He’s not mad. In fact, he looks excited about us truly being related. But he still punches me in the shoulder. “You’d better tell me before you do it. You owe me that. It’s literally the least you can do.”
“All right. That’s fair,” I agree easily. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m basically an open book at this point, with every thought that passes through my head falling out of my mouth, which is a new experience for me. Both to express myself that way, but also to have someone—orsomeones, if I include Dom, which I do—who want to hear it all.
The small break is just the mental refresher I need, and when we hit the ice again, I’m ready to finish this game the way I’ve always dreamed ... as a winner. As a Stanley Cup champion.
We fight hard. We play harder. And when the final horn sounds out, I can’t believe we’ve actually done it. We’re not on home ice, but it doesn’t matter. Helmets and sticks scatter across the ice, confetti and streamers fall, and the Hawks fans’ cheers are a loud roar as the whole team mobs Howe, making a dogpile of Hawks players, all celebrating.
I feel the sting of tears as my heart bursts in my chest with joy. Even feeling the truth of it, I double-check the scoreboard on the jumbotron, needing to see it spelled out for me.Hawks 4, Blizzard2.And then the whole screen goes black before it flashesStanley Cup Champions—Hawks.
We did it. I did it.
And though it was a team effort and I love my guys, I search for Penny in the crowd once more. She’s crying openly, a wide smile stretched across her face, and her hands clutched over her chest. Making a heart with her hands, she mouths,I love you.Or maybe she screams it, I can’t be sure in the chaotic cacophony surrounding me.
I don’t think this day could get any better.
I got the girl. I got the trophy. I kept the best friend. And I found myself along the way.
“I love you too!” I yell across the ice. She can’t hear me, either, but I know she reads my lips all the same, because she throws her arms in the air, shaking her fists like she’s cheering with invisible poms.
That’s my Penny. The best cheerleader I’ve ever had.
Chapter 30
Griffin
“Do you think he’s going to like it?” Penny asks me for the tenth time.
She’s staring at the engagement ring she custom-designed for Miles Conniver like it might’ve somehow cracked in half since she popped open the box to peek at it “one more time” five minutes ago.
“No,” I deadpan from my sprawl on her couch, the best part of the offseason, in my opinion. This thing is so comfortable. The only thing that’d make it better is if Penny came over here and relaxed with me, but she’s too wound up. Understandably so. Working on this design has consumed her for the last few weeks. While I watched scouting videos, preparing for every round of the playoffs, she sketched, made mock-ups on her computer, and even created a 3D printed sample. And that was all before she started melting down the rose gold to actually make the band.
She huffs, a pouty frown marring her face when she tears her eyes away from the ring to glare at me.
“He’s gonna love it,” I finish.
I watch her expression brighten, then soften. “I think so too. I hope Georgina will want me to design her wedding band.”
“Of course she will. How could she not want the most talented jewelry designer—and the sexiest—to make her ring?” I pause, tiltingmy head. “Though she is marrying a Mob boss, so good decisions might not be her strong suit.”
Penny laughs. “Fair point. But you should hear the way he talks about her. He loves her so much. It’s not the norm, but what’s normal? I mean, look at us.” She waves a hand between us, and though I hate to admit it, she’s right. Nothing about the two of us should match.
She’s sunshine, I’m an asshole (though I’m working on it). She’s never met a stranger, people are just friends she hasn’t made yet, while if I never had to talk to anyone but her and Dom for the rest of my life, I’d be fine. Probably better than fine. She’s short and soft with curves in all the right places, and I’m tall and built like a brick shithouse, and planning on getting brickier soon with offseason lifting.
And her softness extends into her soul, the same way my hardness does ... right down to my core. Though I am learning to trust, to be vulnerable, to feel things and share them, secure enough with Penny to believe that any ugly thoughts or fears I express won’t be the thing that finally sends her running.
In return, I’m doing my damnedest to love Penny the best I can. I want her towantto be with me, not just because I’m a work in progress but because I make her life better, her days happier, her brilliant soul buzz with joy. Yeah, I’m always going to be overprotective, and chances are, there are going to be sprained ankles here, sketchy choices there, and of course her new bestie, the Mob boss, to contend with. But more than protecting her, I want to be the solid foundation she can return to after she flies off on whatever tangential whim strikes her. Never caging her, just being her safe place, the same way she’s mine.
“What’dya mean? We’re totally normal!” I counter, not even remotely sounding like I believe that. “Normal people have lunch plans with the most powerful and scariest man in the city at his private table in the impossible-to-get-a-reservation restaurant he owns. And I’m sure everyone drinks champagne from a giant silver cup after a good day at the office. Or creates art out of thousands of dollars’ worth of diamonds. Everyone definitely comes home to someone they love morethan life itself, that makes them glad to have had another day on this earth just to spend those twenty-four hours with them.”
Penny’s initial laughter at my list of normal chokes off. “Aww, you’re the sweetest,” she says, setting the ring box down and crossing the room to sit half on me, half on the couch. “I am glad to have today with you.”
I grin wolfishly. “I meant that I’m the lucky bastard who gets to spend time with you, but thanks.” I gather her into my arms, burying my nose in her neck and simply inhaling her. I truly could sit here with her like this all day, or longer—like forever.
There’s just one problem with that plan. Miles Conniver is not the sort of man one is fashionably late to lunch with.
Penny
Every table in Aqua Est Vita is full, and as the hostess escorts us to the very back, eyes turn to follow us. Well, to follow Griffin. He sticks out like a sore thumb in the fancy restaurant, and despite his slacks and oddly suave sports coat, he might as well be wearing a jersey with his name emblazoned on it. Everyone knows who he is, even if they’re not hockey fans. How could they not, when the Hawks have been plastered on every news show, billboard, and ad across the city?
