Page 40 of Rebel Secrets (Devils Hockey #3)

Six months after the wedding

R ebel

“What the hell do you mean, I’m getting a penalty. That fucker tripped me.”

The Devils were losing, unusual this season. We were on fire only two months in, but I’d just taken a bad penalty. No way in hell I was going to admit it, though. Especially not with the fans as fired up as they were.

I’d taken the bait from the Stag player, who’d checked Ian into the boards harder than he should have and made the kid limp back to the bench. Of course I’d gone after the bastard.

The crowd cheered and banged on the glass as I skated to the penalty box, plotting my revenge. And going over my dance.

My guys killed the penalty, and I skated back onto the ice, one thought in mind.

I made a beeline for the defensive blue line to the screams of the crowd.

I saw Max Butcher, who’d just gotten the puck, had picked me up.

He made the pass of my dreams, straight at me and right on the tape, and I took off for the other end of the ice.

The Stags defense got caught on the wrong side of their blue line.

And now it was just me and the goalie.

And then it was just me and the net.

The crowd roared as I nailed it home top right corner. My guys banged the hell out of my back as we skated to the bench for fist bumps.

Then the announcer called me out to center ice.

I found her in the stands, in the seats near the Devils’ defensive zone. Erin liked to sit where she could see me play the most.

She wore a sweater with my number and name on the back, whooping and circling her arm in the air. She knew what was coming. It was my first goal of the season.

The music started. It’d taken me a few tries to come up with the perfect song for my goal dance, but I think I’d found it.

Bruce Springsteen’s “Red-headed Woman.”

It’d taken a little judicious editing to make the song family-friendly enough for our audience, and it was only thirty seconds, but I’d choreographed the hell out of those thirty seconds. For her.

I heard the crowd go wild, but I swore I could hear her voice over all of them.

And when we got back to my place that night after the game, I put on the song and performed it just for her.

I’d barely finished when she jumped into my arms and wrapped her legs around my waist. Her fingers combed through my still-wet hair, and she bumped her nose against mine.

“I love you, Rebel.”

“I love you back.”

After a kiss, I set her on her feet. And went to my knees.

If you don’t know the song, go and listen to it. It’s a good one.