Page 95 of The Hockey Contract

His kiss was gentle at first, a seal on the promise we'd just made to each other. But it quickly deepened into something more heated, months of restrained desire finally finding expression. My hands slid into his hair as his arms encircled me, pulling me closer until I was practically in his lap.

When we broke apart, both breathing heavily, his forehead rested against mine. "We should probably stop," he murmured regretfully. "My parents are just down the hall, and I have a reputation for quiet self-control to maintain."

I laughed softly, pressing one more quick kiss to his lips before reluctantly creating space between us. "To be continued in Seattle?"

"Definitely," he promised, the intensity in his gaze sending a shiver down my spine. "After we win the Cup."

Chapter 33: Jax

The mood in the locker room was somber, the weight of our 3-0 series deficit hanging heavy over each player. No team had overcome such a deficit in the Finals since 1942—a statistic that reporters had repeatedly cited after our Game 3 loss. Three consecutive defeats had transformed our confident playoff run into a seemingly inevitable march toward disappointment.

Coach Miller stood at the center of the room, his expression grave. "Management wants a word," he announced, stepping aside as team owner Thomas Blake entered, followed by several front office executives.

Blake surveyed the room, making eye contact with each player. "I could stand here and give you a speech about history and opportunity," he began, his voice measured. "But you've heard it all. You know the odds. So instead, I'm going to tell you something else."

He paused, the silence amplifying his next words. "I believe in this group. Not just as hockey players, but as men of character. Whatever happens in this series – whether we make history or not – you've brought pride to this city, this organization, and yourselves."

His unexpected message – free from pressure or ultimatums – shifted the energy in the room. When he left, Coach Miller nodded toward the door. "Take fifteen. Players only."

As coaches and staff filed out, leaving just the team, a different kind of tension filled the space – the uncertainty of who would speak first, what would be said in this critical moment.

To everyone's surprise, including my own, I found myself standing.

Public speaking had never been my strong suit. My reputation as the "Ice Man" extended to media interviews, where I offered minimal responses and avoided emotional displays. But something had shifted in me over the past months – not just professionally, but personally.

"We're not done," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "I know what the statistics say. I know what the media's saying. But numbers and opinions don't win hockey games. We do."

The room remained silent, all eyes fixed on me. I thought of Sienna's unfailing belief in me – in us – despite having no previous connection to hockey before our arrangement. How she'd flown across the country to support me during my father's health crisis, how she'd integrated herself into the hockey community despite initial uncertainty.

"I've played eleven years in this league," I continued. "Never been past the second round until now. Some of you have been waiting even longer for this chance. Others are just starting your careers. But we all share one thing – we've worked our entire lives for this opportunity."

I looked around the room, meeting each teammate's gaze. "This isn't about making history or defying odds. It's about playing for something larger than ourselves. For each other. For the fans who've supported us from day one. For the families who've sacrificed alongside us."

"One game," I said firmly. "That's all we need to focus on. Win tonight, and we live to fight another day. String enough of those together, and we make history. But it starts with believing we belong here, on this stage, with a chance to lift that Cup."

As I sat down, Finn stood, clapping me on the shoulder. "Ice Man with the fire," he said with a grin. "Who knew?"

The tension broken, other veterans spoke up, sharing perspectives and rallying the group. By the time Coach returned, something had changed in the room – not just hope, but determination. A belief that transcended statistics and history.

That night, we secured a 5-2 victory, a win that felt like a collective exhale. In the post-game locker room, a cautiously optimistic mood prevailed. One win down, three challenges still ahead.

Returning home, I found Sienna waiting up despite the late hour, her smile when I walked through the door warming me more than any victory celebration.

"You were amazing," she said, wrapping her arms around my waist. "That blocked shot in the third period? I nearly had a heart attack."

I laughed, holding her close. "Please don't mention heart attacks. I've had enough cardiac drama for one playoff run."

We moved to the couch, my body still humming with post-game adrenaline despite physical exhaustion. Sienna curled against my side, fitting perfectly in the space as if designed specifically for her.

"Leo stopped by earlier," she mentioned. "He wanted to discuss the Perfect Home Furnishings vow renewal."

The reminder of our public commitment brought a more serious topic to mind. "Sienna, there's something we should talk about." I shifted to face her directly. "After the Finals, regardless of outcome, I think we should come clean about our arrangement."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "You mean tell people we started as a business deal?"

"Not the general public, necessarily. But people close to us – your aunt, my family. I don't want to build our real relationship on a foundation of deception."

She considered this, biting her lower lip in the way I'd come to recognize meant she was processing something important. "I've been thinking the same thing, actually. It feels wrong to continue misleading people who matter to us."

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