Page 165 of Seal the Deal

Her soft laugh has me beaming in the dark. “Focus on the game, Brooks. Then we’ll discuss.”

I smile, imagining her sitting on the couch, a grin tugging at her lips. “Fine. Tell Noah and Meadow I love them, okay?”

“Already have. And Jake... we’ll be there, right behind you.”

“I love you,” I say, wishing more than anything I could reach through the phone and pull her close.

“Love you, too,” she whispers before hanging up.

I stare at the phone in my hand for a long moment before setting it back on the nightstand. Somehow just hearing her voice has calmed me, like she’s the one thing keeping me grounded in all this chaos.

***

Game day is a blur. The energy in the rink is a living thing, crackling through the air. Everything—the crowd, the noise, the weight of what’s on the line—it’s all turned up to eleven. This is the biggest game of my life, and everyone knows it.

We’re up against New Jersey, and they’re not going to make it easy. They never do. We’ve been battling them through the Stanley Cup Final series, going toe to toe. Tonight will be no different.

As we skate out for warm-ups, the place is packed, the roar of the crowd vibrating through my bones. Normally, I can block it all out. Focus on the ice. But tonight feels different. Something’s pulling at me. Something huge. Everything’s on the line.

I go through my routine, stretching, skating, firing a few shots at the net, but my mind drifts back to Charlie, to the kids. To that quiet phone call the night before when all I wanted was to be with her.

Every time I hit the ice, I tell myself it’s just another game. Just another battle. But I can’t fool myself anymore. This isn’t just another win. This is everything. Every inch I skate, every hit I take, it’s not for the Cup—it’s for them. For Charlie, for Noah, for Meadow, for the family that made me whole again.

Focus, Brooks.

When the anthem starts, I do what I always do—sweep the crowd, looking for Charlie, Noah, and Meadow. I expect to see them up in the WAGs box with Zoe, Claire, Tamara, and the rest of the crew.

But when I look up, my heart stops.

My mom.

She’s never been to one of my games. All these years, she’s stayed away. Too anxious. Too fragile. The excuses were always there, always lingering in the background, a weight I carried with me through every game, every season.

She’s sittingright there.

I blink, convinced I’m imagining it. But there she is—my mom, holding Meadow on her lap, with Noah sitting right next to them in his Storm jersey. And Charlie’s sitting close, holding my mom’s hand like they’ve been family for years.

I can’t breathe.

My throat goes dry, and I fight the heat behind my eyes. Mymom. Who's never watched me play in person, is sitting with the people I love most, holding my little princess on her knee. The sight knocks the breath out of me.

I’m fucking wrecked.

I swallow down the emotion threatening to spill over. There’s no time for this. Not now. I need to focus. Onelast game. One last win. And then I’ll have them all in my arms.

The game starts, and it’s a dogfight. New Jersey comes at us hard, crashing the net, throwing hits like they’ve got nothing to lose. Every shift feels like a war. The hits are harder, the plays faster, and the pressure heavier than anything I’ve ever felt before.

First period—it’s a bloodbath. They’re in our faces every time we touch the puck. I take a hard hit into the boards, the impact rattling my teeth, but I shake it off and keep skating. I give as good as I get, dropping my shoulder into one of their defensemen, sending him sprawling into the boards. The crowd roars, and adrenaline surges through me.

But New Jersey isn’t backing down. They play dirty, and before long, tensions boil over.

Midway through the second period, I’m digging in deep behind the net, fighting for control when one of their enforcers slams into me from behind. My face hits the ice, and a sharp sting shoots through my jaw. I see red.

I push up, swing around, and drop gloves without a second thought. The crowd is on its feet, screaming. I’m in his face, fists flying before I even register the pain in my knuckles. He takes a couple of swings, but I don’t stop. I can hear the boys banging their sticks on the boards, the arena vibrating with the noise.

A punch lands on my cheek, but it only fuels me. I grab his jersey, yank him in and throw another right hook. He stumbles, and I take him down to the ice with me. The ref blows the whistle, breaking it up, but by then the damage is done. I feel the blood dripping from a cut over my eyebrow, my chest heaving as I skate to the penalty box.

The crowd’s going wild. Even through the haze of adrenaline, I can see my teammates grinning at me from the bench. My blood’s still pumping, my heart racing like I’m in a damn war zone. But this is our game. I can feel it.

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