Page 169 of Skate the Line

She wants me to score? Consider it done.

Unpopular opinion: I love when we go into overtime.

The crowd is hyped, my team is hungry for the win, and our opponents are testy. It makes for an active and engaging game.

There have been fights, shitty calls, and a whole lot of chirping.

The clock is ticking down, and the rookies are being eaten with nerves.

It’s a good thing I’m not a rookie, though.

Kane moves too early on the faceoff—or so the ref says. I swoop in and take his spot, having a damn good percentage of winning them, despite not doing them as often as our centers. I catch the eye of my current enemy, who’s looking a little too smug in his teal jersey. I wink, and it throws him off. The puck drops, and I’m the first to connect. It slips out to the left, heading right for Malaki.

We skate like we’re on a mission. Malaki, one of the fastest players in the league, zips down the ice, and I follow after him. I block the noise out and focus. Skating toward the corner of the net, I stand with a vengeance and wait patiently for the perfect opportunity.

Malaki fires it off to Kane, and for a second, I think he’s going to overturn it, but Hayes is there to swoop it up. It goes back to Malaki again. Adrenaline rushes to my hands. I grip my stick tightly, wind back, and as soon as the puck comes into play, I fire it off to the upper left side of the net.

I don’t even have to see it to know it went in. I have the confidence of a player who has been in the league for years, and I know when my shots hit and when they don’t.

The guys circle around me and slap me on the back. I grin, unable to keep the smile at bay.

“A fucking hat trick to win overtime?” Malaki grins like a fool. “Now you’re just getting cocky.”

He throws his stick in the air, and it blends with the falling hats from the crowd. The lights of the stadium flicker back and forth, and my name blares through the speakers from Gary and Rickie, our commentators. I skate forward and head over to Emory.

“I don’t know what has gotten into you, but keep it up,” he says.

I know very well what has gotten into me. We bring our helmets together like we do after every game, and then I start toward the bench. I stop in the midst of dodging the ice girls and their cleanup of all the hats.

Two blue ribbons catch my eye in a sea of icy dust and hash marks. Slipping my glove off, I swipe them off the ice and hold them in my grip. I glance at the suite, and there she is with my daughter on her back, smiling wildly. Her hair frames her face, messy from undoing the braid to throw her ribbon to the ice.

I try to hide my grin, because I know damn well the camera is on me. It doesn’t stop me from holding up three of my fingers though.

Three.

Three goals, Sunshine.

I want to make sure she knows.

She rolls her lips, and I know she’s hiding a smile behind them.

I head to the bench where my teammates are waiting for me.

If anyone caught the moment, no one says anything, which is good, because I’m not sure I’ll be able to deny lusting after my nanny at the moment.

Forty-Nine

SUNNY

Ellie poutsin between Scottie and me while we wait for Rhodes to be finished with his post-game interview.

“I’d wait here,” Scottie says. “Sometimes during the interviews, they’ll swing the camera around, and then Ellie will end up on TV.”

I internally freak out. I’ve been jumpy since the text, and the very last thing I need right now is to end up in the media.

“That’s okay.” I drop to Ellie’s level. “We can entertain ourselves, right?”

“Or...” Scottie bends down and whispers in Ellie’s ear loud enough for me to hear.“Go ask grumpy Emory if he’ll take us for ice cream to celebrate the win.”

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