Page 15 of Breaking the Rules
The buzzer sounds overhead, and the crowd erupts into a roaring celebration. In one of the most nail-biting games of the season, the Seattle Ice Hawks reign victorious yet again with only seconds to spare on the clock. It’s the kind of night that burns into your memory—the kind you’ll look back on with a knowing smile and tell your grandkids about.
Screeching with excitement, the girls and I jump to our feet. Well, Ana and Elise jump. Harper and I have to take a gentler approach with our seven-month-pregnant bellies. And even though my back aches from sitting in the hard plastic chair, absolutely nothing can stop me from screaming my head off and punching a fistful of half-eaten soft pretzel in the air.
Tonight has been like every other game in so many ways—expert plays, close calls, breath-stopping action. But this particular game was different in one exceptional way: Owen Parrish was back on the ice.
When we got the call from Coach Dodd asking Owen to sub in as goalie, there was no question. He was on the relief list, and he immediately said yes. For the first time since his retirement, I got to see that familiar fire rekindle behind my husband’s eyes. Once again, he would play with the team he’d spent his whole career with, the guys who are his friends. His family.
“Par-rish ... Par-rish ... Par-rish ... Par-rish ...”
As the crowd chants his name, I just about explode with joy. The guys swarm Owen on the ice, crowding around him with a brotherly love so intense that I can feel it from fifty yards away. I blink back tears as Harper hooks her arm into mine and rests her head on my shoulder.
“This is amazing.” I sigh wetly, and somehow over the noise, she hears me.
“I know. You must be so proud!”
Proud doesn’t even begin to cover it.
I watch as the team bumps their helmets against Owen’s, and pat him on the back with gloved hands. They have so much love and respect for this man—just like I do.
The four of us make our way down from our third-row seats to meet our husbands at the edge of the ice. One by one, they greet us, red-faced and beaming with that post-game high I’ve missed so much.
Justin takes Elise’s hands and kisses them one by one like the prince and princess they are. Ana gives Grant a wave, and he grins back. Meanwhile, Jordie takes a knee to give a quick play-by-play of the game to Harper’s belly—twice the size of mine since she’s expecting double the trouble. And to think she was ever worried about him rising to the challenge of fatherhood.
Finally, I meet Owen’s eyes, brighter than I’ve seen them in months. Don’t get me wrong, Owen loves being a fulltime dad. But going cold turkey on the hockey lifestyle was definitely taking a mental and physical toll on him.
Seeing him so happy in his element again, it occurs to me that maybe this is all he needed—one more time to experience that rush of adrenaline, to hear the crowd of fans chant his name. One more “W” to truly feel like his career is complete.
Owen wraps me in a breathless hug. I cling to him, inhaling the masculine scent of hard work that’s paid off.
When I feel like I can’t squeeze him any tighter, I lean back and ask, “Did you see the goalie out there?”
Owen smirks, catching on. “No, how’d he do?”
“Not bad.”
He scoffs. “Not bad?”
I loop my arms around his neck and pull him down for a kiss. “Not bad at all.”
“Nice work out there, man,” one of the newer guys says, clapping Owen on the shoulder as he passes by. I think his name is Preston. “Looking forward to next time.”
“Same, man. You’re killing it out there. I’ll see you later?”
“Nah, I gotta get home. You two have a great night.” With a distant look in his eyes, the rookie disappears toward the dressing room.
“Next time?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
A devilish grin spreads across Owen’s face like butter on bread. “It’s a long shot, I’m sure, but hey, you never know.”
EPILOGUE
OWEN
Six months later
“You boys have fun!” Becca calls over her shoulder, blowing me a kiss and following the other hockey wives out the front door.
Our house was the rendezvous spot for their evening plans—dinner at the new Asian fusion restaurant in the neighborhood, followed by some cheesy chick flick at the historic movie theater. Knowing them as well as we do, we know they’ll probably stop for midnight margaritas at their favorite Mexican spot before they call us for a ride. Years of this, and we’ve got Girls’ Night down to a science.
