Page 42 of My Pucking Enemy (The Milwaukee Frost #4)

Wren

Even the road leading to the arena is louder than I’ve ever experienced in my life, and the last game of the Stanley Cup finals hasn’t even started yet.

Normally I’d wear one of the team-issued polos to a game like this, but today is special.

I surprised Luca this morning by coming out of the bathroom in his jersey, which led to a heated discussion of whether or not we had time—and if it would be good for strategy’s sake—to head back into the bedroom for just a second before leaving.

We’d planned to get there earlier than everyone else, of course.

“How about this,” I’d said, pulling back breathlessly from our kiss where Luca had me pressed up against the wall. “You win today, and I’ll sweeten the deal tonight.”

Luca had grinned back wickedly. “You know, I wasn’t that interested in taking home the Cup before, but now I’m feeling motivated.”

In the car, just before pulling out of the driveway, we got a call from his mother, which turned out to be a call from the entire family, all crushing into the same frame.

Then Blair dialed in Sloane—whom we’d see soon anyway—and Luca’s sister pulled Cal into the frame.

Cal looped in Maverick and Ruby, who added Astrid and Grayson.

They’d all be on their way to the arena soon, but it felt special to have a private huddle, their faces so small I could barely make them out, excited energy humming between us.

“Good luck!” Blair said, leaning in and blowing a kiss to the camera. “But you don’t need it!”

During the regular season, we took on the Penguins without much effort.

But Pittsburg has been fighting tooth and nail to get to this game, and they’re not going to let it go easily. It’s been a full seven games of this back and forth, each time taking one win at a time like they want to draw out the series as long as possible.

Now, circling around to the arena parking lot, we can see flags flapping in the wind and hear the excited shouts of fans tailgating on the other side.

When we get to the arena, Luca takes ten minutes to meditate in the car.

Then he and I talk rapid-fire about our strategy for the game on our way inside, passing only a few other cars.

We’re one of the first to arrive and park in the employee parking lot, which means we’re mostly alone as we walk into the building.

We’ve been over and over it. Watched film until our eyeballs started to fall loose from our heads. Gone back and forth with Uncle Vic and the other coaches—some of whom are still wary of me, but there’s only so much we can do.

But still, it helps to talk about it now. Maybe it helps us to feel like we’re in control.

“Olsen is going hard, and he’s been trying to get to Grayson, shake him loose.”

“Astrid isn’t going to let that happen,” Luca said, reaching up to hold the door for me, and I’d taken a deep breath as I ducked under his arm. “She’s got his mental game locked down solid.”

“How is Hawkins doing?”

“He’ll play through it,” Luca said, shaking his head. He may not have agreed with Maverick’s decision to play on his sprained ankle, but he understood. Weirdly, so did Ruby, whisking him off to a luxury healing and restoration clinic for one night between games.

He swears he can barely feel the pain. We’re all doing him the favor of pretending like we believe him.

Now, Luca is down on the ice with Cal, running through drills before the game starts, and I’m up in the stands feeling like I’m going to throw up on this jersey.

“Hey.”

I turn, finding Uncle Vic standing at the gate leading into the bench. He waves me down, and I step inside with him as he leans down and puts his hands on my shoulders. “I’m proud of you, Wren. And I think you should sit with us for this one.”

It flutters through me, the inclusion, and I settle down into a seat right next to one of the team managers. Around us, fans are restless, anxious for the game to start. Music sings out through the arena, the bass rocking my body and seeming to leap directly into my heart.

My father could never stick with one religion for too long, so I stepped in and out of a lot of churches, temples, shrines, sanctuaries. This feels a lot like that. Like lining up with others, singing together, all yearning, desperately, for the same thing.

The air is chilled this close to the rink, and smells of nachos, hot dogs, beer. When the refs skate out onto the ice, we all erupt, almost like a crowd waiting for the main act, gasping each time the curtain ruffles, or a sound tech shuffles out onto the stage.

Luca shakes the Penguin captain’s hand. Cal skates out, turning to look at the box, waiving to Sloane, before he lines up for the face-off. My heart feels like it’s beating where my throat should be.

When I look out onto the ice, I catch Luca’s eyes in the sea of white, and he lifts his hand to his mouth, sending me a silent kiss without much fanfare.

I know what it means.

I love you. The Penguins win the opening face-off, but the Frost get it back just as quick, controlling the puck and using our strategy to go up against the Penguin’s formidable defense.

For this game, we’ve brought Tyler Chen—a Frost player who’s constantly doing TikTok dances and joking around, but who got a lot more serious after some line changes—up to start with Cal and Luca.

Together, they’re even more dynamic than before.

And Petrov, who’s gotten even closer to retirement, doesn’t seem to mind taking a few more minutes off the ice.

We knew, coming into this, that the Penguins were going to smother Cal and Luca.

The first period goes exactly like we predicted—zeros on the board as the teams are in a standoff.

With all the pressure on Luca and Cal, the guys aren’t able to score, but Chen works one in right before the end of the first.

The guys celebrate down on the ice, and Uncle Vic nods, tucking his clipboard under his arm, his cheeks red either from excitement or the cool air coming in off the ice.

In the second period, the Penguins respect Chen more, and we speed up our line changes to increase the pace of the game, keeping our guys fresh.

The next time Luca and Cal take the ice together, the Penguins’ defense is loosened up enough that we’re able to work in, and Cal flicks the puck to Luca, who buries it in the back of the net like it’s nothing.

The feeling inside me is like a helium balloon slowly filling, or like getting to the end of your favorite movie. You know exactly how it’s going to end, and you wait, happily, for it to get to the best parts.

The third period comes around, and the Penguins start to rally. Maverick and the defense push hard, chirping at the guys, working under their skin. Grayson dives for a particularly wild save and makes it, sending the arena up in raucous cheers.

Two minutes left, and we’re still up by one. I only realize I’m standing when my knees start to shake.

One minute left, and this is the moment we weren’t sure about—whether the Penguins would come together, or fly apart.

Luca owes me five bucks when Olsen starts a fight, earning himself a spot in the penalty box and sending the Frost into a power play.

It’s almost just adding insult to injury when Cal sinks a shot into the net just seconds before the end of the game, bringing the lead up to two and securing the win.

The crowd starts to go wild with just five seconds left on the clock, when it’s clear this game is over. Luca and Cal skate together on the ice, their bodies colliding hard, their arms flying around each other. The Milwaukee Frost have just won the Stanley Cup.

After years and years of working toward this, fighting for this, taking a risk and planning his entire life around this franchise, Luca did it. He took the Frost to the Stanley Cup.

Gloves and helmets fly on the ice. I swear to god I’m not a crier, and yet here I am, tears running down my cheeks, a sense of effervescent joy bursting in my chest so potently I have to open my mouth, to let out some noise just to release the pressure.

He did it. We did it.

They’re swiftly clearing the ice, bringing out the Cup. The announcer’s voice booms through the arena, announcing The Frost as the champions. Then, his voice returns, announcing Luca as the MVP of today’s game.

I watch through teary eyes as he skates over, accepts the Cup, and does his lap with it held up over his head.

A moment later, an arm flies around my shoulder, and I realize it’s Sloane, crying and laughing, coming down from the box even though Vic forbade her from working.

She’s supposed to be on maternity leave, up in the stands, not down here with us.

Then Luca’s parents are there, and we’re all laughing and hugging like a family that wears matching Christmas sweaters. Ruby and Astrid appear, both flushed and shining with pride.

Each guy on the team takes his turn with the cup, and when Cal goes right after Luca, Sloane screams so loud it hurts my throat. Leo stands in his dad’s jersey, cheering so loudly his voice is hoarse when Maverick comes out on the ice.

As the guys huddle back up on the ice, celebrating together with the Cup, I turn to Sloane, slinging my arm around her again, needing someone to hold me up.

I’m so lost in the joy of the moment—in the cheering fans and confetti and booming applause—that I don’t see Uncle Vic coming over until his hand is on my back. His mouth moves, and at first, I throw myself into him, hugging him, thinking it’s what he wants.

When he pulls back hastily, he’s laughing, shaking his head, pointing toward the ice. Tears are running down his red face, too, but somehow, it doesn’t seem like he’s wholly focused on the win in this moment.

“Go,” I see him mouth, because noise simply can’t travel in the sonic waves around us.

Then it dawns on me—Vic is telling me to celebrate with Luca. To go out there on the ice.

I turn, entire body shaking as I face the rink, jump over the boards and join the guys on the ice. I’m terrified that someone—maybe a ref or a security person—is going to stop me, but then the guys are there, the Frost with their hands on me, guiding me to the middle and making sure I don’t fall.

It’s easier to walk on the ice than I thought. When I look back, I realize none of the others—not Luca’s family, Astrid or Sloane—are coming with.

“Where’s Luca?” I ask, turning and finding Cal in the group, but he only smiles and jerks his head.

And when I follow that movement, I find him.

On one knee, right in the center of the Frost’s snowflake symbol, his damp golden hair loose over his forehead.

“Oh,” I say, dumbly, because somehow, even knowing everything and being the best strategist in the league, I didn’t see this coming.

“Wren Beaumont,” he says, “love of my life. Girl of my dreams. Will you marry me?”

I nod, stepping forward, heart thundering at the magic of the moment, and when he wraps me up in his arms, instead of saying yes, I say, “I love you.”