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Miles didn’t tell me I had been brave. He didn't ask me to explain every painful word afterwards. He simply placed my phone facedown on the bed, pulled me between his enormous arms and held me until the chocolate-orange cake arrived from room service.
He fed me the first bite directly from his fork and informed me that from now on, anybody who disagreed with my life choices could complain to him personally.
Which, frankly, is better therapy than anything my mother has ever offered.
Susan reaches over and adjusts the felt tree on my shoulder, smoothing it flat with the same care she used on her own sons' jerseys.
Yeah. I'm home.
On the ice, Miles wins another faceoff and my ovaries give a flutter.
He looks strong out there tonight. Powerful.
Snow clings to the dark hair curling beneath his helmet, his red jersey stretching across those enormous shoulders. Every burst of speed sends ice spraying from his skates in glittering white sheets, and sitting back and watching him out there tonight, it's hard to believe this is the same man who walked toward me through the snow wearing a Christmas-tree beanie.
Apparently, adding shoulder pads to an already imposing body was an act of violence against my underwear.
I'm not complaining.
Miles moves through opposition's aggression like it's a suggestion, absorbing hits from men ten years younger and coming out the other side with the puck still on his stick.
There's a calm to him tonight that wasn't there in the first game, like all that tension and panic of scouts and contracts and farm debt has finally melted off his shoulders.
He's not playing for his future anymore.
He's just playing hockey.
"COLBY! HIT SOMEBODY!" Will screams, three seconds before Aidan flattens an opposing forward against the boards.
"That's better," Will nods, satisfied enough to return to his hot chocolate.
Aidan controls the physical game all night, though I notice he keeps glancing toward the stands where Stevie sits beside Dylan. Every time she cheers, the enormous bearded man momentarily forgets he's supposed to be terrifying. That and he's making his interest in his best friend's sister a little too obvious.
But hey, who am I to talk.
I left a wedding and mounted the very next man I saw.
Romance is funny like that.
With the clock ticking down, Nate flies through the neutral zone, except now he actually passes the puck instead of trying to beat five defenders by himself. The younger Wildcards trust every call from the bench. Even Coach Dave stays awake through most of the third period which might be a record for the tournament so far.
The score sits tied at two with ninety seconds left, and the entire rink feels like it's stopped breathing.
Then Aidan wins a battle along the boards, muscling two players off the puck. He chips it to Baxter, who threads a pass through the middle. Nate hits the opening at full speed, takes one touch, and slides the puck under the sprawling goalie with eleven seconds remaining.
Beside me, Eden leaps from her seat and screams Nate’s name loudly enough to frighten a nearby child.
She freezes when Susan, Hunter and Will all turn toward her.
“I support the entire team,” Eden says, sitting back down with tremendous dignity. "Not just Nate."
The horn sounds. The lights explode. Artificial snow blasts from cannons above the boards while real snow falls behind it, and the crowd noise rolls up the mountain like an avalanche in reverse.
And Miles?
Miles barely touched the play at all.
He just throws both arms in the air, skates straight into the pile, and buries Nate against the boards with the rest of them, laughing so hard I can see it from here.
