even in a charity game. Especially in a charity game. Because it was about more than goals. It was about the fans in the stands who paid for a night of magic.

And the guys next to him? For the next few hours, they were brothers. When you sat on the bench wearing the same crest, you belonged to each other, no matter where you came from or where you were headed next.

André crushed Country against the glass, digging with his stick. “Let me take it, bud, and I’ll be gentle.”

Country laughed, flicking the puck between his legs. “You know I like it rough.”

Every whistle, the DJ blared theme songs—AC/DC, Carly Rae Jepsen, Nickelback. During breaks, Jenna ran on-ice mini-games: kids in bubble suits racing from blue line to blue line, a “fastest shot” competition for fans with actual radar guns, and a “Guess the Face” segment where the jumbotron showed baby pictures of the players.

Country had the crowd in the palm of his hand. With a wireless mic, he hyped fans during intermissions, shouted out donors, and auctioned off a signed jersey mid-period, making jokes that had the whole arena doubled over.

“André Leclerc has volunteered to shave his legs live on stream if we hit our goal,” Jenna announced over the PA.

André leaned over the boards. “Balls! I said balls! ”

The crowd roared. Grace was somewhere in the VIP section. He needed to see her. It was the first time in his life that he was anxious to get off the ice.

Second period, he and Jack played the point together and orchestrated a filthy one-timer. Curtis chipped it from behind the net, Jack caught it mid-air and dropped it to André, who rifled it low glove side. The crowd went nuclear.

“That’s what happens.” Jack skated by the bench. “Now give us the sexy line change.”

“I’ve had better passes from my wife,” Country muttered, but couldn’t hide his smirk.

By the third period, it was tied. Four to four.

Colin Fraser from Toronto fed André a look on a line rush—sneaky, sharp. He took the charge even though he was typically a fourth-line grinder. Their D-men were slightly out of position, giving him a chance if he bolted.

He deked once, then twice, and went top shelf while falling to his knees. Absolute highlight reel shit. The goal horn blared, and André fist-pumped to the crowd, lungs burning, legs on fire. He hoped to hell Grace was watching.

They’d spent the night together at Country’s but couldn’t ditch their responsibilities leading up to the game. He’d seen her twice over the week, and neither visit had been long enough. There was still a part of him that wondered if she’d close up and get scared, but every time that thought entered his head, he remembered Country.

He knew his reasons. And it was worth fighting for whether or not he won. Just like every single time he got on the ice.

Brett crowed from behind him, “Where was that in Edmonton?”

André struck a pose, then threw himself over the boards.

The final seconds of the third period ticked down, and the roar of the crowd rose as fans surged to their feet. Five to four. They only had to hold them.

For a moment, the whole event snapped into focus. They were in the Saddledome playing to a packed crowd. He had no idea what the numbers looked like, but ticket sales alone pushed them close to their goal.

André bent over his stick, lungs burning, sweat stinging his eyes. He glanced at Country on the far wing and Tyler at the point, waiting for the drop.

Face-off. Ten seconds left. The puck hit the ice, and everything blurred. Country snapped it back, and Tyler took off like he’d been shot out of a cannon. Two strides. Three. He flicked it back to Cade Bishop who tapped it on to Brett, and Boyd wasn’t ready for the back door. Brett fired a wrister, and it snapped past the post.

The crowd exploded. Tied.

André shook his head, slamming his stick to the ice. Country grabbed Tyler around the neck, and their entire bench emptied, howling, pounding each other on the back.

He couldn’t have asked for a better game. It was sudden-death overtime. Ten minutes. One goal.

They didn’t wait long. Two minutes in, Fly sent a pass along the boards to Suraj who gave a one-touch to Jack Harrison. André leaned over the boards, screaming nonsense.

Jack lost the puck to Tyler but reached out at the last second and sent the puck around the back of the net. Fraser was set up like they’d planned it. He snagged the puck and looped it around the post.

He took off, pumping his stick over his head, and the dome went nuclear. André launched over the boards like a rocket, joining the dogpile around Jack and Colin. Gloves and helmets hit the ice, and it wasn’t long before both teams were laughing and hugging at centre. They honoured their goalies, lining up and slapping sticks on the ice as they made their way to the benches.

Jenna stepped out on a mat in front of the penalty box a few minutes later, Hope strapped to her chest, a mic in her hand and a wide smile on her face. “We want to thank you,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “Every single one of you here tonight helped us raise money for a cause that means the world to our family. To our team.”

The Jumbotron lit up behind her, a montage rolling—footage prepared by Heads Up Alberta . Clips of youth hockey and players rehabilitating never failed to tug on heartstrings.

“And thanks to your support and our incredible sponsors . . . ” Jenna paused for dramatic effect. “We raised $407,800!”

The dome lost its damn mind. Country skated up and pulled her and Hope into a bear hug. André got choked up, then lifted his head searching for the one person he wanted to see after a game like this.

He beelined to the locker room and showered in three minutes flat. André towel-dried his hair, yanked on his jeans and a hoodie, and grabbed his phone. He fired off three pictures to Luc of the pregame. Jenna hired a videographer for the game, so he’d send on footage later. He texted:

Tonight was hot. Blasted past our fundraising goals. Love you, bud

André checked his reflection in the mirror, raked a hand through his wet hair, and grabbed his bag. Then he bolted for the elevators.

_____

The hallway upstairs near the press room felt muted compared to what had just happened on the ice. He didn’t even make it to the door before Grace bolted out. She ran to him in her heels.

“You were unbelievable out there.” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him straight on the mouth with her red lipstick. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing what felt like his first real breath of the night.

“Your goal? ” She pulled back to look at him, eyes bright. “Is Country pissed about that hit?”

He grinned, his chest so full, he could barely speak. “I love this Grace who loves hockey.” He dipped his head, nuzzling her neck.

She laughed. “Do you love her enough to help with a transaction?” He groaned, but then she put her finger under his chin. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Now he was listening. He followed her into the room she’d been using as her personal office.

“I’m almost finished with this, but I’ve scoured every record I have from you, from Heads Up, and I cannot find a contract for this sponsorship.” She flipped her phone around like she was about to throw down a royal flush.

André saw the name and relaxed. “Oh, yeah. You don’t need to worry about that one.”

Grace frowned. “Yes. I do need to worry about it. It doesn’t matter if you have some kind of verbal agreement with this person or group or whatever, everything needs to have a paper trail or?—”

“Trust me, Grace.” He dragged her closer. “This one’s fine.”

She gave him a look like he’d just told her he used gasoline as mouthwash. “Okaaay. But how do you know it will be fine in three months, six months, or a year? Businesses can be volatile, and if something were to happen?—”

“Nothing’s going to happen.” He shouldn’t love pushing her buttons as much as he did, but she was so sexy when she got fired up. He wouldn’t let it last too much longer. “This isn’t from a business. It’s from a holding.”

Grace looked back at her screen. “Yes, but it doesn’t matter. You asked me to come into this and ensure everything was above board. You didn’t want Heads Up to be exposed to any unnecessary?—”

“I gave you an expectation. You just want to do your job right.”

Grace exhaled. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to end up missing something?—”

“Do you have a contract there? Can you print it?”

She nodded. “I could.”

“Do it. I’ll get it signed for you.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “Really?” He patted her hip as she walked past to open the file on her laptop. It only took her a minute to send it to the printer. The machine whirred to life. Grace grabbed the fresh double-sided document and handed it to him.

“Do you have a pen?”

Her brow furrowed. She lifted one from the desk and handed it to him. “Are they here? I didn’t?—”

André bent over and dated the document, then signed at the bottom. “Can you fill in the rest?”

She blinked. “André, I don’t just need any signature. I need the actual sponsor.”

He handed the page to her. “And you’ve got it.”

Grace glanced down at the contract, then back up at Andre. “You donated fifty-thousand dollars to Heads Up?”

André nodded once, trying not to grin as she processed. He pulled the paper from her hands, set it on the desk, and planted himself in front of her. “Right now, you’re wondering how I have that much money to give away. Because I hardly ever work, and I need to grow up?”

Grace’s eyes flared. “I didn’t mean that. I wasn’t in a good place?—”

“No, you were right. About a lot of things. I may be immature and shortsighted in many areas, but money isn’t one of them.”

She drew in a breath and blew it out. “Oh, damn it, is this residual from the Calvin Klein ad?”

André gaped at her. “You know about that?”

Grace nodded. “I might have it saved in my phone.”

André laughed out loud, then pushed her back until he could lift her up on the desktop. “Well, I found your Hinge profile, so?—”

“I deleted that!”

He pressed closer. “I still have a couple pairs of those boxer briefs.”

“The blinds are open,” she murmured.

“Does it look like I give a shit?” André ran his hands through her hair, watching her eyes roll back in her head.

She sighed. “I’m worried I like you more now that I know you have money.”

“I’m worried I like you more now that you watch hockey.”

Grace laughed. “It’s probably not healthy. For you to keep telling me things that make me fall deeper in—” She stopped herself, her eyes flying open.

André raised an eyebrow. “Please. Continue.”

“I didn’t—I wasn’t saying?—”

André pulled her lips to his, kissing her until she melted into him. “I love you, too, Grace.”

She made a soft sound in her throat. “It’s too soon to say that.”

He shook his head. “Nope. You’ve followed enough arbitrary rules in your life. You don’t need to follow that one.” She gazed up at him, her ankles wrapping around his calves. He kissed her forehead. “Love is a heavy burden to carry on your own.”

Grace released a breath, arching into him and pressing her cheek against his. “I think what I know of love is so small. But all I have is yours.”

He smiled, kissing her jaw. “We’re a team, Grace. We’ll figure out the rest of it together.”