The next play, Jordan gets called for tripping and sent to the penalty box with a minor when the Boston player clearly tripped over herself.
As soon as she’s out of the box, she’s roughed up. Despite her show of strength, she’s double-teamed and laid out on the ice. I jump to my feet, Sutton grabbing my hand. A mirror to Mom and Dad behind us.
Jordan gets up, and skates to the bench. She gives me a thumbs up to let me know she’s okay.
Her roommate, Xanie, scores an equalizer a minute later.
No more goals are scored during regulation.
They end up winning in a shoot out.
My Carmichael smile is back, and there’s no denying it. The way my cheeks pinch, the corners of my mouth starting to strain from how they are ticked up.
It’s the same joy I felt after my first time skating, first game, first goal.
The same way my heart beats when I look at Sutton.
She’s squeezing Elliot into a hug, jumping up and down as the women’s team throw their arms around each other.
“Let’s fucking gooooooooo.” Jaxon is pumping the big cardboard head of my sister in the air.
Dawson and Chase have their shirts off, whipping them around in the air above them. Beck has his little sister on his shoulders. Mads is waving her blue, green, and silver pom-poms.
“See! Hot and lucky? We should have grown them sooner. I’m not shaving this, going to get a head start for next season,” Jaxon shouts at us. There it is.
I loop an arm around him and tug my best friend into me.
“Manifesting baby. Back-to-back Frozen Four,” he keeps talking.
“I like the sound of that.” Chase keeps spinning his shirt. “Party at our place tonight? I’ll text the team.”
“Dibs on aux!” Elliot beats Jaxon to it. “I have a new playlist.”
We stick around and watch the girls accept the trophy, then file out to the lobby and wait around for them.
My parents are standing against a pillar with my other sister, Molly.
I walk over to them with Jaxon hot on my heels. “Hopefully the sun will help my tips stay fresh this summer. Do you think if I try lemon juice when we’re at the lake house it’ll work?” he asks.
“Dude, you’re asking the wrong person. Ask Molly.”
He does. She laughs, and before she can answer, Jordan shows up.
“You’re coming to the lake house with us?”
“What little Carmichael, scared of having fun?”
Mom steps around him, hugging Jordan. “Congratulations, honey.”
Dad ruffles her blue hair as a reporter I recognize from the ESPN special rushes to us.
“Ryn, any comments on your kids? How do you feel about the legacy and impact you’ve made on them with your career? What have you done to get them here this championship season?”
“I’m proud of Cooper and Jordan”—he turns over his shoulder to Molly and mouthsyou too—“but their success has nothing to do with my career. Now, if you’ll excuse us, she has a bus to catch.”
Jordan sticks her tongue out at the guy, and I shrug, wearing the Carmichael smile proudly.
FIFTY-FOUR
