The partners are all in their usual spot, behind the net. Pippa’s on her feet, wearing Streicher’s jersey, cheering and waving as he makes his way to the net and the fans cheer for their goalie. She taps the necklace on her chest and he nods at her.
“Your captain, Rory Miller!”
Rory hits the ice, and the fans cheer extra loud.Daddy Miller,one sign reads. He points to Hazel, sitting behind the net beside Pippa, wearing his jersey, and puts a hand on his heart. Rory’s parents, Rick and Nicole, sit in the row behind the women, along with Hazel and Pippa’s parents, and the group couldn’t look prouder.
“Hayden Owens!”
Hayden does a lap with a beaming grin, skating behind the net past Darcy, who’s wearing his jersey. He blows her a kiss and she smiles.
My good luck charm,he mouths, pointing at her through the glass.
“On the bench tonight, longtime Storm player and assistant coach, Alexei Volkov!”
A roar of appreciation from the fans as Volkov steps through the doorway. He nods with a serious expression, but his eyes find Georgia behind the net, also wearing his jersey, and his mouth softens into a smile.
“As of this afternoon, she’s part-owner of the Vancouver Storm—” and the fans start cheering, knowing exactly who he’s talking about. Their favorite. Clips of her sticking up for herself at the press conference this afternoon have gone viral and amassed more support than even I could have predicted. “Jordan Hathaway!”
The fans cheer just as loud for Jordan as they do for the players, on their feet, waving their flags and towels and making noise to show their appreciation for the woman who loves the Storm as much as they do.
She looks back through the doorway, smiling at me with emotion in her eyes.
Told you,my expression says, and she rolls her eyes, still smiling.
“And now,” the announcer says, and the arena falls quiet. “He won us the Cup thirteen years ago and he’s bringing it home againtonight. Hall of Famer, beloved coach, and now part-owner of the Vancouver Storm. COACH... TATE... WARD!”
The arena is deafening, and my heart. My fucking heart. I step through the doorway onto the bench and give the arena a wave before looking down at Jordan, applauding beside me, a sharp sting in my eyes. Our guys tap their sticks on the ice, smiling over at us. Bea, Holly, Jeff, and Noah are three rows back behind the bench, all wearing my jersey, Bea on her feet, waving at us. I wave back, my heart so full of love.
If only I could have known, during those dark, miserable years, that this moment was in store for me. That there was so much love down the road. Love of the game. Love of my guys and watching them on their own journeys, both in hockey and life. Love of my daughter, my whole world.
Love of Jordan. My other half.
The other team is introduced, Pippa comes out to sing the anthem before taking her seat behind the net again, and the game begins.
It’s three and a half minutes into overtime. The game is tied, two-two. The guys fight with everything they have, hanging on tooth and nail.
They want this so, so badly. We’re so close. They’re exhausted, though. Worn out and running on fumes.
I call a time out and gesture to Miller, who skates over to the bench, breathing hard, sweat pouring off him.
“What do you think? Another shift or do you need a break?”
He’s tired, but determination floods his eyes. “Keep me in. We just need one goal.”
“Owens,” I call down the bench, nodding at the ice. “You’re in, too.”
He climbs over the boards, joining Miller and the other forward, starting their shift.
A moment later, they get their opportunity. Owens passes to Miller, Miller shoots, and the arena crescendos with noise as the fans get excited, but the other team’s goalie deflects the puck.
Miller gets the puck back and shoots again—but it pings off the crossbar. The fans yell in frustration and disappointment. Miller snags the puck again.
Jordan’s hand is over her mouth, her eyes wide as she watches. An urgent desperation tightens in my throat.
“Come on,” she prays. “Come on.”
She reaches for my hand, and I lace my fingers through hers, my pulse in my ears.
Miller shoots again.
