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They drop the puck, and Florida gives their all. We fight harder than ever to keep it away from our end as the clock runs out.
We know we’re almost there when another yellow rubber duck is chucked from the crowd onto the ice.
Then another.
And another.
Fans chant the countdown when there’s ten seconds left. More ducks. Our smiles grow. It’s hard to focus when we’re so close to a win, we can taste it—more than taste—we can lick, suck, and swallow it. This is happening.
The horn sounds, and I turn into a fucking bitch with tears streaming my face. We toss our sticks, gloves, helmets,everythinginto the air. The rest of the bench floods the ice, and we form a huge pile. Fans are screaming, crying, and pounding on the plexiglass. Rubber ducks soar through the floatingconfetti. Sully stands next to Coach, and I wave him out. We form a giant mob against the boards, screaming and yelling.
It’s absolutely surreal.
“The Stonkley—motherfucking—Clonk!” Jonesy hollers next to me.
“Stanley Cup!” O’Callahan corrects, now that we are in the clear to utter its name out loud.
“I’m still calling it the Stonkley!” he screams back. Half of us are crying. I’m sure half the Florida bench is crying too. I don’t fault them.
Our coaches, managers, and owner get on the ice with us—along with media reporters looking for sound bites. We give a replay of the winning goal and answer “How are you feeling?” about fifteen times while panting and dripping with sweat.
It’s a full-on celebration on the ice. Before long, they roll out the red carpet, and two men with white gloves bring out The Cup. They give a short speech and call my name up to take it for a victory lap. I nod for Barrett to join me. He takes one end as we both hoist it above our heads and make a lap around the arena. It’s surreal. It’s all led to this, and we saw it through.
“Hey, promise me something,” Barrett says.
“What’s that?”
“Don’t do anything sexual with it when it’s your day with the cup. I promised Arthur he could use it as a cereal bowl.”
I bark out a laugh. “I promise I won’t fuck Sir Stanley before I give it to you.”
As soon as I see Jordan at the player bench, I split from the group. She’s wiping away her happy tears next to Micky, Birdie, and Raleigh, and I scoop her up. She cups my face and kisses me between laughs.
“Camden! You wonthe Stanley Cup!”
That reminds me, Barrett’s shot was the winning goal.I drop her to her feet and kiss her cheek, then grab the winning puck off the bench. “Be right back.”
I skate to Barrett and thrust it into his chest. “This one is yours.” It practically sends him into tears, which gets me choked up. Damn, he sure is going out with a bang. “Your last puck, and it won the Stanley Cup.”
He throws his arms around me, and we hug it out before skating back to the bench to see everyone together. Rhys and Lonan are already there. Lonan kisses Ethan on top of his head and wraps an arm around Birdie, kissing her. Rhys cups his hands around Micky’s neck as they make out. Barrett picks up his son, Arthur, and kisses his wife, Raleigh, who’s holding their newborn daughter, Darby.
I smile at Jordan and sink my hands into her hair, crushing my lips to hers. She’s the love of my life. I can’t imagine celebrating this win without her.
58
“Do you have to be touching it the whole time?” I laugh.
Cam’s hand is firmly planted on the base of the trophy while I grind on his cock. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
The Stanley Cup stares back at me from the nightstand, close enough to see my reflection in the silver.
“You’re lucky it’s this far away. It’d be in bed with us, except I promised Barrett I wouldn’t do anything sexual with it since his kid’s gonna be eating cereal out of it next week.”
“Ew! Stop touching it, then!”
“No. You know how you had your nipples pierced because it was on your bucket list?”
I nod.
