Five months ago, he took a bullet for me, and now here he is, destroying everyone who touches the puck like the animal I know he is. Like my fucking grizzly bear. After this game, after we win this fucking championship, I'm going to show him exactly how proud of him I am.
And this summer, I'm settling some debts. Kai found those fuckers from the group home—three of them, living normal lives like they didn't destroy my husband.
Not for much longer.
On the ice, Western Michigan cycles the puck back to the point, their defenseman winding up for a slap shot.
“Screen.” Jenkins and I both call it at the same time.
Sure enough, their center plants his ass right in Viktor's face. The shot goes high, clanging off the crossbar, the sound echoing through the arena.
Too fucking close.
“Twenty-eight's got a tell. Drops his right shoulder before he shoots.” Every little fucking detail matters when we’re down by two.
“First line, you're up!” Nieminen barks.
Coach is shortening the bench. Smart. Can't afford to fuck around with three minutes left.
I vault over the boards, Jenkins right behind me, and skate to the face-off circle.
Western Michigan's center is already there. “Give up now, Henneman. You fucks aren’t getting the trophy this year.”
I lean in. “Check the scoreboard in three minutes.”
The ref drops the puck and I win it clean, sending it back to Zach. Western Michigan’s center tries to tie up my stick but I'm driving through him with my shoulder.
Zach passes to our left winger who carries it up the boards. As I cut through the neutral zone, their defenseman grabs my jersey but I drive my elbow back into his ribs.
No call.
Jenkins has the puck now, crossing the blue line. He passes to Ryan, who's streaking down the left side. Their defenseman steps up but Ryan dekes around him.
Fuck, that's hot.
I plant myself in front of their net. Their goalie's trying to track Ryan, but I'm making damn sure he can't see shit. Their defenseman cross-checks me in the back, and when the ref's watching the puck in the corner, I slash him across the ankle.
“Fucking pussy.”
I snort, battling his stick. “Whatever makes you feel better, bitch.”
My husband doesn’t have a clear shot, so he passes to Jenkins who then cycles the puck back to the point. Zach walks the blue line, then takes a shot. The puck comes low, but I get my stick on it, redirecting it over the goalie’s left pad.
The red light goes on.
The arena explodes.
“Let's fucking go!” Jenkins crashes into me, then Ryan's there, wrapping his arms around both of us. His face is pure fucking joy.
Ryan presses the front of his helmet against mine. “Beautiful redirect.”
“Still need two more to win it.”
We skate back to the bench, but Nieminen’s keeping us out.
Two minutes left.
Western Michigan wins the face-off, and their center immediately dumps it into our zone. Their winger chases it down behind the net while Viktor tracks him, sliding post to post.
