“No,” I say, leaning down to kiss her. “I don’t.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
ARTHUR
One YearLater
The best thingsin life are worth waiting for.
It was just over a year ago that our playoff run was ended by Boston in game seven of the Eastern Conference. It hurt. To come so close to the finals and go home empty-handed. It was a devastating loss for me and my team.
Hockey will break your heart.
But we took that heartbreak and used it as fuel, strengthening our resolve to come back bigger and better this season.
And that’s exactly what we did. The Otters have had a banner year, shattering multiple records and giving the franchise its best season ever.
It’s also been the best year of my life. Elliot and Sam have become more than the family I never knew I needed. They’re the family I never believed I deserved. And somehow, here we are. Living and changing and growing together, choosing each other every single day.
I’m still working with Cal, being bullied on a weekly basis. But faithfully doing my exercises for well over a year has been completely life changing. I have more strength, more flexibility, and most importantly, considerably less pain.
My life is fuller now. Louder. There’s more love and more laughter woven into my days and nights than I ever thought possible.
As much as I’ve loved living next door to Elliot and Sam this past year, we’re ready for the next step. Last week we closed on the house together, buying it from Glen.
The best things in life are worth waiting for.
And now here we are. Game five of the Stanley Cup Final. We’re up three games to one in the series. We don’tneedto win tonight.
But dammit, I want to.
My eyes sweep the crowd until they land where I know Elliot is sitting with Sam. My sister, Britt is there too, having flown in from Vancouver for the game. She’s methodically working her way through a pack of Twizzlers, which tells me everything I need to know. If she’s abandoned her health-nut routine, she’s nervous.
Elliot catches my eye. I can see the nerves in her too, the way her shoulders are just a little too tight. Then she lifts her hand and gives me a small wave, mouthing,I love you.
It hits me square in the chest, like it does every time.
I love her. God, more than anything. And no matter what happens tonight, or any night after this, I know one thing for certain. Elliot is my girl.
We’re clinging to a one-goal lead with five minutes left in the third, and Chicago is desperate. They’re throwing everything they have at us. Every shift is pure chaos. Pucks dumped deep, bodies crashing the crease, sticks slashing at rebounds that don’t exist yet.
Then everything goes wrong.
A lost draw in our zone. A quick pass to the point. Traffic in front. The shot comes through heavy and low, deflects off a shin pad, and sneaks past Foster before he can seal the post.
The cheers of the crowd die out as Chicago ties the game.
I grip the edge of the bench and stare at the ice as the puck is retrieved from the net. With just under four minutes left on the clock, we’ve got to get past their defences if we want to end this in regulation play.
Chicago celebrates their goal. It’s clear they think they’ve swung the momentum.
But they’re wrong.
Play resumes and it’s mayhem. Sloppier. Louder. Desperate. Every man on the ice is skating like this might be the last shift of his life. For a few of the older guys on both benches, it very well could be.
Then Chicago escalates things further. Crawford gets hit from behind and goes down hard. Sticks come up. Gloves shove. Bodies collide as both teams pile in, threats and obscenities being thrown around until the refs wedge themselves between them.
The ref’s arm goes up. Two minutes for the illegal hit.
