I pull my helmet back on, jaw tight.
“Yes, sir.”
For Connor.
For Harper.
For the ten years I didn’t know I was missing.
I step back onto the ice as the crowd roars, the lights blazing, the rumors swirling overhead like a storm I can’t stop.
But for the next twenty minutes?
I’m just a defenseman again.
And I play like I’ve got everything to lose.
Quinton Shay tries to get cute with a toe drag near the boards and I poke-check him clean, lifting his stick and stealing the puck like I’ve been doing it my whole damn life. I skate it out myself this time, head up, lungs burning, knowing Harper’s watching.
Knowing Connor’s watching.
Midway through the third, Chicago finally cracks.
Milo Landric takes a penalty for interference after absolutely leveling Ledger behind the play. The ref’s arm goes up immediately and the building erupts.
Power play.
I stay out.
We cycle the puck, moving the pesky birds side to side until their legs start to go. August feeds it to Oliver at the half wall, who adds a pass through traffic to me at the point.
I hesitate just long enough to draw Colby Nelson toward me. Then I pass it.
Bodhi sneaks in from behind and buries it top shelf style.
GOAL!
The horn blares and the crowd loses its mind. Bodhi slams into the glass in celebration and I’m there a second later, pulling him into a hug as red lights flash.
“Let’s fucking GO, Roche! Way to go!”
“Thanks for the assist, old man!”
I glance up instinctively and find my family celebrating with the team. Connor is jumping so hard Harper has her hands on his shoulders to keep him from vaulting over the glass. She’s laughing, her eyes bright, clapping like she’s just as proud as if she’d scored the goal herself.
My chest tightens all over again.
I love them both so damn much.
And I never want to hurt them.
Fuck, I just want to win this game for them.
For me.
For all of us.
But Chicago doesn’t roll over.
