Page 166 of Seal the Deal

By the third period, we’re tied 2-2. Every muscle in my body is screaming, but I’m not stopping. We’re so close. New Jersey is playing like they’ve got nothing left to lose, and I’m grinding it out on every shift, battling for every puck like it’s the last one I’ll ever touch. We’re running on fumes, but no one’s backing down.

Five minutes left. We get a power play, and I can feel the momentum shifting. The puck slides to me, and without thinking, I fire it. Top corner. Net.

The horn blares. 3-2. The arena erupts, the noise deafening. My teammates pile on me, shouting, banging helmets, but I know it’s not over yet. There’s still time on the clock and New Jersey’s not done fighting.

They pull their goalie with two minutes left. The pressure is suffocating. Every second drags out like an eternity. My legs are burning, my body screaming for rest, but I block another shot, throwing myself in front of the puck like it’s all I know how to do. Desperation is fueling me now. Desperation to hold the line. Desperation to win.

Fifty seconds. Forty. Thirty. The puck’s flying everywhere, ricocheting off the boards, the net, bodies. Everything's a blur.

Then, with ten seconds left, New Jersey gets one last rush. One of their forwards breaks free and comes flying toward our net. I’m already moving, my legs on fire, heart pounding in my chest. I get in front of him just as he winds up for a shot, and I throw myself in the way. The puck hits my shin pad, and pain explodes up my leg. I don’t even feel the ice as I hit it, my body going numb from the collision.

But the final horn pierces the air, and everything stops. For a second, there’s just ringing in my ears, and then—mayhem. We’ve done it.

We’ve won.

We’ve fucking won the Stanley Cup.

The arena explodes around us, my teammates screaming, throwing their gloves and sticks into the air. I barely register the chaos as they pile on top of me, all of us crashing to the ice in a heap of relief and triumph. All I can feel is the weight of it. The years, the sacrifices, the endless nights, all leading to this moment. We’ve fucking done it.

It’s chaos—beautiful, euphoric chaos.

But even in the middle of all the madness, there’s only one thing I’m thinking about.

I need to get to them.

I barely wait for the cup to be handed off to Ryan before I’m peeling away from the crowd, my skates carving into the ice as I head straight for the WAGs box. I don’t care about the cameras, the media, or the fans.

When I reach it, skates sliding on the polished floor, the first thing I see is her. My mom. She’s standing now, holding onto the rail as Charlie helps her, and I’m there in two strides, pulling her into the tightest hug of my life.

I lose it.

“Mom,” I choke out, face buried in her shoulder. “You’re here.”

She holds me tight, her voice full of love. “I’m here, Jake. I didn’t want to miss this.”

I pull back, staring at her, and the weight of all those years she wasn’t there lifts in an instant. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

She smiles, her own eyes wet. “Charlie made sure of it. She wanted to make this moment perfect for you.”

Charlie. I turn to her, and I’m wrecked all over again. She’s watching us, her eyes full of love, and I can barely hold myself together.

“You did this,” I say, my voice a rasp of emotion. “You brought her here.”

Charlie nods, swiping away a tear. “Surprise.”

I don’t even think. I pull her in, cradling her face and pressing hard kisses all over it. Not caring about who’s watching, not caring about anything but her.

I pour everything into the kiss—all the love, the gratitude, the sheer disbelief that this woman, who I almost lost years ago, is now the reason my life feels complete.

“You have no idea how much I love you,” I whisper against her lips.

“Brooks! You planning on missing your own Stanley Cup celebration?” Coach’s voice cuts through the moment.

I grin, holding Charlie close. “Gimme a minute, Coach. Just making sure my number one fans are looked after.”

Coach shakes his head in exasperation but I can see the amusement in his eyes. “You’ve got thirty seconds, Brooks. Then I want you back on the ice. You’ve got a Cup to lift.”

I pull Charlie in for one last kiss, murmuring against her lips, “You coming down later?”

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