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91.
Hope
Jamie lit the lamp and the arena erupted in cheers.
“Lars-son! Lars-son! Lars-son!”
A thick-necked defenseman from the other team elbow-checked him and the cheers turned to jeers. I was holding Jeanine’s hand so tightly, I kept having to remind myself to ease off. But I couldn’t help it. I was a bundle of nerves. I knew how much this game meant to Rowan and Jamie. Even Thacker had come to show his support. He shifted in the seat beside me and looped his arm over the back of my chair.
“So Jamie scored?” he asked in my ear. I nodded, laughing. Although he was a former athlete, his interest in sports had clearly not extended to hockey. But he was here in a gray Hawks t-shirt, cheering on my guys. It felt like a dream. I’d never imagined that something like this could be possible, me and my boyfriend sitting in the stands, cheering on my other two boyfriends.
But here we were. One big, happy family.
Kane had been damned and determined to ruin our happiness, for reasons I still didn’t fully understand. But thewhydidn’t matter. Rowan had my back, and he handled the situation as soon as I got solid evidence into his hands. I smiled as I watched him behind the bench, shouting at the players on the ice. Lars knocked one of the Idaho skaters flat on his back and the officials blasted their whistles as a dogpile formed on the ice, fists and helmets flying. Tensions were high, but high stakes were usually when the Hawks played their best. Today was no exception. Idaho was throwing everything they had at our players and it was bouncing off of them like they were made of teflon. Shiny and slick, they raced back and forth from one goal to another, always right on top of Idaho, not letting them get a single shot into the net. Patch Olson was on his toes in front of the goal, with an eagle eye on the puck, but they didn’t even let it get close to him. Another scuffle broke out, and then another, before the guys clomped back to the locker room to rest up for the third round.
When they came back out, something or someone had obviously lit a fire under the boys from Idaho. Their coach looked downright livid as he screamed, red-faced, from the stands. They were skating like they’d been given a new lease on life, or like their coach had put the fear of God into them. And just like that, they drove the puck down to our end and slammed it into our net. Red light swept the audience, highlighting the expressions of joy, shock, and disbelief. Those emotions were echoed by our players on the ice, who were caught off guard by the sudden, unexpected turn-around.
It was obvious to me that they thought they had this game, and the championship spot, in the bag. But they hadn’t won quite yet, and Idaho wasn’t about to let them think they had.
The score flashed 1-2, with the Hawks in the lead, and Idaho had the puck again. They were pushing it inch by inch back down the ice toward Patch, who looked slightly panicked. He was in the running for the Most Improved Player award, and he’d been carrying himself with a newfound confidence lately. As the burly Idaho boys raced down the ice in his direction, he looked like he was ready to bolt. Instead, he squared his shoulders and spread his skates wide, squatting down and narrowing his eyes as he tracked the puck’s position. Jamie snaked it away from the thick-necked center, but then a smaller, faster skater swept in and took it back, looping it around the perimeter of the rink and driving it back toward Patch. I could see the set of the goalie’s jaw from here. I remembered when he was replaced by Dallas Cash last year and everyone was relieved, but this year he’d managed to hold his own and even outshine Branson’s new recruit.
Idaho took their shot and he slammed his knee down. The puck glanced off his leg guard and slid away. It was picked up by one of the Hawks and returned to center ice. But now their burly center was bearing down, and they were turning the heat up as the time ran down on the clock. I could hear the clashing sounds of Rowan and the Idaho coach shouting over each other, shouting over the deafening noise that was coming from the stands as fans from both sides leaned forward, pressing themselves against the plexiglass and screaming for all they were worth in support of their respective teams.
6…
5…
4…
Red-faced fans shouted every number as it flipped over on the board, as the seconds ran out, and then there it was, the air horn that meant the game was over. The score was final. 1-2.
The Hawks were hosting the championship.
92.
Hope
The next morning, I stumbled into Speedgoat with a vicious hangover, but even the sick, stubborn pain couldn’t sour my mood. I hadn’t seen Jamie so happy and excited all season. I could tell that he’d been really hungry for a chance at the cup after the close call the Hawks had last year. They got close enough to taste the championship, but it was snatched away from them in the final game of the playoffs. Well, this year he was captain, and they were about to take a big, juicy bite.
I hung my bag and jacket on my designated hook and then stepped into the chaos of the kitchen. Ever since her confession, Ronnie had been doing work enough for two sous chefs. She came early, stayed late. I knew that she was waiting anxiously for the other shoe to drop. But it wasn’t my shoe to drop. The final call was in Thacker’s hands, and he hadn’t said anything about it since I pleaded Ronnie’s case and asked him to keep her on.
“Hey, Ronnie,” I said as I joined her at the cooktop. She shot me a nervous glance.
“Morning, chef,” she said before dropping her eyes back to the task at hand. She was browning onions and peppers for a new ribeye Philly cheesesteak we were trying out on the lunch menu.
“Let me talk to Thacker and I’ll get back to you about the specials in a few,” I said, turning toward his closed office door. Just then, it swung open and he stepped out. I froze, and Ronnie stood stock-still beside me. We were both holding our breath, bracing for the worst. As usual, our mercurial boss’s expression was unreadable. If I thought sleeping with him would help me read his moods, I’d been sorely mistaken.
“Huddle up,” he called, loud enough to bring the dishwasher out from the back, wiping his soapy hands on a kitchen rag. I heard Ronnie take a shaky breath before she turned to stand beside me and face him.
He nodded as his lean staff gathered around. Front-of-house wouldn’t be here for another hour, but back-of-house stayed in the trenches. Kept the place running. I was already getting my hackles up, ready to fight him if he tried to fire Ronnie. Even in Casper, sous chefs weren’t very hard to find. He could have a replacement in here this afternoon. But if he just cut people loose every time they made a mistake or disappointed him—
“It’s been a long, hard winter,” he said grimly. I held my breath, listening. “As you all know, Speedgoat has struggled just like the rest of us.” Beside me, Ronnie hung her head. I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “But things are starting to turn around. And this staff is a big part of the reason.” I frowned, studying his impassive face. The heavy weight of dread was starting to lift off of me. “So everybody is getting a dollar raise, effective immediately. Also, you’ll be getting paperwork for your benefits package in the next week.” Behind me, the line cooks murmured excitedly to each other. The dishwasher pumped his fist. “Keep up the good work. Hope will bring you the specials in a few minutes.”
The crowd dispersed as quickly as it had gathered. Ronnie turned back to the cooktop. She wasn’t about to disturb the jovial atmosphere by drawing attention to herself. But his attention was already on her.
“Ronnie,” he said softly, stepping past me to put his hand on her shoulder. “You’re getting two dollars.” She turned wide, disbelieving eyes on him. Her small chin was starting to tremble. “But I have a condition.”
“Wh-what?” she asked, looking apprehensive. He gripped both of her shoulders and turned her bodily toward him.
