Griffin laughs. He throws his head back and nearly loses the helmet he hasn’t buckled on. “Details, details. That woman is completely in love with you. I wouldn’t worry.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“He’s right,” Logan says as he attempts to slap a shot between my knees.
I stop it. “Just because you guys want her to be doesn’t mean she is.”
“I get that it’s scary because you have ten years of feelings riding on this, but trust us. She’s into you. Kiss her tonight. You’ll see.”
I’d love to kiss her tonight, but I’ve waited this long. I won’t force it and have our first kiss be some awkward, public thing. When I finally kiss Indigo Bloom, it’s going to be perfect.
When warm-ups end and we wait for the ice crew to resurface the ice and get it ready for play, my mind is on Indie. On kissing her. On making her mine.
It should be distracting, but it’s not. Indie Bloom and her perfect mouth are the best inspiration as I vow to play the best game possible. She’s in the building. I need to impress her and show her that the faith she’s apparently always had in me hasn’t been misguided. And then, when the time is right, I’m going to kiss the hell out of her.
With ten minutesleft in the third period, we’re up by two, and I’ve blocked every single shot Denver has sent flying my way. I don’t have a clear line of sight to the family box from the crease, but I know Indie’s been cheering for me with each save. The guys have told me every time they see her jumping in the air and hugging one of the women.
I want every game to be like this. With her in the box, laughing and having a good time as she cheers me on with the women who have become family. I want Indie to be family too.
The world narrows down to Denver’s approaching offensive line. They pass the puck back and forth smoothly and quickly, hoping to fake me out or catch me off guard.
They won’t succeed.
The Stags’ center taps the puck to the left wing, who swings his stick back like he’s going to take a shot, but I track his eye movements, and he gives himself away by glancing at their wide-open right winger. I’m already shifting my weight when he passes it. The right winger doesn’t hesitate. He thinks I’ve left him an opening, and he’s going to take it.
The puck stings when I catch it in my mitt. Every Rogues fan in the arena goes wild, and Maddox rubs the top of my helmet before the ref grabs the puck and instructs both teams to line up for another face-off.
Denver makes another ten shots before the buzzer sounds, and the arena erupts into cacophonous cheers. I stop every single one.
“Holy shit, dude,” Griffin cheers as he slams into me for what would be a bone-crushing hug if I wasn’t covered in protectivegear. “Another shutout. And in the playoffs. Fucking beast, man!”
The rest of the team converges on me, and I’m pelted with slaps on the back and the helmet. My eyes keep darting toward the section containing the family box, even though I know I won’t be able to see her.
“You’re a damn wall,” Logan cheers, pressing his forehead to mine. “Your girl’s cheering her head off.”
Hearing that snaps the last of my self-control, and I push through the teeming mass of my celebrating teammates toward center ice so I can see for myself. And sure enough, I spot Indie jumping up and down, hugging Lola and the other women, the brightest smile I’ve ever seen illuminating her face. She’s so fucking beautiful, it steals the air from my lungs. Then she turns my way, catches me looking up at her, and somehow, her smile grows.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
“We told you she’s in love with you,” Logan says, coming to a stop beside me and slapping me on the back before he lifts a finger and points to his girlfriend, Blair, and her little brother, Reed.
I flip my helmet back so the cage is no longer covering my face and stare up at the woman I thought I’d never see again. She mouthsI knew you could do it, and I’m gone.
How will I ever survive without this when she goes back to California?
“Come on. Let’s go shower and change so we can get our girls.”
I don’t even bother protesting and telling Logan that she’s not my girl. Because she is. She always has been.
And I’ll do whatever I can to show her.
“Oh my god!”I brace myself as Indie jumps up and throws herself into my arms when I walk into the family room behind the rest of the guys. I grab the backs of her thighs to keep her supported as she wraps her legs around my hips. “You pulled off a fucking shutout in a playoff game. I can’t believe I got to see that.”
She’s laughing and more uninhibited than I’ve seen since she showed back up in my life, and it takes me back to summer days when we were teenagers. I fucking love her like this. Which is why I do something that is potentially incredibly stupid. But I’m riding the high of a playoff shutout, clinching our place in the next round, and seeing Indie celebrate like she was meant to be doing exactly that.
With Indie still in my arms, surrounded by teammates and their friends and family, I slide a hand up her neck and tangle my fingers in the hair at the back of her head and slam my mouth down on hers. It’s not a gentle first kiss. It’s ten years of pent-up longing and even more years of loving this woman without telling her.
The rest of the room—hell, the rest of the world—falls away as she gasps against my lips, then opens for me. Her arms tighten around my neck, and I groan when her tongue flicks out and brushes against mine.
