Page 126 of Hot Damn
“What?”
With a smile he explains. “When I signed the deal to play for the Rogues, I knew it would be my last years in the NHL. I’m retiring when my contract is up.”
“Does Nat know that?” I whisper.
“No. Why are we whispering?” he asks in an equally quiet voice.
“In case she’s listening.” I look around. “She’s probably got cameras in here too.”
A burst of laughter shakes Beck’s chest. “You know I’ve never laughed with a woman the way I do you.”
“Whitney is a woman,” I point out.
“Whit’s my kid, laughing with her is a given. But you…” He shakes his head. “You give me something I’ve never had before.”
“What?”
“A life.”
“You’ve always had a life, Beck. You’ve had a successful career and raised a daughter.”
“Yeah, I had a life, but with you, Whit and I are finally living it.”
Epilogue
Beckett
Less than a minute until the end of the third period and Vegas pulls their goalie.
It’s a good move when we’re tied up in the final game of the series and I’m surprised Coach Alcott hasn’t done the same.
Then again, Chase has proved almost impossible to get past all season and if anyone can keep us from conceding a goal, it’s him.
This is our last chance to make it to the Cup and I’m pulling hard on every ounce of energy I have left to make sure we fight right up to the final horn.
Vegas moves into our end, their extra man giving them an advantage, but fuck if we’re letting them use it.
Bran gets his stick on a puck edge and sends it out of the huddle against the boards in my direction and I’m pretty sure I don’t breathe when Caron, Vegas’s top scorer, gets between it and me.
But we aren’t giving up that easy even if my legs feel like they’re about to give out and I’m positive Bran and Mikel feel the same.
A cheer shakes the arena when every player on the ice forms a huddle in front of the goal. Chase is at the back, guarding his goallike a troll guards his bridge. He’ll eat any fucker alive who dares to cross the line.
Sticks are flying, poking at skates and feet and empty space.
No one seems to be able to get to the puck and the mash of players and equipment looks like a bunch of newbies let loose on the ice for the first time. None of us appear to have a clue what we’re doing.
A gap opens up to my left, the space right in front of the net open wide except for Chase holding position.
There’s a flash of black right before Chase pulls his stick back and sweeps it over the ice. The noise is barely a blip, but I hear it.
Blade on puck.
And the flash of black speeds away toward the other end of the rink.
Head up, my gaze locks on Chase but he’s staring down the ice. Turning to see what has him focused so hard, I freeze.
Everything seems to go in slow motion after that. The players are still hunting around beside me for a puck that isn’t there.
