Back in the locker room, it’s absolute mayhem.
Music’s blasting, bass rattling the metal benches.
“Boys!” Connor shouts the second I step inside. “Wefuckedthem upbaadddwith that win!”
Someone slams a stick against a locker — Bang!
Another voice yells, “Champagne’s open! Grab a cup or open your mouth!”
“Who the hell brought confetti?” Mickey cackles, shaking pieces out of his hair.
“I did,” one of the rookies shouts back. “Playoff energy, baby!”
“Man, sit down,” Max laughs. “We’re not even halfway through the damn season.”
“But it felt good!” the confetti guy protests.
The place erupts in laughter.
Connor points at me through a cloud of champagne mist. “Look at Callaghan pretending he doesn’t love this shit. Look at him! This man is fuckingglowing.”
I just shake my head, giving Conner a finger.
Nik and Dom engage in a quiet conversation near their lockers, the two of them always in on some inside scoop running a playbook the rest of us don’t get to see.
I wait.
I wait while the guys shower and dress, while the adrenaline fades and the room starts to clear out.
I keep replaying that look between Nik and Coach, the one that saidthis win means more than hockey.
And I think about his offer.When you’re ready to talk, find me.
So when Nik heads toward the media room for post-game interviews, I follow. I hang back in the hallway as he stands under the bright lights, talking to the press about determination, teamwork, grit—every buzzword they eat up.
When he finishes, he steps out in the hallway, and there is a determined glee in his eyes that goes beyond simply winning a hard-won game.
He meets my gaze, arching an eyebrow in question.
I square my shoulders and meet his gaze.
“All right,” I say. “Let’s talk.”
8
EMMA
Laddie practically bouncesup each step, his backpack thumping against his little legs. I’m trying to keep up, clutching his overnight bag like it’s my emotional support.
“Mama,” he says, voice full of excitement, “Tristan’s mom gottwokinds of cake for the party.Two!and ice cream! And we’re gonna have pizza, and watch movies, and sleep on sleeping bags on the floor!”
“Wow,” I say, smiling even though my stomach’s in knots. “That sounds like the best party ever. Just don’t give yourself a bellyache with all that food, okay?”
“I won’t,” he says confidently, then pauses. “Well… maybe a little one. But afunbellyache.”
I laugh, smoothing down his hair. “Only you would think there’s such a thing.”
He grins up at me. “Mama, can you believe I’m big enough for a sleepover?”
