One minute left.
Their winger tries to cut through center ice. I line him up and destroy him with an open ice hit. “Stay down, bitch.”
But Western Michigan has the puck in our zone. Their defenseman winds up from the point. I drop to block the shot, but he fakes it, passing cross ice instead.
Fuck.
Their winger one times it. Viktor makes the save, but there's another guy crashing the net. And another. Too many fucking bodies.
Wait.
I look back at their end. Empty net.
They pulled their goalie.
There’s a scramble in our crease. Zach’s shoving, hip checking, doing whatever it takes to clear these fuckers out. Viktor drops and covers the puck with his glove.
The refs blow the whistle
Face-off in our zone again. Six attackers.
Western Michigan wins possession. The puck goes back to the point—another shot. I get a piece of it, but it deflects to their winger. He shoots. Viktor stops it and controls the rebound.
He doesn't even look, just launches the puck down the ice because we need the icing call. It’ll give us time to reset, to get fresh legs out here.
Only . . . holy shit.
The puck’s perfectly lined up.
One of their players dives, swinging their stick. But it’s too late. The puck slides right into the middle of their empty net.
A goalie goal.
A fucking goalie goal.
Viktor just won us the championship.
Sticks and gloves go flying, our bench clears, and everyone gets on to the ice. Jenkins jumps on Viktor, who's grinning at Coach Harper.
Ryan skates over to me, helmet off, sweat dripping down his face. But his smile is so fucking bright. “We fucking did it.”
“We did. But neither of us won that bet.”
He laughs.
I grab his jersey and yank him against me, claiming his mouth in front of eighteen thousand people, including our teammates.
Mine. My husband. My family.
His arms wrap around my neck, and he kisses me back just as hard.
My hockey career might be over, but my life with Ryan? That's just getting started.
Epilogue
Mr. Bristow
The city’s financial district glitters outside, flaunting its floor-to-ceiling windows, all glass and steel, pretending it doesn’t rot from the inside out. Hide Rooftop Bar operates on the same principle with its velvet banquettes, candlelight flickering off cut crystal, and a skyline view meant to impress people who need illusions to feel powerful.
