Page 63 of From Ice to Home (The Heart of a Ranger #1)

For a long, agonizing minute, every second drags until my line goes onto the ice.

I watch them fight to get into the zone.

With an unbelievable interception from EJ, the line moves the other way and like a bolt of lightning the play unfolds.

Lindgren picks up the pass with a burst of speed.

He darts across the ice, the gap widening behind him.

A defender scrambles…but he’s too late. Lindgren sends a clean, crisp pass across to Callahan who’s waiting in the weak side.

The puck falls perfectly into the open space.

Holding my breath, I watch as Callahan receives the puck, having nothing but open ice in front of him.

He lifts the puck onto his stick and fires.

It rips through the air, past the goalie’s glove, and slams into the net.

The arena erupt in a tidal wave of cheers. The horn blares and the song kicks in. We’re ahead and the timing is immaculate.

On the jumbotron the score flips: 4-3.

There are two minutes left.

Every doubt and every ache seems to fade into the background. Even though I’m not out there skating the play, I feel like I’ve scored right along with them.

Coach’s eyes meet mine, his nod is a silent acknowledgement that I still matter.

I glance over at the VIP lounge where Hannah is standing, a small, bright smile playing on her lips.

My dad’s there too, standing next to her.

The expression on his face is mixed with relief and pride.

I hope that’s enough to have him come back to watch me play again next season.

For the remaining two minutes, the team plays hard. The Canucks are desperate to score in the last minute, desperate to push into overtime, to get another chance to win. But the Rangers’s defense is rock solid, every player’s will to win a solid wall against which the pressure bounces off.

In the final minute the Vancouver goalie bolts to the bench. The sixth attacker jumps over the boards and barrels toward our zone. Six on five, and the crowd is roaring like a beast. Their cheers are deafening, their towels spinning through the air like tiny white flames.

The Canucks give it everything they have. But no matter how hard they try, how many times they shoot the puck on net, each one of their shots are blocked.

Each and every one of them.

By skates, by sticks, by shins, and the rest? Blocked by Nikolai’s razor sharp reflexes.

The finals seconds bleed off the clock. Three. Two. One.

Then, the final buzzer sounds.

And the world erupts.

The bench empties, helmets and gloves are being tossed in the air. Wild and unrestrained yells fill the air as my teammates rushes past me toward Niko and the pile-on in the crease begins.

We’ve done it.

We’ve won the Stanley Cup.

The lights flash and confetti rains over us like snow. The roar of Madison Square Garden isn’t just loud, it’s thunderous. And even if I wasn’t on the ice for the last shift, the victory of my team is deep inside my bones.

I watch as everyone on the Rangers team embraces each…coaches, staffers, players. I close my eyes for a brief second, letting all the cheers, the pounding adrenaline and the weight of the moment settle over me.

Thank you, Heavenly Father.

EJ rushes toward me, his ice blue eyes lit with excitement.

“Come on, man!” he yells, pulling me off the bench and onto the ice. “You can’t miss this!”

One by one, my teammates pull me into tight hugs, clapping me on the back.

Some of them are grinning with joy, others blink back emotions they won’t put into words.

Each of them offers something…words of thanks, quiet congratulations, or sincere concern about my injury.

I feel it in every handshake, every squeeze to my shoulder.

I matter to them. I’m not just another guy in the locker room.

I’m part of something bigger.

They’re my family, my brothers.

Nikolai skates over holding the Cup. The sweat is still dripping from his long hair and confetti is clinging to his gear. His expression is calm…almost too calm for someone who’s just won the Stanley Cup.

“You head’s good?” he asks, his gaze flicking toward my temple. As a goalie, he knows better than most what a knock to the head can mean. He’s taken a lot of pucks to the head, some so hard his mask pops off, and still he walks away focused and clear.

“Yeah,” I nod. “Cleared for celebration it seems.”

He holds out the Cup toward me. “You’ve earned this,” he says, his russian accent thick. “You helped us get here.”

I grip the silver, humbled by his words. “Thank you, Niko.”

I hoist the Cup above my head. The moment is unreal and I’m flooded with so much gratitude it nearly knocks the air from my lungs.

It’s heavy, not only because of the metal and sheer size, but because of the legacy, the dreams and sacrifices, the late hours, the prayers and relentless training.

Lifting it over my head, I give thanks to the One who brought me here, to the One who made all this happen, to the One who’s bigger than the Stanley Cup.

“To God be all the glory!” I shout, my voice hoarse but sure.

I lower the Cup slowly, my arms shaking a bit. Lindgren steps up. His hands are trembling, his face lit up with adrenaline and excitement as he takes in the trophy.

“You did good out there, Rookie,” I say, slowly handing him the Cup. “Not bad for a first season hey?”

He grins widely, taking it from me, his eyes roving over every name engraved on there. “Not at all. Although now we’ll have to make sure to win this every year. ”

“I’m in if you are,” I say, slapping him on the shoulder and watching as he hoists the Cup over his head.

Then something crashes into me, harder than the weight of silver and history.

It’s Noah.

“You did it bro!” he yells, wrapping me in a full-on body wrap of a hug. “You’re a Stanley Cup champion! And we were here to see all of it.”

He pulls back, eyes sweeping my face, his expression suddenly sobering as he sees the butterfly bandage on my temple.

“Wait, you’re good right? Your head—“ he looks to the side of my head where it connected with the goalpost. “You scared the living daylights out of us.”

I nod, the pounding headache from before has subsided significantly, but I’m sure it’ll come crashing back as soon as the dopamine and endorphins leave my system. “I’m fine. Just need to stay off the ice for twenty-four hours.”

Noah raises a skeptical brown. “So, not something you’ll be able to do then?”

A laugh catches in my throat. I punch his shoulder lightly, but with brotherly emphasis. “I’m beat. I’ll stay off for a full forty-eight. Doctor’s orders.”

His mouth curves into a grin, but the concern in his eyes doesn’t completely go away. Before he says anything else, another presence fills the space beside us.

My dad.

He doesn’t say anything right away, his gaze locked on me like he is trying to figure out the full extent of my injuries and what to make of the situation.

“You’re alright, son?” he asks quietly, not wanting to make a scene. But his hand is on my arm, steady and strong.

I meet his gaze. “Yeah, Dad. I am now.”

He nods before pulling me in for an embrace, slapping me on the back, in a way that shows his quiet pride. It’s not a big gesture, but to me it means the world.

When he steps back, his eyes are wet. He clears his throat, trying for composure. “Your mom would’ve been—“ his voice cracks and he leaves the rest of the sentence.

My chest tightens. My mom has always been the one who supported my hockey dreams. She drove me to early morning practices and prayed over me before every game.

I used to think my dad resented her a bit for feeding into my dream when he wanted something different for my life.

But for him to be here, and to say that she would’ve been proud of me shows how wrong I’ve been.

He misses her. Maybe more than either me or Noah.

I place a hand on his shoulder. “I know. Thank you, Dad.”

He nods, quickly swiping at the tears before anyone can see. But I saw. And I’ll remember.

I barely have time to catch my breath when I see her.

Hannah.

She’s being led onto the rink by some staffers, her boots slipping slightly on the ice before she finds her footing.

Her golden hair is shining from the overhead lights as tiny pieces of confetti start to stick to it.

Her eyes are searching the crowd and as soon as she sees me, her face transforms… with a smile.

A smile that’s filled with love, pride, adoration, and something even deeper.

She hurries toward me, almost stumbling. I meet her halfway, unable to wait another second. She throws her arms around my neck, and I wrap mine tightly around her waist, lifting her just slightly off the ice like I’ve done a million times before in my dreams.

Then I kiss her.

Not for show, not for the media or the fans who’ll undoubtedly spin a story out of this.

But just for her.

Because this woman, this fierce, faith-filled woman, has been a constant in my life for the past seven years. Even when we were apart, she was still in my heart. God gave her back to me and for that I’ll forever be grateful.

“You did it, Luke,” she whispers softly against my shoulder. Her green eyes are shimmering with unshed tears. “You really did it.”

As much as I love this moment, a bigger part of me is extremely happy God gave Hannah back in time for me to share it with her. Imagining this moment without her…it wouldn’t have meant as much.

“I’m just glad I get to share it with you,” I murmur. “God knew exactly what He was doing when He brought us back together the way He did.”

She runs her fingers along the back of my neck gently, her touch grounding me like nothing else ever has.

“Thank you for sticking with me through all the chaos, Sanders,” I say with a small smile.

She lets out a soft laugh, and it’s like music over the distant roar of the crowd. “I’m sure there’ll be more chaos to come. We’re just getting started.”

“That’s true.” I press my forehead to hers, the moment still and sacred despite the people around us. “But as long as I have you, I can face anything.”

And it’s true. I mean every single word.

With Hannah by my side, and God’s covering over us, our life will be blessed no matter what comes our way.

Because we’ll never have to face anything alone.