forty-eight

GRIFFIN

My blood is pounding like a drum in my veins.

Not only is it game one of the playoffs, but I just made an undeniable declaration of love in front of the whole fucking country. More importantly, I made it in front of my wife.

“She can’t take her eyes off you,” Ryder says, chuckling as he looks up at the box to blow a kiss to his girlfriend, Lexi.

“Do you think she liked it?” I kept telling Mira I’d change my name to hers if she wanted.

I’m not stupid, I know she never took me seriously.

I hope she can finally see that I am. Because when it comes to making promises to my wife, I mean every word I say.

The guys will still call me Wright on the ice—because let’s face it, it would be confusing as hell if they called Maddox and I both Graves—but the whole arena, and every hockey fan in the US and Canada just saw how far I’m willing to go for the woman I love.

“Of course she liked it,” Bash says as he stops the puck I send sailing toward the net as we warm up. “I know things are still a little up in the air with you two, but she loves you, man. You’d have to be blind not to see it.”

Logan chuckles and elbows Maddox, who scowls. “Yeah. Blind like her brother.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Madds growls. There’s no real heat behind the words.

We’ve spent hours talking and working our shit out, so we’re good.

He knows now, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that I will do whatever it takes to love and take care of his sister.

I’ve made it clear that she’s it for me, and he’s finally accepted it.

“Don’t hassle my brother-in-law.” I grin, hip checking Byrne.

“Still weird,” Maddox grumbles. But even he’s smiling. He can claim it’s weird all he wants, and I guess on some level it is, but he likes it. So do I. It doesn’t get much better than having your best friend for a brother-in-law.

I allow myself to feel all the nerves and excitement about everything with Mira during warm-ups, but the moment we head back into the locker room so the crew can prepare the ice, I push all that back.

She’s who I’m playing for—the reason I want to have the best game of my life—but I’m also playing for the men around me who have become my family.

Through all of this, they’ve stood by me, listened to me, encouraged me, and yeah, punched me in the face. But family isn’t always sunshine and roses. It’s hard and gritty and sometimes it hurts more than you think it should. Then you band together, work your shit out, and have each other’s backs.

“You guys ready to kick the Steam’s ass?

” Maddox shouts in the locker room, his brown eyes blazing with the fire of upcoming battle.

He surveys each of us, locking eyes with the men who call him captain, as our anticipation and determination to win grows and thickens like smoke until we’re all breathing it in with deep gulps.

“Fuck, yeah,” I shout. It’s a response echoed by the men around me, growing louder and louder.

“This is our barn, boys. This is our ice. Our time. Our moment. Let’s get out there and show St. Louis how dangerous it is when Rogues band together and fight like one.

I want Bash to be bored because we’re doing such a good job of keeping the puck out of the defensive zone.

I want the fans to be tired because they have to jump to their feet to cheer so often, their legs ache.

” Maddox surveys us all like a general preparing his troops for war.

“We’ve been through a lot this year, and we’ve exceeded the expectations of the fans and commentators.

We overcame a coaching shake-up halfway through the season, injuries, long weeks on the road.

There were so many times this year when we could have grown weary or given up, but we didn’t.

And it’s all come to this. Tonight, we show the world what the Rogues are made of.

Tonight, we get one step closer to the cup. Are you ready?”

The answering roar is so loud, I feel it in my chest. It settles in right beside my love for Mira, filling me with the kind of determination that strengthens your bones and elongates your spine.

We skate out to the thunderous cheers of a packed barn, but I swear I can pick hers out above it all.

Time to win this. For my boys and for my wife.

We head into the third period down by one. It’s been an intensely physical game, and both teams are feeling the strain.

“We’ve got this, boys,” I shout as we retake the ice. “St. Louis is starting to lose their steam .” Waggling my eyebrows, I make my teammates chuckle at the play on the other team’s name. “But we aren’t. We could do this all night. Let’s fucking go.”

Bumping gloves, we take our positions at center ice. Maddox offers a feral grin to the opposing captain, dropping his stick in preparation for the puck drop.

“I hope you boys have enjoyed your momentary lead. We’ll be taking that away now,” I say conversationally to one of St. Louis’s wingers.

“The same way you took a woman’s name?” The asshole scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Fucking pussy.”

The second the puck drops, the chirpy little shit goes for possession, and I smile wickedly. Can’t really hit an opponent if they’re not going for the puck, but if he is? Well, then it’s game on.

He lets out a grunt of pain as I slam him hard into the boards. Music to my ears. He staggers and struggles to stay on his feet.

“You know,” I say to the guy as I pass the puck to Byrne, “pussies can take quite the pounding. Unlike you, you pansy-ass little bitch. No matter what name I’m wearing on my jersey, I can still kick your ass.”

The winger lets out a strangled cry and speeds my way, trying to check me.

I spin out of the way with a grin, and the dumbass goes careening into the boards.

If we weren’t behind, I’d drop my gloves and blow off some steam on the guy’s face, but there’s no way in hell I’m getting sent to the penalty box in the third while we’re down a point.

As I race down the ice, everything fades away, except for my teammates, the puck, and the driving need to win this one for my girl.

The guys and I pick up speed while St. Louis flags.

The cheers and chants of our hometown crowd are a shot of adrenaline as we outmaneuver and out-finesse our opponents.

Two minutes into the third, Maddox passes to Byrne, who fakes out a defenseman before tapping the puck to me.

Glancing at Madds, I act like I’m about to set him up for a shot.

The Steam’s goalie tracks my attention and shifts in the goal, leaving the upper right corner open.

Without shifting my full attention to the crease, I tip the puck onto my stick and send it sailing up over the goalie’s shoulder and into the net.

The sirens sound, the red lights flash, and just like that, the game is tied.

My teammates crowd around me, hugging and fist-bumping, but as soon as I can, I look up at my wife, who’s jumping up and down in the box, and make a heart with my hands.

I expect her to blush or maybe cover her face with her hands, because I know she doesn’t love the public attention she’s getting tonight, but she doesn’t.

She holds her hands up and returns the gesture.

And man, does that feel good.

With the game now tied, both sides up the intensity, and the already physical game ratchets up a notch. I’m panting when I hit the bench after a line change, but the adrenaline rushing through my system doesn’t slow.

We’re going to win this game.

Coach Fry talks us through strategies for the remaining fifteen minutes of play, then the guys and I are hopping the boards and back on the ice.

We drive hard toward the Steam’s crease and do our best to keep the assholes away from Bash.

It’s a constant game of back and forth, and the minutes tick down too quickly.

We need to lock this up without going into overtime. I want to see my wife.

Eighteen minutes into the third period, our mascot leads the crowd in a chant of let’s go, Rogues , and the atmosphere crackles with expectation .

Ryder and the other d-man have the Steam held up at the boards, chipping away at a stuck puck, when Hanson gets a piece of it and sends the biscuit my way.

With enough of the Steam still occupied by our guys, Logan, Maddox, and I streak down the ice on a breakaway.

The crowd cheers as I pass the puck to Byrne, who taps a blind pass to Graves when the Steam’s center gets too close.

Graves sees an opening and slaps the puck hard at the net.

It glances off the pipe on the long side of the goal, rebounding and heading straight for Byrne.

Intercepting the Steam player heading for Logan, I buy him time to tap the puck back at the net.

The arena falls silent for a beat, waiting to see if the shot is good, then the puck hits the net, the siren blares, and with a minute and a half left in play, we’ve taken the lead.

With the clock ticking down, we don’t let our intensity slip because a lot can happen in a minute and a half on the ice. It’s a brutal battle down to the last second, but when the buzzer sounds, we celebrate, along with the fans.

Game one of the quarterfinals is in the bag. Our first win of the postseason, and I scored a goal wearing my wife’s last name. Perfection.

All I can think about is showering, answering the questions I know the press will ask about my little display tonight, then holding Mira in my arms. Because as much as I love this game and my team, as hungry as I am to take this all the way to the Cup, what I’m most worried about winning is my wife back.

Everything else is icing on the cake.