Page 66 of Hot for the Hockey Player (The Single Moms of San Camanez: The Vino Vixens #2)
All three of us leaped up onto the couch now, rivaling the chaos in the arena.
“What is going on up here?” came Raina’s voice, Marco and Jagger behind her.
“Ah,” Jagger said, a knowing smile on his face.
Marco came to sit with us on the couch, and Raina and Jagger each grabbed a chair.
There were less than two minutes left in the game now, and Colorado had pulled their goalie. Since they really had nothing to lose at this point. Portland had a two-goal advantage. The odds of them winning and making the playoffs were good.
Maverick remained on the ice, along with his golden lineup of Garver, Woodman, Allard, Silby, and Price.
It was almost like the five men communicated telepathically, the way they just always seemed to find their open teammate just perfectly.
They blocked and protected, avoided getting thrown into the boards.
As the last thirty seconds on the clock sped by, we all leaned forward, on the edge of our seats, knowing full well that the Storm were going to win, but still drenched in nervous, excited energy.
We sucked air into our lungs and held it there as Maverick, Woodman, and Allard skated up the ice toward the open Colorado net, almost playfully passing the puck back and forth, the two Colorado defensemen not able to keep track of who had the puck.
“Woodman’s going to take the shot. He’s really stepped up this year since Mav was out,” Damon said. “He’s got it.”
“Yeah, but Allard is such a show-off,” Jagger replied. “I bet he wants the glory.”
“I think Mav should take it,” Laurel said. “He deserves this.”
We all nodded.
From Maverick, to Woodman, back to Maverick, to Allard, back to Maverick.
We all lifted up, our butts just hovering over the cushions at this point.
The clock in the corner said four seconds … three seconds … two seconds …
Maverick took the shot, right between the two Colorado defensemen, and it sailed into the net just as the buzzer went off.
We all jumped up cheering, hugging, and congratulating each other like we had something to do with the success of the game.
Tears tumbled freely down my cheeks as Raina wrapped her arms around me. “I know you’re not a hugger, but get over it,” she said, squeezing me. “You’re hurting. And hugs help.”
I hiccupped a sob in her arms and my body shook. “He needed to go back. We’ll be fine.”
She squeezed me tighter. “Whatever you say.”
“Can we have ice cream to celebrate?” Laurel asked as Raina and I let go of each other and I used the sleeve of my sweater to wipe my eyes.
“Sure.” I nodded.
She wrangled Marco into helping her, and the two of them went to the kitchen to dish up everyone a bowl.
I sat back on the couch beside Damon as a sweat-soaked Maverick still in his jersey came on the screen. His rosy cheeks and bright-blue eyes just made the ache in my heart intensify.
“You must be happy to be back,” asked the reporter, holding a microphone in Maverick’s face as his teammates walked behind him, heading to the locker room. “Did it feel like coming home?”
Maverick smiled a calm, content smile that just solidified in my soul that telling him to go back to the game was the right thing to do.
“It felt good to be back with my teammates and on the ice again, yeah. But you know, when I took that fall, I realized my body has been trying to tell me something, and I just refused to listen.”
“What’s that?”
“While I was fine, this time . I wasn’t last time, and I might not be the next.
This was my final game. I’m going out on my own terms, not because of injury, not because I’ve pissed off the league for speaking out against my criminal teammates—or criminal brother—but because I wasn’t born to play hockey.
I was born. I played hockey. And now I want to do something else. ”
“Are you saying, you’re retiring … tonight?” The reporter asked in shock. “Just when the Storm qualified for the playoffs?”
Maverick nodded. “I am. I’m glad I played this game.
It was an amazing game, probably the best game of my life, but I’ll be cheering on my boys from the stands now.
I’m confident that Woodman, Garver, Dahl, Allard, Price, and Silby will get this team through the playoffs and win the Cup.
They’re amazing guys and I’ll be rooting for them all the way. ”
There were slack jaws all around my living room as we sat there in silence.
“Well, you’ve heard it here first. Maverick Roy, number twelve for the Portland Storm, is retiring from hockey.” The reporter turned to face the camera. “I’m Felix Fitzpatrick with SportsZone News Now. And this is Straight From the Ice. ”
Damon turned to face me. “So … does that mean he’s coming back?”
A flutter of excitement mixed with worry swirled through me. “I don’t know.”
I’d never felt more joy, more excitement in my life since bumping into Maverick in the grocery store. But I’d also never felt more uncertainty either. And given our last words, something told me the man wouldn’t be coming back, certainly not to see me.