Page 138 of Powerless
And then . . . it happens.
Damon Hart flies down the ice, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk and a little wave at his goalie.
And there’s the perfect gap.
Jasper drops the puck on the ice and sends it sailing straight through that gap. Right onto the tape of his teammate’s stick.
I swear every single person collectively sucks in a deep breath of cold air.
The seconds wind down.
But there are no defenders. They let Damon skate right past them.
He taps the puck back and forth, dekeing left and right.
He fakes a shot.
Their goaltender falls for it and drops to make the save.
Damon takes the top corner, the hard rubber hitting the back of the netting with a whoosh that’s heard through the entire building.
The buzzer sounds and the arenaexplodes.
Music. Lights. Screaming. Confetti. Every single person erupts.
But I sit still, watching Jasper jump for joy, stick and gloves flying, helmet tossed, he skates toward his teammates with the biggest, most heartrending grin on his face as they pile onto him for the assist and Damon for the winning goal.
I want to remember this moment, this feeling, as clearly as I remember the first day I saw him. Painfully handsome with sad eyes.
Today, when he turns and searches for me in the stands, he’s different.
He’s painfully handsome with happy eyes.
So happy that I want to see them up close. The colors. The way they swirl together. The fine lines beside them. I want to feel his stubble on my cheeks and his heartbeat against my forehead when I drop my face against his chest.
I jog through the crowd, down those stairs to the gate at the end of the rink, and he’s there.
Waiting for me.
Like he always has been.
I let him let pull me onto the ice, straight up into his arms.
“You fucking did it, baby!” I yell at him with absolutely no chill. My hands are in his sweaty hair, my legs around his waist, my eyes on his.
Right where they always have been.
“We fucking did it.” His hands squeeze my ass, and he whispers all gravelly against my ear, “My years of training and your Stanley Cup Maker. The Perfect combo.”
I laugh like a crazy person and kiss his neck. There are cameras and media everywhere. Teammates and family. It’s mayhem. But all I see ishim.This moment. A good man who life dealt such an unfair hand, finally getting a win.Thewin.
“I love you, Jasper Gervais.” I shake my head, tears leaking down my face as I marvel at the man before me. “I love you so damn much.”
“I love you too, Sloane Winthrop,” he says as he glances over my shoulder, back toward the entrance. “But do you know what I don’t like?”
My heart races and confusion blooms behind my brows. How could anyone not like something about this moment? This moment is . . . everything.
I barely notice when he reaches behind me.
