Page 93 of Break Out

“I heard it was tradition.”

“Tradition?” Brody asks, pinching his lips together clearly trying to stifle a laugh. He knows exactly what I mean.

“Well, Madison told me about the pair she got for Hunter their first Christmas, so I figured it was a fitting present for you.”

“Are you marking your territory?” Brody asks, putting the briefs down, a smirk on his face. “Making sure the guys know I’m taken.”

I laugh. “Wanted to make sure they knew you and I were together.”

Brody cracks up, reaching for me and pulling me to him. “The guys would have to be blind not to know. And I love your gift. As ridiculous as the boxers are. Every time I wear them, I’ll think of you.”

“You don’t have to wear them. I’ll just—” I lose my train of thought when Brody’s cock nudges against my entrance. “Yes please.”

“I love you. Always and forever. Thank you for coming for my birthday,” Brody says, leaning down to capture my lips.

“Yes, that. Coming. I like that idea. More of that.”

Brody chuckles against my lips, and we get lost in each other again.

We spend most of the forty-eight hours we have together in bed, only getting up to shower, go to the bathroom, and answer the door for room service. Far too quickly, we’re riding in a car to the airport to go our separate ways.

Chapter thirty-nine

Brody

June

The second half of the season has been one for the books. I ended it as the league leader in points, winning the Art Ross Trophy for the first time in my career. There are whispers that I’ll win the Hart Memorial Trophy as well, but since that’s voted on, it’s not a given. But I’ve also been skating with a minor ankle sprain and a sprained pinky the last few games, which luckily hasn’t impacted my performance but is painful as hell. I’m ready for this season to be over.

It was also hard on a personal front. Aubrey and I weren’t able to see each other again in person after she surprised me in Los Angeles. Video calls were few and far between because of the time change and the demands of my schedule. We talked every chance we could get. While she was getting ready for the day and I was driving to the arena for practice. When I was making dinner and she was eating lunch. Five hours is no joke, plus add in two equally busy schedules, and it’s even harder.

We’d made plans to see each other for the All-Star break until the team voted me as our representative for the All-Stars, so I didn’t get a break. And while it normally would be a great honor to get chosen, I was kind of annoyed that I wouldn’t be able to fly out to Hawaii to see Aubrey.

But here we are—tied with five minutes to go in the third period of the sixth game of the Stanley Cup finals. If we win tonight, we’ll take home the Stanley Cup. And the season and my career will be over. But if the Sea Hawks win, they’ll force a game seven. Either way, the end of my career is getting closer and closer.

I don’t have much time to contemplate it as the third line comes to the bench and Hunter, Caleb, and I hop over the wall and out onto the ice as the seconds tick down. The three of us have been playing together most of the season. I was shocked when Coach put us on the same line, but it worked. We’ve become quite the force to be reckoned with. Our line has scored the most points in regulation time this season. I couldn’t be happier playing on the same line as two of my closest friends.

Wes passes the puck to Hunter, and we rush toward the Sea Hawk’s goal. Hunter completes some tricky play with Wes and Caleb before getting the puck back and shooting it into the net. The goal bell rings, and the entire arena erupts.

Holy shit.

I glance over at the bench, expecting to see the signal for a line change, but Coach waves us off, and we stay on. Caleb takes the face off at center ice. The announcer says it’s the last minute of the game. My heart rate picks up. If we can keep the Sea Hawks away from our goal for another sixty seconds, we’ll win. This feels like the longest minute of my life.

There’s a battle along the boards between Caleb and a couple of their forwards. I skate over, hoping to help. Pushing and shoving ensues, but we keep the puck pinned against the boards.

The noise in the stadium gets even louder. How is that even possible? And why? The scoreboard shows that the game is seconds away from ending. I catch Caleb’s gaze over the back of a Sea Hawk’s player, and he grins, tipping his chin toward the scoreboard as we both watch the final second tick down.

The buzzer sounds.

That’s it.

We won the Stanley Cup.

Holy shit. We won.

I forget how to breathe. How to skate. I’m standing, stunned, staring at Caleb, unblinking, for what feels like forever. He pulls his gloves off, and suddenly we’re hugging.

Gloves and sticks fly through the air as everyone starts celebrating.