Page 114 of Meet Your Match
My eyes skated over that jersey, over her chest and shoulders and the exposed skin of her collarbone, too. I took my time, gaze lingering on her lips until I found her eyes once more.
Her smile was soft and tentative, and she shrugged, looking down at the jersey before she caught my eyes again.
She was here.
She wasmine.
I knew it like I knew ice was cold. I knew just by her presence, by her wearing that jersey, by the way her brows bent together as she watched me from across the rink.
Now, my sole focus was on ending this game and getting her in my arms.
Time and sound and energy snapped back all at once, like I had just kicked my way above the treacherous waves and sucked in my first breath. There were eight seconds left in the power play, and as soon as they ticked down to zero, the crowd erupted.
We’d killed the penalty.
I kicked through the box door and flew out onto the ice, joining my team as they battled against our opponents’ advance. And I wasted no time, stealing the puck and sending it down to the other side of the rink as we all chased after it.
The numbness was gone. Every cell in my body buzzed to life with Maven in that arena, with her eyes on me, withmy jersey hanging off her shoulders. Through all the noise, I heard her scream my name, heard her cheers rising out above the rest.
My legs burned as I skated fast and furious down the ice. The two-minute rest had me feeling stronger than I had all game, and I blocked any player who tried to check me or steal the puck. I was laser-focused — a pass, a shot attempt, a steal, a pass. We wreaked havoc on their goalie after two minutes of them doing the same to us.
And in a slow-motion moment of clarity, I saw an opening.
I dangled players on my team and theirs, passing the puck to Carter long enough for me to skate through their defense. He sent it back to me with perfect timing for a beautiful slap shot.
I wound up and slammed it home, the puck zipping right past the goalie’s helmet and into the top right of the net.
The explosion from the crowd was deafening. The buzzer didn’t just sound and cut off, it rang on, like someone in traffic trying to make a point by laying on their horn for a full minute. It made my ears ring as my teammates tackled me, all of us screaming and jumping and clinging to each other. In the next breath, hats rained down on the ice.
It was my first hat trick in the NHL.
They flew from the rafters and from behind the glass, too. Some fans even threw their stuffed animal fishes, a signal to the other team that even though there were minutes left to play, our fans were sure we’d win. It was all we could do to sidestep the toys and the hats as we celebrated.
But I smiled the more they rained down, because that meant more to clean up.
And that meant play would stop.
Breaking out of the huddle of my teammates, I made a beeline for the bench as the crowd roared their thunderous approval. I dodged hats every step of the way, my eyes locked on Maven, who was still jumping and screaming and celebrating, too.
I jumped the boards with my teammates still on the bench clapping me on the shoulders, but I shoved past them, past coach, past the trainers and everyone else. I dropped my stick and ripped off my helmet just in time to slide up in front of Maven.
“I’ll take that,” I said, swiping the hat off her head. I placed it backward on my own, and then I swept her into my arms and kissed her.
It was the deepest breath I’d taken in days, my lungs filling themselves greedily as I held my lips to hers. Maven threaded her arms around my neck, holding me to her as if I was ever letting go now, and the crowd grew to a decibel that could permanently damage ear drums. I fisted my hands in her jersey, kissing her deeper, my heart slowly melding back together.
I was whole again.
“You’re here,” I whispered against her lips, breaking the kiss only long enough to say them before I was claiming her again.
“I’m here.” She gripped my damp hair in her hands, pressing her forehead to mine. “I’m so sorry, Vince. I’m sorry I ran. I’m sorry I’m like this.”
“Stop.” I shook my head, kissing her silent. “It’s not your fault. And for the record, I still want to murder that piece of shit for making you feel this way.”
“Don’t worry, I beat you to it.”
I cocked a brow, pulling back to look down at her. “You killed him? Shit,” I said, looking around and holdingher head to my chest. “Maybe we shouldn’t pull stunts that will have you all over national television right now.”
She laughed against my chest, swatting at it before her glossy eyes were peering up at me. “I killed the hold he still had on me,” she said. “I killed the fear.”
