Page 106 of Racking Up Penalties
We make it to our seats, near their bench.
“Can you spot them?” My voice is barely a whisper, drowned out by the cacophony of chants and claps.
“Not yet.” He squints, brows furrowed in concentration, playfully bumping shoulders.
They skate out together,
“Go, Eastwood!” Tristan shouts next to me, and instinctively, my voice joins his, calling out to our boys on the rink, sending them every ounce of my love and support wrapped in each syllable.
Liam and Ethan both keep stealing glances at me and I can see the heat in their gazes from here.
I glance down at the jersey, my fingers tracing the stitches that bind Ethan’s and Liam’s legacies together. This fabric, these threads, they’re symbols of a choice—a declaration that love isn’t bound by convention.
Chapter 46
The cold bites at my skin, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through my veins as I glide over the ice. My skates carve a slow arc, bringing me to face the stands, and there she is. My heart, already racing from the adrenaline, kicks up another notch.
She’s a splash of vibrant color against the sea of fans. Her bright red hair cascades over the shoulders of a jersey that shouldn’t exist. The jersey melds my name with Liam’s in a testament to her support that’s as unorthodox as it is perfect.
My breath steams in the chilled air, a mist of pride swelling in my chest.
Liam stops next to me. “I don’t think I should have a boner during a hockey game but seeing her with our last names on her back is making me hard.”
I laugh and push my shoulder against his.
“Better get rid of it. The game is about to start.”
The shrill cry of the whistle slices through the charged atmosphere, an electric pulse that jolts my muscles into action. Ice scrapes under my skates as I get into position.
The play starts with Miles skating down the ice with the puck before passing to Liam.
“Matthews!” Liam’s voice cuts through, sharp and clear. His call is all the cue I need.
“Got it!” My response is instinctive, the puck finding my stick as if drawn by a magnetic pull. With a deft maneuver, I skirt past a defenseman, already knowing Liam will be where he needs to be—where I need him to be.
There it is—the opening. Like a conductor leading an orchestra, I draw out the defenders, creating just enough space. And then, with a flick of my wrist, I send the puck spinning across the ice, slicing through opposition like a knife through butter. It’s a calculated risk, a thread-the-needle pass that could go awry without utter precision.
But doubt has no place here, not when Liam is on the receiving end. He catches the pass cleanly, already pivoting to face the goal. I don’t even need to watch—I know the outcome. The certainty runs deep, born of countless hours of training and playing side by side.
This new bond we have is leading to perfect synergy on the ice.
With Liam taking the shot, I circle back, ready for any rebound, any chance to keep the momentum going. But I’m not just playing for the score—I’m playing for that look in Tessa’s eyes when she sees what we can do, for the pride that’ll light up her face, reflecting the very pride that fuels me now.
The puck hits the net with a satisfying snap, and the crowd erupts, a tidal wave of noise and exhilaration. But the roar fades to a backdrop as I catch Liam’s eye, sharing a triumphant grin that speaks volumes. This is our game, our moment, and we’re claiming it together.
Liam and I keep playing exceptionally well together.
With each point scored, I steal a glance toward the stands, toward the spot where Tessa is. Her jersey, emblazoned with both our names, is a beacon.
I catch sight of her again, clapping wildly, her red hair a fiery cascade that bounces with her every movement. Her hazel eyes are alight with excitement, and even from this distance, I can sense the energy she radiates. It fills me with a joy so profound that for a split second, everything else fades away—the shouts, the cold air, the sting of sweat on my brow—all of it pales in comparison to the sight of Tessa celebrating what we’re accomplishing out here.
As the final minutes tick down, the goals we’ve racked up stand as evidence of more than just a game well played. They are a declaration of the bond Liam and I share, of the dedication we have to our sport, and of the love that Tessa has wrapped around us both.
The final buzzer slices through the arena’s charged air, a resolute sound that declares us victors. My chest swells with triumph.
“Matthews! Yeah!” A teammate slaps my helmet, and I’m jolted back to the celebration unfolding around me. But my focus is singular now, every sense tuned to the petite figure with the red hair like a flame, calling me from beyond the barrier.
With a push, I’m gliding, cutting through the aftermath of battle towards her. The ice beneath me is slick with the memory of every play, every moment that led us here, but I maneuver with an ease born of elation and urgency. I reach the edge and she’s there, so close yet still separated by the boundaries of the game.
