Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
By the end of period two, the score is Hawks 3, Blizzard 1.
The locker room this time has a different vibe. We’re not prematurely celebrating, but it definitely feels like the Cup is close, barely out of our reach. Even if we don’t score again, the cushion we’ve gained makes our victory feel like a near sure thing.
I sip a Red Bull and steadily chew through a bag of sour apple gummy bears, getting the caffeine and sugar into my bloodstream for what promises to be the longest twenty-minute period of my life.
“Ready?” I grunt at Dominic, who’s sitting next to me, wiping his face with a cold towel.
“Fuck yeah. You?”
“Absolutely.” As we line back up to take to the ice one more time, he holds his fist out, and I pound it with my own. “You and me, two against the world.”
“Always, brother. Hey, maybe one day you’ll actually be my brother.”
“That’s the plan,” I tell him, totally serious.
He’s not mad. In fact, he looks excited about us truly being related. But he still punches me in the shoulder. “You’d better tell me before you do it. You owe me that. It’s literally the least you can do.”
“All right. That’s fair,” I agree easily. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m basically an open book at this point, with every thought that passes through my head falling out of my mouth, which is a new experience for me. Both to express myself that way, but also to have someone—or someones, if I include Dom, which I do—who want to hear it all.
The small break is just the mental refresher I need, and when we hit the ice again, I’m ready to finish this game the way I’ve always dreamed . . . as a winner. As a Stanley Cup champion.
We fight hard. We play harder. And when the final horn sounds out, I can’t believe we’ve actually done it. We’re not on home ice, but it doesn’t matter. Helmets and sticks scatter across the ice, confetti and streamers fall, and the Hawks fans’ cheers are a loud roar as the whole team mobs Howe, making a dogpile of Hawks players, all celebrating.
I feel the sting of tears as my heart bursts in my chest with joy. Even feeling the truth of it, I double-check the scoreboard on the jumbotron, needing to see it spelled out for me. Hawks 4, Blizzard 2. And then the whole screen goes black before it flashes Stanley Cup Champions—Hawks.
We did it. I did it.
And though it was a team effort and I love my guys, I search for Penny in the crowd once more. She’s crying openly, a wide smile stretched across her face, and her hands clutched over her chest. Making a heart with her hands, she mouths, I love you. Or maybe she screams it, I can’t be sure in the chaotic cacophony surrounding me.
I don’t think this day could get any better.
I got the girl. I got the trophy. I kept the best friend. And I found myself along the way.
“I love you too!” I yell across the ice. She can’t hear me, either, but I know she reads my lips all the same, because she throws her arms in the air, shaking her fists like she’s cheering with invisible poms.
That’s my Penny. The best cheerleader I’ve ever had.
Chapter 30
Griffin
“Do you think he’s going to like it?” Penny asks me for the tenth time.
She’s staring at the engagement ring she custom-designed for Miles Conniver like it might’ve somehow cracked in half since she popped open the box to peek at it “one more time” five minutes ago.
“No,” I deadpan from my sprawl on her couch, the best part of the offseason, in my opinion. This thing is so comfortable. The only thing that’d make it better is if Penny came over here and relaxed with me, but she’s too wound up. Understandably so. Working on this design has consumed her for the last few weeks. While I watched scouting videos, preparing for every round of the playoffs, she sketched, made mock-ups on her computer, and even created a 3D printed sample. And that was all before she started melting down the rose gold to actually make the band.
She huffs, a pouty frown marring her face when she tears her eyes away from the ring to glare at me.
“He’s gonna love it,” I finish.
I watch her expression brighten, then soften. “I think so too. I hope Georgina will want me to design her wedding band.”
“Of course she will. How could she not want the most talented jewelry designer—and the sexiest—to make her ring?” I pause, tilting my head. “Though she is marrying a Mob boss, so good decisions might not be her strong suit.”
Penny laughs. “Fair point. But you should hear the way he talks about her. He loves her so much. It’s not the norm, but what’s normal? I mean, look at us.” She waves a hand between us, and though I hate to admit it, she’s right. Nothing about the two of us should match.