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"A pact?" I raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"Yeah," he nodded. "When things get tough, and the pressure's on, we'll be each other's rock. We'll be the ones to lean on, no judgments, and no holding back."
The thought resonated with me, so simple yet so profound. "I like the sound of that."
He stood, extending his hand across the desk. "Deal?"
"Deal," I said, gripping his hand tightly, sealing a new pact.
Suddenly, Pete pulled me toward him, our hands still locked together. Our lips met, and it was like the first sip of water after hours on the ice—refreshing and exhilarating.
Pete finally broke the kiss, but his eyes stayed locked onto mine. "I love you. And I'm damn proud of us and what we've built here, both on and off the ice."
"I love you, too,” I echoed, my heart pounding.
He squeezed my hand one last time before letting go. "Come on, let's go home. We've got a hell of a day tomorrow at practice, and we'll need all the rest we can get."
A sudden thought rattled in my head, and I smiled. “Let's roll, but buckle up. I've got a plan for tomorrow’s practice. Let's just say the men have earned a little fun, and it's gonna be a hoot.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
Although we were alone in the building, it still seemed like one of those things to whisper about. I shared the idea with Pete, and he grinned from ear to ear.
“That’s perfect.”
We left the arena hand-in-hand, chuckling all the way to the car.
Chapter16
Pete
The arena buzzed with energy as we glided onto the ice for practice. The playoffs loomed ahead of us, which meant an opportunity to bring the championship home to Cold Pines.
As I skated, I heard that whispery sound of the blades gliding. I still could never get enough of that, even after so many years playing hockey. It was a simple pleasure. I watched as the team executed drills, wove through cones and practiced stickhandling.
"Alright, men! Five laps around the rink, let’s go!" I hollered, my voice rebounding off the walls. I smiled as they tore into the circuits, bursting into action like greyhounds chasing a mechanical rabbit. I watched them, each player with a unique style, strengths, and quirks.
Jensen, my top winger with a nose for putting the puck in the net, broke formation suddenly. He veered from the outer lane and skated directly toward me, a curious expression on his rugged face.
"Hey, Pete, where's Hoss?" he asked, pulling up to a stop. "He's usually here by now, right?"
I started to frown. I was leading practice without my right-hand man. Jensen was right—Hoss was usually around by the time drills began.
I looked around as the team began to chatter. Everyone glanced around the rink. An undercurrent of worry spread quickly.
Before I could say anything, the arena suddenly roared to life, taking the players by surprise. “Walking On Sunshine” erupted from the speakers. It sounded like a sonic wave crashing over the ice.
Everyone turned toward the entrance to the locker room. There he was—Hoss, making his entrance in the absurd cougar mascot suit. His arms were in the air, paws waving, as he pranced and pirouetted his way onto the ice.
The moves were all him, a bizarre blend of grace and goofiness. The team's tense atmosphere shattered, replaced by laughter and good-natured catcalls.
"Really, Hoss? Again?" Jensen hollered, but he was grinning like a kid on Christmas.
Hoss perfectly executed his plan from the night before, which had its intended impact. The tension about the upcoming playoffs eased, and soon, the team formed a conga line behind the cougar.
I thought about maintaining my dignity, but screw it; the conga line needed a caboose, right? I fell in line, joining my team in one of the most ridiculous yet heartwarming moments I’d ever experienced.
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