Page 138 of Triple Play
This one’s for you baby, he seems to say.
I don’t remember how I get down to ice level. Teddy might’ve helped. Security definitely tried to stop me but backed off when they saw my jersey.
By the time I reach the tunnel, the team’s streaming off the ice.
Grant sees me first.
He’s still in full gear, helmet off, hair a disaster, and he’s crossing the space between us in three strides.
Picks me up. Spins me. Kisses me in front of everyone—teammates, coaches, media, fans still watching from above.
“We won,” he says against my mouth.
“You won.”
“Because you were here.”
“That’s not—”
“It is.” He sets me down but doesn’t let go. “Every time I looked up and saw you, I remembered why I’m doing this.”
Wyatt and Jordie appear. Still in gear. Still grinning like idiots.
“Did you see that pass?” Wyatt’s eyes are bright. “Did you see—”
“I saw it. It was perfect.”
“Grant actually finished for once,” Jordie adds. “Didn’t choke.”
“Shut up, Dickson.”
They’re all talking over each other, high on adrenaline and victory, and I’m just standing there trying to memorize everything about this moment.
The way Grant’s hand won’t leave my waist. The way Wyatt keeps touching my shoulder like he needs to make sure I’m real. The way Jordie can’t stop smiling.
This. This right here. This is what matters.
“Miss Hart!”
A reporter’s pushed through. Camera crew behind her. “Can we get a quote about—”
“No,” Grant says flatly.
“Just one question—”
“She said no.” Wyatt steps between us and the camera. His voice is pleasant. His expression is not.
The reporter backs off.
“We should go,” Jordie says. “Before they trap us here all night.”
“Locker room first,” Grant says. “Then home.”
Home.
Our home. Together.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
