"It is," I confirm, ruffling his hair. "Big game."
"You’re gonna win the cup tonight, right?"
Reese catches my eye over his head. "Daddy's going to try his best," she says, saving me from having to answer. "But first, breakfast. How about we let Daddy have some quiet time while we make some eggs?"
Tyler nods seriously, understanding in his three-year-old way that game days are different. "I'll be extra quiet, Daddy," he whispers loudly. "So you can think about hockey."
"Thanks, buddy." I kiss the top of his head.
Reese leads him to the kitchen, keeping their voices low as they clatter around with pans and plates. I close my eyes and listen to them.
After breakfast, it’s time to put on my game-day suit—charcoal gray with subtle pinstripes, white shirt, blue tie. Game day routine.
"You look handsome," Reese says, grabbing my lapels. “And your tie is perfect.”
"Game face," Tyler declares, puffing out his cheeks and trying to look serious.
I can't help but smile, bending down to his level. "You take good care of Reese today, okay? And I'll see you both at the rink."
"I'll cheer so loud," he promises, throwing his arms around my neck in a stranglehold hug I never want to end.
When I stand, she walks me to the door, and pats my chest. "I love you," she whispers. "No matter what happens tonight."
I pull her close, breathing her in. "I love you too. See you on the ice."
The drive to the rink is a lovely calm.
The United Center is already humming with energy when I arrive, though the game is still hours away. I nod to security guards and staff as I make my way to the locker room. Equipment managers and trainers move around me, respecting my space, understanding the routine.
I'm arranging my gear in my stall when Sully appears.
"You bring it?" he asks without preamble.
I glance around to make sure no teammates are within earshot. "Yeah," I confirm, gesturing to my locker. "It's in my jacket."
Sully's face breaks into a wide grin. "Never took you for such a romantic, Mac. Proposing after winning the Cup? That's some movie-level shit right there."
"After we win," I caution.
"When we win," he corrects, echoing Reese's earlier words. "Team's ready. You're ready." He claps my shoulder.
I can't argue with that.
Sully pushes it even farther with a sly smile, "Win the Cup, get the girl, live happily ever after. Just like we drew it up."
He leaves me to my preparations, and I fall into the familiar rhythm of pre-game routine – stretching, visualizing, re-taping my stick. By the time we take the ice for warmups, my mind is clear, thinking only about the task ahead.
The stands are nearly full already. Fans are watching us circle and shoot. I scan the WAG box for Reese. She’s in the second row with Tyler perched on her lap and pointing me out to him. He spots me and waves frantically, I take my glove off and wave back.
I skate one more lap, muscles warm, mind sharp. We're ready. I'm ready. Tonight, we win it all. Just like I drew it up.
Five games into the Stanley Cup Finals, and my body feels like it's been in multiple car crashes. Colorado's been relentless—hitting everything that moves. Two home wins, a road loss, then clawing our way to victory in Game 4 in Denver. Now we're one win away from hoisting the Cup tonight.
The game is brutal—both teams desperate, physical, relentless.
When Colorado scores first, the building goes silent, but Benny answers fast. We trade goals through two periods until Jonesy puts us ahead 3-1 heading into the third.
With three minutes left and Colorado pushing, their defenseman winds up from the point. I don't think—just drop to block it. The puck catches me above the shin pad, pain exploding up my leg. On the bench, I can barely breathe, but there's no way I'm missing this finish.
