Or maybe John has called it and ended up in the stands because listening to Kylie and Beth’s nervous babbling as the game wound down got to be too much for him.
Speaking of Kylie, our Girls’ Nights are regular, our crocheting didn’t get any better, and my spidey sense of something happening between her and Colt has been pinging off the charts lately.
There’s something there, even if she denies it.
Maybe even because she denies ittoomuch.
Either way, I have my eye on that, and it’s one of the few things I haven’t shared with Damon. Yes, it’s technically breaking my promise to be open and truthful about all things, but as the counselor we’ve been seeing once a week has statedon more than one occasion, there are a few truths we can keep to ourselves.”
Like,Yes, Beth, your meatloaf is delicious.
And,Of course, those jeans are flattering, Ky.
And,No, sweetheart, your sister isn’t a sexual being. Nope. Absolutely not.
The rest of it, though, Damon and I have both put the work in, and we’re good.
We’regreat.
Even the scandal that followed my social media showdown with Zach Hiller worked out far better than I could have ever hoped for—with my and the others’ permission, the D.A. moved quickly, offering Travis a plea deal that saw him seeing jail time. Not nearly enough, it won’teverbe enough.
But it was something.
And those few months in jail were nothing when compared to the public backlash he faced, especially as more women came out with their own accusations.
But I’m moving forward, putting it all to bed.
Of course, I spent the month after the infamous video doing far more interviews than I ever wanted, talking about what happened too damned much…all while trying to coach. But the funny thing was, the more I talked about it, the more I heard about other people’s experiences—peoplebecause it wasn’t just women who shared with me—the more that seed of strength inside me grew.
Like the first slender stalk had popped out of the soil that night I confronted Zach, but it was just a beginning.
And now it’s grown into something beautiful.
Even though it began in pain.
Kind of like this moment—lost sleep and injuries and failures, years of struggling, battling,surviving, grinding out gamesand crying when trades meant losing someone I cared about, the stress, the pressure…all of it has coalesced into…
This.
Watching my guys each take their turn to hoist the Cup.
It’s beauty and joy and having the insane urge to start all over again so we can get right back here.
Grinning, I start to turn for the hall, ready to leave them to their celebration—or maybe to go find my man so we can do some celebrating of our own, but I barely make it a quarter-rotation before ringing echoes through the arena—and not that of the crowd.
I freeze, head cocking, listening hard.
Because that legit sounds like a cell phone ringing.
I spin back to the ice and…all of a sudden, there’s a mic in my face. “Um…”
The operator just grins, and I understand why a moment later because a voice comes on that I know better than my own.
“Hey, Red.” My eyes shoot to the Jumbotron, heart squeezing when I see Damon, standing there looking like a god in his gorgeous suit, his face soft, his eyes burning just for me.
The microphone wiggles, prompting me to reply, “Hey, sweetheart.”
The crowd quiets just in time for him to say, “I have a question to ask you.”
