AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"And by 'significant,' I mean your salary would almost double, Pete. And the same for Hoss. I know money isn't everything, but it's not peanuts either," Stan continued.
My head started to spin. Double the salary could mean a completely secure future, maybe even accelerate plans Hoss and I had only dreamt about. But at what cost?
"I appreciate the heads-up," I said, finally finding my voice. "This is a lot to process, especially with the championship so close."
"I get it, I do. But I thought you both should know. You've been the catalyst this team needed, and if we're moving, I want you there to continue what you've built."
I paused, rubbing my temple as I tried to wrap my head around everything. "Thanks, Stan. Really. Hoss and I will talk this over.”
"Of course, take your time. But not too much time," he added with a dry chuckle.
Hanging up, I stared at the phone for what felt like an eternity. The prospect of the Cougars moving was a game-changer. And whatever Hoss and I decided, it wouldn't just be about money or a title; it would be about the life we wanted to build, wherever that might be.
"We have a choice, you know," Hoss said after I hung up, "If we move, it's a new chapter. If we stay, we fight for what we've built."
"And what if it's not our choice to make?" I asked, feeling the weight of the coming days already pressing on me.
"For now, let's make the one choice we can," Hoss said, locking eyes with me. "Let's choose to kick ass in the championship. We’ll deal with the rest afterward.”
It was good enough for me. We headed to the locker room, and as I looked back, my eyes caught a copy of the crumpled newspaper in the trash. It felt like a sign, but I couldn’t read what it had to say—not yet.
Chapter19
Hoss
Ilet go of all the pre-game drama to focus on the championship game, and thankfully, so did the team. Worries over a possible team move could wait, and so could my sadness at possibly losing Eddie.
We had a game to win—thegame to win.
The roar in the Cold Pines Arena rattled the building to its foundation as the final buzzer announced our victory. Gloves flew, sticks clattered to the ice, and our team—the Cold Pines Cougars—piled onto each other in the center of the ice, celebrating.
Through the writhing crowd of players, I saw Pete. He stood on the edge of the ice, seeking me out. No words needed to be spoken; his look said it all. It was our victory, too, a shared triumph that deserved its own special kind of celebration.
The trophy ceremony was no less than euphoric. We skated a lap around the rink with the coveted championship cup hoisted high. Cameras flashed, capturing the moment for posterity, but I felt like I was floating, barely aware of the actual trophy. The announcer bellowed, "For the first time in their history, your Cold Pines Cougars are the champions!"
It didn't stop there. Once we left the ice and entered the locker room, the media descended like wolves, jockeying for interviews and sound bites. Champagne sprayed through the air, and our players continually shouted, “We did it!”
Once it all died down, I looked for Pete. I found him leaning casually against the wall near the entrance to our shared office. He looked up as I approached, green eyes twinkling with something that looked like mischief.
"You ready?" Pete asked, pushing off the wall.
A thrill shot up my spine, quick and electric. "Hell, yeah," I replied, and we walked into the office.
Pete shut the door behind us, leaning back against it momentarily as he looked at me. "We actually did it," he said. “We—you and me—did it, with the team, of course.”
A goofy grin took over my face. "You ever doubted us?"
Pete's eyes flicked to the corner of the room, where a whiteboard had been hanging all season. On it were scribbled numbers and stats, a tally of our wins and losses. It was our unofficial scoreboard, one that had seen its fair share of eraser smudges and rewritten figures.
"Wait a sec," he said, stepping over to the board. He picked up a black marker from the tray, uncapped it with a swift motion, and reached out to the last entry.
With a flourish, Pete drew a bold “W” over it. "Now, it's official," he declared, capping the marker and tossing it back on the tray.
I let out a hearty laugh, my eyes meeting his. “And they say I’m the theatrical one.”
He grinned, walking back toward me.
Taking a few more steps forward, he closed the distance between us. “And I did have my moments of flagging faith,” he admitted. "But you—you never let me give up.”
