“Kid’s twenty-two,” Paul mutters, shaking his head. “Threw him right into the fire.”
Down on the ice, Williams Junior drops into his stance like he’s been doing this for years. He’s calm. Controlled. No twitchy movements, no panic. Just laser focus.
“Kids damn good,” I say. I know it’s a fact, I’ve watched his tapes.
First shot comes fast—a slap from the point—and he snatches it midair like it’s nothing. The crowd goes off.
Paul lets out a low whistle. “Alright, kid. Show me more.”
And he does. He reads every rush, tracks every puck through traffic. The defense actually starts trusting him, tightening up, feeding off his energy. When he kicks a rebound wide and recovers before the winger can even blink, the place explodes again.
“Finally,” Paul says, pounding the glass. “A goalie who remembers the net’s the place you are supposed to keep the puckout of.”
I can’t help grinning. “Steady. Poised. He’s not trying to make it look good—he’s just good.”
Paul smirks. “Costello’s gonna have a hell of a decision to make when you’re cleared to play. You worried?”
“Not in the slightest.”
And that's also the truth. I’ve played this game since I was old enough to be on skates, 18 years old, worried that my years of English lessons weren’t going to be enough when I came to the States. Do I want a cup? Hell yes, I do, but the reality is this game is giving me more than I ever imagined. Sexiest man alive? That one still makes me laugh.
Beside us, Claudia laughs softly, the sound somehow cutting through the thunder of the crowd. She’s got Savannah on her lap, the baby wide-eyed at the light and noise. Paul glances over and grins.
“That little one’s got better focus than Johnson,” he says.
Claudia smiles, eyes still on the ice. “She knows a good save when she sees one.”
Paul chuckles. “Smart girl.”
Claudia chuckles. “She’s just learning early.”
I catch myself watching Claudia too long—how she presses her lips to Savannah’s head between plays, how her smile lingers even when the crowd dies down. It’s a quiet strength. The kind of calm I didn’t know I missed until now. The kind my mom has always shown, and I have never once seen in women that I have lain down with. And I cannot wait to feel all that surrounding my dick.Leveled up.
Then Paul groans. “There he goes again.”
Johnson gives up a soft one, and the whole arena groans. I bite back a curse. “Team’s skating uphill every shift because of him.”
Paul grumbles, “If I were younger, I’d march down there and yank him myself.”
“You, the whole team, and half the fans,” I say, rubbing at my temple.
The clock winds down. It’s tied, tension bleeding through every slap of the stick. I can feel it in my bones—the whole arena leaning forward at once.
Then I notice movement beside me—Nalani pushing up from her seat, eyes wild, hands shaking. “I can’t stay up here,” she says to Sofie, and before anyone can stop her, she’s gone, heels clacking down the hallway.
Paul raises an eyebrow. “She knows?”
I shake my head. “Not a clue.”
He chuckles, low and knowing. “Then she’s about to find out.”
Claudia’s watching the ice now, mouth parted, eyes bright. “What’s happening?”
“Watch,” Paul says simply.
Koa’s down there, number twenty-nine, fire in his stride. He’s moving like a man who’s got something to lose and something bigger to prove. He locks in, cuts left, feints right, and in one beautiful, ruthless motion, he rockets the puck past the goalie.
The horn blares. The place erupts. Paul’s on his feet, fist in the air. “That’s how it’s done!”
