Page 97 of Meant for Mayhem

Shannon was in a great mood when I got back to the room, excitedly telling me about everything she and Leena had done earlier. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen her quite this chatty before, and I couldn’t help but grin along with her.

“Mikko, the tree was enormous.” She held her arms out to the sides. “I don’t know that I understood how big it is!”

“I’m so glad you had fun.”

I leaned down to kiss Leena who was currently passed out right in the middle of the king-size bed in our suite.

“But I see far less shopping bags than I was imagining.”

Shannon nudged the two bags hanging from the side of the stroller—one for a bookstore I found for her, and another for F.A.O. Schwarz.

“We stopped in the toy store after we saw the Rockefeller Christmas tree. I couldn’t leave without getting her something.”

“What about you?” I turned back toward her, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I wanted you to spoil yourself too.”

She shrugged. “This was one of the best days of my life. I was plenty spoiled.”

Hearing her say that was enough to make me smile, wanting every day of her life to feel like this one.

“Good.” I toed off my shoes, stretching out on the bed next to my daughter, putting an arm behind my head. “Are you napping with us?”

Shannon looked at the two of us together with a soft smile. “No. I think I figured out the prince’s secret identity in this new book I started, so I want to see if I’m right.”

She turned back toward the living room, and I watched her go.

Even the way she walked seemed lighter than it had a week ago. I wasn’t stupid enough to think her walls were gone, and maybe they never would be. After everything she’d told me last night and everything I’d pieced together on my own, I was beginning to understand something about Shannon.

Maybe walls that tall weren’t knocked down. Maybe they were climbed, one careful handhold at a time, by someone patient enough to find them.

With each smile, each story she shared, I was determined to never let her regret letting me in.

I settled into my spot inside our blue line, tapping the blade of my stick against the ice while the linesman made sure both centers were set for puck drop.

Finding the girls’ seats during warmups was easy enough when every part of me was attuned to their presence. But they were right there—a little patch of white and blue tucked into a sea of red—impossible to miss now that I knew where to look.

My heart pounded, but it didn’t feel like nerves this time.

This was excitement.

My daughter was here, my wife was smiling, and I got to play the game I loved.

The linesman dropped the puck.

From my first shift, everything felt easier than it had all season.

I was still breathing hard and tired as hell. But this felt like second nature, like the game unfolded a second faster for me than it did for everyone else. Passing lanes opened before they were there. Wingers committed to moves before they realized I’d taken away their options.

Tonight I wasn’t chasing the play. I arrived exactly where the puck was, time and time again.

Halfway through the first period, one of their forwards tried to chip the puck along the boards, like O’Connell had in the first game. Except I didn’t let it by me. Tonight, I simply took one stride backward.

He skated right into the space I left him, expecting to win the race, but I beat him to it before he even had his stick out.

Carter was right where I knew he’d be, flying through the neutral zone. The space between us was wide open, and the pass was so smooth I was sure it would be an instant replay. Logan cleared the player who tried to knock him out of position, racing to catch up with Carter in time to receive a pass. In the blink of an eye, the puck was buried in the back of the net, the horn going off.

I threw my arms in the air, screaming along with my teammates as we all worked our way to the bench.

1-0, in under 10 minutes.