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“Just ignore them,” she told me under her breath as we’d walked with purpose into the arena earlier that evening. Casper, Wyoming wasn’t exactly a big draw for the paparazzi, but hockey fans could be a bit…obsessive. And we were the hot topic of the week, especially with the Hawks playing in the championship. Jamie may have been minor-league his whole career, but Rowan Wilder was practically a household name. The fact that he’d retired from the ice didn’t mean the girlies were any less in love with him than they had been during his days playing in the show. I was pretty sure I could feel some daggers stabbing through the sea of curious glances.
I couldn’t blame them for being jealous. I knew Lola was used to the pointed glares from aspiring puck bunnies who hadn’t even managed to bag one player yet, while she was strutting around with not one but four of the team’s biggest stars, and the coach to boot.
“You’re doing great,” she’d whispered, hugging me as I brushed off the brave reporter who’d asked me for a comment. I let out a shaky laugh and threw an arm around her shoulders, holding her against me as we ducked inside, out of the howling spring wind.
Now, sitting in the stands, we leaned shoulder to shoulder, our fingers intertwined, both staring anxiously at the rink.
94.
Jamie
The energy in the locker room was electric. I looked around at the red faces of my teammates. Some I’d been playing with for years now, and some I’d only known a few months. This season had bonded us all together. I knew that most of them were terrified when Branson cut Kane—especially the new guys. His scrawny partner in crime had been doing his level best to be invisible these days. He was hiding out on the bench, and that was fine with me. Patch Olson had far outstripped him as a goalie this season. Rumor was that the kid’s contract would not be renewed.
Regardless of the drama, we were playing better than we ever had, at the exact moment when we most needed the boost. We were in the lead going into the third round. The cup was tantalizingly close. All we had to do now was hold them off.
Rowan was saying as much at the front of the room. He had a special ability to fire everybody up and get them all on the same team. Kane’s revenge had been to go public with his now-useless dirt on me and Rowan, so everybody knew about our arrangement. But no one seemed to care very much. These days, polyamorous relationships are practically mundane. Especially in hockey. We shared everything, why wouldn’t we share our women?
I didn’t mind the sharing, as long as it was my jersey that Hope was wearing. I was glad to be the only active player in the group. Lola had to keep a strict, rotating schedule to make sure all of her guys got equal jersey time. I’d seen them griping at each other over the issue more than once. But she was unflappable. Like Hope, she seemed to just expand in heart and mind, expand her life, and welcome them all in.
Still, I was glad that my girl seemed satisfied at three. I was willing to entertain other partners. If Hope decided she wanted to experience a gang-bang, I’d be the one to happily set it up. If she wanted a gang-bang every night…?
I’d figure it out, if the time came. Right now, it seemed to me that were all content to coast and see what would happen with the four of us. We were still finding our rhythm, still feeling out how this relationship would work. We were all three at Hope’s house almost every night, but the other two still kept their own places. I could tell that Thacker needed some alone time every few days, and Rowan had turned his apartment into a gym. With four incomes and no kids, we weren’t exactly hurting for money.
“All right, let’s go!” Rowan shouted, breaking through my reverie. I blinked and realized that it was already time to head back out on the ice for the final round of the season. The one that would determine our fate. I followed my team, the last one out of the locker room, feeling a certain sense of destiny. The stadium was packed, the spectators thunderous with their cheering and applause. But my eyes found her in an instant. I could see clearly on her face that she had total faith in us. She was sure that we would win, and just like that, so was I.
But less than a minute later, I heard the horn and turned to see the puck sliding back out past Patch’s left skate. He looked ready to kill and said something to the Las Vegas center that made a couple of them loop back around threateningly. I took advantage of their momentary distraction and skated between them, scooping up the puck and carrying it down the ice toward the opposing goal. An elbow in a Vegas sweater caught me in the jaw as one of their wingers slid in and stole the puck back, and then we were all headed the other way again. I could feel the intensity, the drive, behind every moment on the ice. It was an epic game of tug-of-war, a battle that both sides were sure they could win. Would win.
But I knew the truth. There could only be one, and there was no fucking way that this cup was going to Vegas.
The round was playing out like a ping-pong match between the goalies, each fiercely deflecting every puck that came at them. I sent one flying, and the Vegas tender knocked it away. Their bullish starting center rocketed the puck toward our net, and Patch Olson knocked it easily back onto the ice. It was sliding in my direction, and I picked it up, ramming it down the ice, zig-zagging between broad bodies who had a mind to stop me in my tracks.
And then, as the clock raced toward zero, as the cold air bit my hot cheeks, I narrowed my eyes and gritted my teeth, brought the stick swinging, felt the connect, the little click that told me it was good, and then the puck was flying right past the distracted goalie’s face, and the red light spun, and the clock hit zero, and the crowd went wild.
95.
Hope
WELCOME ROCKY MOUNTAIN HOCKEY LEAGUE CHAMPIONS!
The sound in Copper’s was deafening. The normal clack of pool balls had been replaced with the noisy crush of voices and people cheering. Victory was in the air. The Hawks won the cup, and now they were going out to paint the town red. There was a line of people already at the bar, wanting to buy a round for the team.
Mom and Dad laughed as they watched Reid pop a bottle of champagne and spray it all over Jamie, who was trying and failing to snatch the bottle away from him. And then, in classic big brother style, Reid turned the bottle on me. I shrieked and ducked behind Thacker, who took the spray full in the face. Beside us, Lola snorted, then covered her mouth with her hand, looking sheepish. Thacker’s hand shot out and closed around the neck of the bottle, and he yanked it away from Reid, who threw his hands up defensively and darted around to hide behind Lola. Dallas’s imposing form standing beside her like a shadow was enough to make Thacker second-guess his plan to dump the remaining champagne on whatever part of Reid he could reach.
“We’ve got to go, darling,” Mom said, giving me a one-armed hug and doing her best to avoid pressing herself against my champagne-soaked dress. I pressed a kiss to her cheek and then spread my arms wide for my father’s bear hug. “Bob, if we get stopped on the way home you’re going to reek of wine.”
“I’m sober. Let ‘em breathalyze me,” he said, waving a dismissive hand at her. “A Hope hug is worth it.” He beamed down at me and gave me another tight squeeze. Reid had Mom wrapped up in a bone-crushing hug of his own and she was trying and failing to escape his punishing embrace.
“Reid!” she said sternly. “You’re suffocating me!” But the laughter dancing in her eyes betrayed her true feelings. I could actually feel my heart healing as I watched them. Reid had gone through a really rough time before Lola came along, and it nearly tore our family apart. There was a time when I was sure I’d never see them like this again.
“We’ll see you all at the house tomorrow for lunch?” Dad asked. Dabbing at my eye with the back of my hand, I nodded.
“We’ll be there with bells on,” I laughed. “I sure hope you got enough food.”
He looked around with a serious face at the crowd, taking a head count. He used to do the same when he was coaching Reid’s JV hockey team.
“Sure we do,” he said after a minute. “Hell, bring the whole team if you like.” Around us, Jamie’s hulking teammates erupted in cheers. I shook my head.
“And I sure hope you meant that,” I said. He raised his eyebrows, looking apprehensive at the idea of feeding a hockey team and a half tomorrow. But Reid and I got our competitive, stubborn streak from our mild-mannered father. He loved nothing more than a challenge. With a determined smile, he gave me a nod.
