Page 118 of One Last Shot

That’s a bribe if I ever heard one. “And if I don’t win?”

“You will,” she says decisively. Then she runs a thumb over my lip, hands me my helmet and gloves from the table and my stick from the corner, turns and opens the door, and ushers me out. “He’s ready,” she tells Jameson.

“Coach is expecting you in the locker room,” he tells me. I head down the hall and when I look over my shoulder, he’s leading her out of the conference room and toward an elevator that will take them back up to the stands.

When I open the door to the locker room, Coach is standing there waiting for me. “You good?” he asks. I nod. “Your head on straight?” I nod again. “Good. Don’t ever again let me see you play like you’ve been playing these last two games.”

“Understood,” I say.

He reaches across the short space between us and grasps my forearm. “You’re too valuable a player to waste your time and energy on fighting. Go out there and show us what you’re made of.”

“I will, sir.”

And then I do.

* * *

“Stella’s going to be up any minute,” I tell Petra as I rub my nose against the back of her head, inhaling the intoxicating smell of her hair. The light is already filtering through the curtains at the edge of my room, the rays of sunshine reminding us that even though Petra’s flight arrived in the early hours of the morning, we still have a six-year-old who will be bouncing off the walls to see her the minute she wakes up.

“Let me sleep until she wakes up, then. You already kept me up all night. I only closed my eyes five minutes ago.”

My chest shakes with easy laughter. “You’re so dramatic. We got at least four hours of sleep.”

“Four hours ...” she half mumbles, half groans.

With the arm that’s already wrapped around her waist, I pull her even closer. I love having her pressed up against me when I sleep, but somehow in the early hours of the morning she managed to scoot away from me half a foot. I know she thinks my body temperature runs too hot and that she needs her space, but I hate the distance between us. I’m okay being the clingy one—she needs to know she can trust me, that I’d never leave her, or lie to her, ever again.

She curls into me. “More sleep.”

I bury my face in her hair and smile—something I seem to be doing a lot these days now that my contract in New York has been renewed and there are only four more weeks until Petra is back here permanently. She’s here this weekend for our games, and assuming we don’t lose both, I’m bringing Stella with me when we head back to Anaheim next week for the end of the series.

I’m actually surprised Stella slept at all last night. I fully expected her to come out of her room, still wide awake, when Petra got in. But I guess one in the morning is later than she can stay up, even with all the excitement of the surprise we’ve planned for this morning. I think she might be as in love with Petra as I am.

I lie there for probably twenty or thirty minutes, listening to Petra’s rhythmic breathing as she sleeps in my arms. Ending up here, together for real—forever—is like having all my dreams come true.

When Stella finally cracks the door to the bedroom open, I raise my arm and wave her in, careful not to wake Petra. She tiptoes across the room and around to Petra’s side of the bed, where she climbs up on top of the comforter.

“Hey,” I whisper into Petra’s ear. “You’ve got to wake up now.”

Across from us, Stella’s practically shaking with excitement, her smile almost splitting her face in half as she holds our gift out in front of Petra’s face.

“Hmm,” Petra murmurs, but I can tell she hasn’t opened her eyes yet because she’d be having a much different reaction if she had.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” I coax.

“Too early.” The words are a mumbled whisper, and as much as I want to let Petra go back to sleep, I can’t deny Stella this opportunity. I never pictured myself balancing the needs of two high-maintenance women in my life, and yet these moments are the ones I now live for.

“Petra,” Stella says softly. “Open your eyes.”

Petra stiffens against me as she jolts awake, her breath swallowed up by a gasp. “What the hell, Stella?”

My chest is shaking with laughter. How did I not anticipate that response?

Stella laughs, too, holding the open ring box out so Petra can see it better. I prop myself up on my elbow so I can watch this scene play out, and Petra turns her head to look up at me, her eyebrows knit together.

“Are you proposing to me?” she asks.

“We’re already married,” I remind her. “But I figure my wife ought to have a ring. And a wedding, if you want one. And whatever else you want, as long as it’s in my power to give it to you.”

---