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Joey, Six Months Later

The whistle goes…

And pandemonium explodes—the crowd roars, the guys’ equipment hits the ice in a chaotic jumble of sticks and gloves and helmets. There are hugs all around, smacks on the back, huge smiles that threaten to split our faces.

Because we’ve won.

Because we fucking did it.

The Cup is ours.

After eighty-two games. After four brutal rounds of the playoffs that were filled with fights and injuries and two bouts of triple overtime, we’ve done it.

Kaitlyn grins at me. Tommy claps me on the back. Dave is his normal quiet, but I don’t miss that his eyes are misty. He’ll probably only be coaching for another season or two, so winning this now, here , after all the adversity we’ve faced…

It means a lot.

It means everything.

My gaze drifts away from my coaches, slides through the stands, not stopping until it reaches a box poised high above the red line.

Okay, so it doesn’t mean everything.

Because my life isn’t just the job, isn’t just hockey anymore.

I have a summer RV trip planned with Beth and John. We’re going to hit up Yellowstone—though, Damon and I have our own camper because I’m not sleeping on a table that folds into a bed, not even for Beth and John.

Who am I kidding?

If they asked, I would have bent over backward to accommodate that request.

But Beth had emailed the reservation confirmation, told me she picked out a great RV for us that will “allow Damon and you the privacy young lovers need.”

Needless to say, she’s beyond the moon that we’ve navigated our way to happiness.

And currently up in the owner’s box, likely chattering Damon’s ear off, John next to her, looking on with quiet pride.

Or maybe John has called it and ended up in the stands because listening to Kylie and Beth’s nervous babbling as the game wound down got to be too much for him.

Speaking of Kylie, our Girls’ Nights are regular, our crocheting didn’t get any better, and my spidey sense of something happening between her and Colt has been pinging off the charts lately.

There’s something there, even if she denies it.

Maybe even because she denies it too much.

Either way, I have my eye on that, and it’s one of the few things I haven’t shared with Damon. Yes, it’s technically breaking my promise to be open and truthful about all things, but as the counselor we’ve been seeing once a week has stated on more than one occasion, there are a few truths we can keep to ourselves.”

Like, Yes, Beth, your meatloaf is delicious.

And, Of course, those jeans are flattering, Ky.

And, No, sweetheart, your sister isn’t a sexual being. Nope. Absolutely not.

The rest of it, though, Damon and I have both put the work in, and we’re good.

We’re great .

Even the scandal that followed my social media showdown with Zach Hiller worked out far better than I could have ever hoped for—with my and the others’ permission, the D.A. moved quickly, offering Travis a plea deal that saw him seeing jail time. Not nearly enough, it won’t ever be enough.

But it was something.

And those few months in jail were nothing when compared to the public backlash he faced, especially as more women came out with their own accusations.

But I’m moving forward, putting it all to bed.

Of course, I spent the month after the infamous video doing far more interviews than I ever wanted, talking about what happened too damned much…all while trying to coach. But the funny thing was, the more I talked about it, the more I heard about other people’s experiences— people because it wasn’t just women who shared with me—the more that seed of strength inside me grew.

Like the first slender stalk had popped out of the soil that night I confronted Zach, but it was just a beginning.

And now it’s grown into something beautiful.

Even though it began in pain.

Kind of like this moment—lost sleep and injuries and failures, years of struggling, battling, surviving , grinding out games and crying when trades meant losing someone I cared about, the stress, the pressure…all of it has coalesced into…

This .

Watching my guys each take their turn to hoist the Cup.

It’s beauty and joy and having the insane urge to start all over again so we can get right back here.

Grinning, I start to turn for the hall, ready to leave them to their celebration—or maybe to go find my man so we can do some celebrating of our own, but I barely make it a quarter-rotation before ringing echoes through the arena—and not that of the crowd.

I freeze, head cocking, listening hard.

Because that legit sounds like a cell phone ringing.

I spin back to the ice and…all of a sudden, there’s a mic in my face. “Um…”

The operator just grins, and I understand why a moment later because a voice comes on that I know better than my own.

“Hey, Red.” My eyes shoot to the Jumbotron, heart squeezing when I see Damon, standing there looking like a god in his gorgeous suit, his face soft, his eyes burning just for me.

The microphone wiggles, prompting me to reply, “Hey, sweetheart.”

The crowd quiets just in time for him to say, “I have a question to ask you.”

Now my heart is rolling over in my chest, my pulse thundering to my veins. I don’t care that the guys are watching me, that twenty-thousand-plus gazes are likely glued to me. I just ask, “What’s that?”

His grin widens. “Well, you know I love you, and you love me?—”

There’s a collective inhalation from all around me.

“And you’re the absolute best thing that has ever happened to me…”

Someone says, “Aw!” and my lips curve up.

“I feel the same about you,” I say into the microphone.

More of the crowd joins in with an “Aw,” and I don’t miss that I’m suddenly surrounded by smirking hockey players.

Christ, I’m never going to live this down.

And I don’t fucking care.

“So…I wanted to ask if you’d do me the honor of marrying me.”

There’s another inhalation…or maybe that’s just me, because I can barely hear myself over my pounding heart, can barely force my lungs to keep drawing in air and letting it out again.

He asked?—

Holy shit.

Then the crowd starts chanting, “Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!” and every cell in my body screams at me to just blurt out my “Yes!” and turn into a blubbering mess.

But then…the mischief takes over.

I look up at the box high overhead, grin, and say, “I’ll have you know I don’t talk about my personal life in public.”

The crowd roars, laughter and cheers mingling at the blatant lie.

“Well, I guess that means I’d better get down here and ask you myself.”

I still.

Because that last sentence didn’t boom its way through the arena’s speakers.

It’s said from a couple of feet behind me.

Slowly, I turn around…and see that Damon’s on one knee just behind the bench.

“Come here, Red,” he orders.

“But you hate phone calls,” I blurt inanely.

“And yet”—his smile is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—“I just made the most important one of my life.”

I throw myself into his arms, and—spoiler alert—I turn into that blubbering mess. He doesn’t falter, just catches me close, holding me tightly against him, my tears soaking into his suit. His head drops, lips coming to my ear.

“Does this mean you say yes?”

Colt, Four Months Later

I crouch and unscrew the little black cap, press the tip of the ballpoint pen against the valve.

Air hisses out in a rush.

The tire slowly goes flat.

Is this a crime? Probably.

Is this the first time I’ve done this? Nope.

Kylie Connors is probably wondering why in the fuck she gets so many flat tires. And I’m the answer. Because every time she ends up with a flat—and this will be the fifth—I’m there to fix it for her.

Because it’s the only time she’ll acknowledge my presence.

Not when she tags along to the team events. Not when we come across each other in the halls of the practice rink or the Sierra’s home arena. Not after games or before practice or if we happen to run into each other in town.

It’s only when she’s trapped on the side of the dark, quiet road that she’ll talk to me.

Look at me.

And what she gives me during those short moments…it’s fucking beautiful. She’s funny and smart and?—

Intoxicating.

Irresistible.

Still, I’ve tried. To give her space, to let her come to me if and when she decides. To not push even though every part of me demands it.

I know what she went through, know it still haunts her.

So, I waited.

I just…can’t any longer.

I pull the tip of the pen out, survey my handiwork—low enough she shouldn’t immediately notice, but enough air gone that she won’t make it far.

Perfect. I screw on the cap, slink away to my car, and climb in.

Then I sit and wait for her to walk out of the arena.

To climb into her own car, start up the engine.

And when she drives out of the lot…

I follow.

Because I’m done waiting for Kylie Connors to come to me.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed Joey and Damon’s story of perseverance, finding the strength to allow love in, and all those phone calls! :) Don’t miss the final book in the Sierra Hockey series, ATTACKING THE ZONE . I’m done waiting for her to come to me. Tonight…everything changes.

* * *

If you love big, bearded hockey players who fall hard and fast for the women they love, pick up book one in the Grizzlies Hockey series, MARRIED TO NUMBER TWENTY-TWO NOW . I signed the contract. I just didn't expect her to show up ten years later, ready to cash it in.

Read on for a sneak peek below!