Fall With Me (Playing For Keeps Book 4)

This morning, I woke up and thought the boys would act like adults.

I thought they’d be wearing their game faces all day. That they’d put the shenanigans aside for one day and focus on the task ahead of them: the final fight for the Stanley Cup.

I thought wrong.

“Move, Garrett!”

“Do you have any rhythm at all?”

“It’s fucking embarrassing!”

“He’s doing his best, but his best isn’t good enough!”

“Can you get out of my space? I can’t shake my ass when you’re crowding me like this!”

I sigh, putting my phone down as a fight ensues between the boys in the hallway. “Can we get along for one minute? One single minute. That’s all I ask. I’m trying to take a nice video, and it’s like nobody practiced⁠—”

“I did!” Jaxon shouts. “I practiced!”

Carter shoves his finger in Garrett’s face. “We all know who didn’t practice!”

Garrett throws his hands in the air. “I practiced! I practiced so hard! Jennie cried, I was practicing so hard!”

Emmett rolls his eyes. “We all know the real reason Jennie cried.”

Adam crosses his arms over his chest. “Because Garrett’s such a horrible dancer it brings tears to her eyes.”

Garrett gasps, hand pressed to his heart. “How dare you. How dare all of you. You know what?” He fixes the button on his suit jacket. “I don’t need this.” He makes to storm off, but doubles back right after he passes me. “I, um, really wanna do the video, ’cause watching them makes Jennie fucking elated, so can you guys say something nice about me and then we can go again?”

Jaxon gestures at him, searching for words. “Uh . . . your ass looks extra bubbly today in those pants?”

He sniffs. “I’ve been doing extra squats.”

Carter juts his hip. “No one pops a hip like you, but I’m a real close second.”

Emmett sighs, scrubbing the back of his neck. “You never give up, and that’s admirable, given how horrible you are.”

Adam runs his fingers through his curls. “You, uh . . . you look really nice in your suit. Very handsome, buddy.”

Garrett points his nose toward the ceiling. “Thank you. I know.” He claps his hands, dashing back to his spot in line. “All right, let’s go. And everybody back up, please. Give my booty space to work its magic.”

They give him space, all right. And Garrett’s booty? It works some type of magic. Not sure it’s the type of magic he hoped for as they sing and dance along to “Firework” by Katy Perry, but as I leave Jaxon with a good-luck kiss on the lips and the rest of the boys with one on their cheeks, I know it’s the type of magic that’s going to get this video over a million views on the Vipers’ Instagram. After all, we now have the biggest social media fanbase of all the NHL teams.

I make my way out into the family waiting area, where everyone is buzzing, alive with excitement for the Stanley Cup Final. I’m only a little jealous of the custom denim jackets the girls are decked out in, their titles—or future titles—stitched and bedazzled along the back, their favorite numbers below them, embroidered patches unique to their relationships with their men scattered throughout. Take Olivia, for example. She wears MRS. BECKETT in rhinestone letters, 87 stitched below. Her patches consist of a tiara, a slice of pumpkin pie, a stack of Oreos, world’s hottest teacher, and MILF. And she’s rocking it.

There’s only, like, the smallest sliver of me that regrets insisting I didn’t need one. I mean, I knew I wanted one. The girls knew I wanted one. That’s why they asked me no fewer than twenty times if I was sure, and why I had to leap on Cara’s back, put her in a headlock to stop her when she said, “I’m just gonna order you one.”

Just kidding; that didn’t stop her. I mean, she didn’t order it, but she did toss me off her back with no effort at all, and then I was running through her house, shrieking at the top of my lungs as she chased after me. Afterward, Olivia congratulated me on fulfilling the rite of passage.

Anyway, I have my good-luck Stanley Cup vest, hand crocheted by Gran herself, with Jaxon’s last name and number stitched over my heart. Jaxon’s got one, too, except his name and number are on the back, a paw print, camera, and star over his heart. Even Mittens has one, except it says Daddy on the back. They arrived the morning of game one, and we’ve walked into the arena before each game, holding hands in our matching vests.

Not Mittens, unfortunately. Mittens isn’t allowed at the arena, so last night we went for milkshakes, brought Mitts on his harness, and everyone wore their vest. We got a lot of attention, and Mittens soaked every moment of it up like the slutty little cat he is.

Ireland, Lily, and Connor are wearing denim jackets, too, their daddy’s numbers painted on their cheeks. Holly, Carter and Jennie’s mom, is here with Hank, Ireland’s pseudo-great-grandpa, and he’s quite possibly the cutest old man I’ve ever seen, his fluffy white hair hidden beneath a ball cap that says CARTER BECKETT’S #1 FAN, a picture of the two of them with their arms around each other printed on his T-shirt. Garrett’s parents have given up trying to manage his three little sisters, Emmett’s brothers have put each other in headlocks no fewer than five times, and Adam’s parents are trying their damnedest to wrangle all the kids from Second Chance Home, who are all here on Adam’s dime.

But the three people I’m looking for, the same ones I’ve been waiting for the last two hours, still aren’t here.

“Lennon!” One of the security guards waves his arm in the air. “Got some people trying to get in, say they’re with you?”

“Yes! Send them in, please!” Gripping my camera in my hand, I start dashing toward the door, only to skid to a stop when my eyes land on the people rushing toward me.

“Lennon! Thank God, angel. I knew you’d let me in.” Ryne stops in front of me, gripping his knees as he catches his breath. And the person he’s with? His fucking grandmother.

“Oh my fucking God,” I mutter. “Have I died? I’m dead, aren’t I? Because there’s no way you’re here right now, standing in front of me.”

“Uh, Len.” Cara stops beside me, face twisting in disgust as she takes in the same sight I’m seeing. She waggles her finger up and down in Ryne’s direction. “Who’s this dipshit?”

I sigh, checking my nails. They’re painted blue and green for Jaxon. “My ex.”

“Your—” She snorts a laugh, folding her lips into her mouth. “Oh, babe. You really dated down, huh? Poor, sweet girl. Well, you have our sixty-nine king now.” Her gaze goes back to Ryne, moving down in slow motion, then back up. “I didn’t expect you to be so short.”

He scoffs. “I’m five-nine.”

“Five-seven,” I correct.

“Average height.”

“Mmm.” Cara props her chin on her fist. “Short, but definitely not a king,” she murmurs, and she might as well have strapped me to a rocket, because she’s just launched me straight into outer space.

“Lennon, please,” his grandmother drawls when I manage to get a handle on my cackling. “Don’t be rude. It’s not very becoming of you. And in a crowd, no less.” She smooths her hand over her stiff coif. “Though I suppose theatrics in crowds were always your thing.”

The loudest guffaw that’s ever guffawed sounds from behind me, all four of my girls echoing my disbelief. I know they’ve got me, which is why I simply stand back, let them handle this.

“You did not just say that, lady.”

“Theatrics? I’ll show you fucking theatrics.”

“You wanna know what’s not very becoming? Your grandson, coming down the throat of someone who wasn’t his fiancée at his wedding rehearsal.”

“You wanna know what’s gonna be-coming? Lennon, after this game, with the six-foot-five Stanley Cup champ.”

“Mommy.” Lily takes Rosie’s hand. “Why’s this lady being mean to Auntie Len?”

“Because she’s old and miserable, sweetheart.”

Connor points a teensy, threatening finger at her. “You old ’n mis-a-bubow!”

Ireland makes claws with her hands and . . . hisses. Interesting.

“For heaven’s sake,” Ryne’s grandmother mutters, pinching her eyes. “It’s a zoo in here. Ryne, angel, let’s hurry it up.”

“Hurry what up?” I ask, and immediately wish I didn’t.

Because the PIECE OF MOTHERFUCKING SHIT pulls out a velvet box and sinks to his knee before me for the third time in his life.

“You cannot be fucking serious.”

“Lenny Bean, angel, I love you.”

“Did he just call her Lenny Bean?” Jennie whispers.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Olivia breathes out.

Ryne reaches for my hand, and Lily smacks it away.

“Don’t touch him, Auntie Len! He might have cooties!”

“Will this change your mind?” He flips open the box, revealing a hideous, gaudy ring, and I clamp my hand over my gaping mouth. “I got you a new one, worth twice as much. Since you sold your old one.”

“Have you lost your mind? Kids, cover your ears. Was me screaming my boyfriend’s name while he was balls deep inside me not clear enough for you?”

“I’m willing to forgive you, Len—” The crack of a fist against his face silences the entire floor.

My jaw unhinges, eyes bugging as I watch him clutch his bleeding nose, his grandmother panicking, crying out for tissues, and something about reconstructive surgery for his no longer perfectly symmetrical face.

Cara’s hands fly to her mouth. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God, I hit him! I punched him right in the nose! Did you see that?” She jumps up and down, grabbing me by the shoulders. “Did you see, Len? I punched him! Oh my God, that was exhilarating!” She spins around, grinning. “Who got that on video? Anyone? Emmett’s gonna lose it. I can’t wait to show him!” Slipping the tip of her thumbnail between her teeth, her eyes glaze over. “He’s gonna fuck me so good tonight.”

I clutch Cara’s hand in my trembling one, letting her pull me back into her. “The answer is no,” I tell Ryne. “It was no three days ago, and two weeks before that. It was no when you called me four weeks after our wedding rehearsal to see if I’d had a change of heart, and no when you texted me two weeks before that. It’s a big. Fat. Fucking. No. If you cannot get that through your head, I’m going to file a restraining order, or waive my boyfriend’s new no-fighting rule.”

“You’re behaving irrationally,” his grandmother argues in a hushed voice. “People have urges, Lennon. It’s meaningless. What matters is who he comes home to, who he’s providing for. If he has to satisfy his urges elsewhere here and there, so be it. We keep our heads held high and move along.”

“Who the fuck is this ‘we’ you’re talking about? Because it sure ain’t me. And by the way, ‘people have urges’ is a funny way of saying ‘cheating, dishonest, cowardly piece of shit.’ If that’s the life you’ve lived, I feel sorry for you. But that’s not my life. It never will be. I respect and love myself far too much to settle for anything less than what I deserve, and what I deserve—who I deserve—is Jaxon.”

I keep my gaze off Ryne, because he truly isn’t worth a second glance, not a single moment more of my time or energy. Plus, it looks like Emmett’s brothers are about to gently escort him outside, and out of my life.

My gaze coasts the space, and when I find the three people I’ve been waiting for being ushered inside, I smile.

“Excuse me. Jaxon’s guests are here.”

JAXON

I’m terrified Carter’s dramatic persona is rubbing off on me.

Because everyone else is at least half-dressed, and instead I’m sitting at my cubby, head in my hands, in nothing but my underwear.

“What if I fuck it up?” I mutter.

“You won’t,” Garrett says.

“I might.”

“It’s a team effort,” Emmett adds.

“I haven’t fought in six games. I’m overdue.”

“You’re doing great,” Adam murmurs.

Groaning, I throw my head back. “Can you just second-guess me for once in your life?”

“Nah.”

“Why would we do that?”

“We think you’re great, and you’ve proven your worth and skill tenfold over the last six games, without throwing a single punch.”

A gasp rings through the room, and I look up at Carter, staring slack-jawed at his phone.

“Phones!” He snaps his fingers at us. “Check your phones!”

I pull mine out, a notification from our group chat at the top of my screen, covering my background photo of me, Lennon, and Mittens, drinking our milkshakes and watching the sunset.

Olivia

Sooo . . . Len’s ex just showed up here with his granny and proposed with a new ring???

“What the⁠—”

“Ho-ly shit.”

“Didn’t you literally call him while you two were christening your new house?”

My fingers fly across the screen, blood pounding angrily in my ears.

Me

Pardon the fuck out of me?

Jennie

He called her Lenny Bean.

Rosie

It was utterly horrifying.

Olivia

Vomit-inducing.

Cara

I PUNCHED HIM IN THE FACE. I DID IT. I NAILED HIM SO GOOD.

Emmett

THAT’S MY FUCKING GIRL!!!

Jennie

Ireland bit him in the leg.

Carter

THAT’S MY FUCKING PRINCESS!!!

Rosie

Connor sternly told him he was a “berry” bad boy, then charged at him, shrieking at the top of his lungs.

Adam

THAT’S MY BOY!!!

Olivia

His granny said we were raising troublemakers.

Cara

So then I charged at her, shrieking at the top of my lungs *hair flip emoji*

Garrett

Are . . . are we the troublemakers?

Emmett

We’re the troublemakers, baby!

Carter changed the group chat name to The Tea Is Hot But Carter Is Scalding.

Carter

i’m sorry, len. it was a good name n it had a good run. but every1 knows this one is better. it’s not personal. luv u.

p.s. jaxon wants 2 know how big the diamond was so he can double it

Me

I did not say that.

Carter

oh so u don’t care if ur ring is 2nd string when u propose???

Me

Why are we talking about proposals? We’ve been dating for like 2 seconds.

Garrett

Best 2 seconds of your life.

Lennon

Best 2 seconds of your life.

Garrett

HA! JINX!

Lennon

JINX! Buy me a Coke!

Me

Also it’s not about the ring size. It’s about the love.

Emmett

Sounds like something someone with a small dick would say.

Me

Lennon, honey, how big was the diamond? Asking for a friend.

Carter

(he’s the friend)

I slam my phone down, leaping to my feet. “I’m going out there. I’m finding him.” I sink back down to the bench, crossing my arms, knees bouncing. “No, Cara took care of him. Naturally.” I leap to my feet again. “I have to make sure Lennon’s okay.”

Ignoring my name as they call after me, I dash across the dressing room. When I reach the door, all four of them scream my name at the same time.

“What?”

Emmett gestures at my lower half. “Dude, put some fucking clothes on.”

“Huh?” I look down at myself, my pink boxer briefs with Mittens’s heart-shaped face scattered all over them. I have another pair at home with Lennon’s face on them. “Oh. Right. Oops.”

Thirty seconds later, I’m bursting into the hallway in my socks, shorts hanging haphazardly off my hips, tugging a shirt over my head.

“Jaxon?”

I spin around, bouncing off the wall, and Lennon’s giggle makes my heart smile. Her warm hands coast up my sides, gripping the hem of my T-shirt as she slowly frees my head, pulling the soft cotton down.

“What are you doing?” she murmurs.

“I came to find you. To make sure you’re okay. Also, I need to know how big the diamond was. Is Ryne still here? Should I punch him? I can punch him. Just once, right in the dick. Are you okay? You’re beautiful. I love you.” Bracketing her jaw, I bring her mouth to mine. “Wanna find a closet and have a quick good-luck fuck before the game? I’ll settle for seven minutes in heaven, just kissing, plus some hand stuff.”

She drags her hand down her face. “Can you behave for once in your life?”

“No.” I squeeze her ass. “I’ve always been bad at following rules. Ask Gran.”

“It’s true,” a soft voice says from behind me. A voice I’d know anywhere. “A real pain in my ass, he was.”

My heart races as I look down at Lennon, the guilty grin she wears. When she turns me around, bringing me face-to-face with the small old woman pushing her walker toward me, her salt-and-pepper hair tucked beneath a Vipers cap, dressed in a vest that’s nearly identical to mine and Lennon’s, that heart sputters to a stop.

She grins up at me. “Wouldn’t change him for the world, though. My favorite of all my pains, and I have many.”

“Gran,” I whisper, right before I dash over to her, scoop her into my arms, clutch her tight to my chest. “Gran.”

Her weathered hands cup my face, blue eyes shining with tears. “Oh, sweetheart. I’ve missed you so much.”

“How did you get here?” I murmur against her hair. “I thought you couldn’t travel alone.”

“Your sweet Lennon was going to fly out yesterday morning, pick me up, and fly in with me. That was the original plan.”

I glance at her over my shoulder, standing there wearing a bashful smile as she wiggles her fingers at me. “But—she was with me all day, so how did you get here?”

Gran smiles, gently pushing the hair from my forehead. “I flew out with two old friends instead.”

“Oh? Who? Is it Dawn and Marie, ’cause they always . . . always . . .” My words get lost in my throat as Gran steps aside, and the two people behind her step forward. My chest heaves, gaze bouncing around them, taking them in. The hands clasped tightly at their stomachs. The jerseys with my number on the arm. The pins on their chests, all with my name, but a different logo for each. One for LA. One for Carolina. One for Nashville, and one for Vancouver. Almost as if they’ve been watching me this whole time, keeping up with my life from afar.

My heart squeezes as I follow the shock of red hair tumbling down around the woman’s shoulders. Those deep brown eyes on the man, red-rimmed and swimming with tears.

It’s been nearly sixteen years, but I’d know these faces anywhere.

“Jaxon,” the woman whispers, and all the love I’ve been missing, the grief that’s gripped me so tight, it falls down my face as tears as Bryce’s parents take me in their arms.

“I’m sorry.” The broken words crawl up my chest, squeezing out of the viselike grip on my throat that, for the first time in forever, feels like it’s slowly easing. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, sweetheart.” Bryce’s mom takes my face in her hands, tears streaming down her face. “You don’t have a thing to apologize for.”

“We’re the ones who need to apologize.” His dad swipes at his tears. “We were young and foolish. We were so damn broken. It’s not an excuse. We just didn’t know how to survive. We looked at you, and all we could see at the time was a life Bryce would never have.”

“I was broken too,” I whisper. “And every time I looked into the mirror, I saw the same thing you saw. The life Bryce would’ve done so much better at than me. And the kid who was too slow to save him.”

“No, Jaxon. You were there with Bryce in his final moments, and that’s the only thing that’s brought us peace all these years.”

“Lennon reached out to me on Facebook two days ago,” his mom tells me. “We didn’t know if you’d even want to see us, even though she said you did, but we had to try. It’s taken us years to get here, to get to a place where we feel strong enough to move forward, to finally make real progress. Years of therapy, grief counseling, and marriage counseling. Hell, we passed preadoption training ten years ago, but every damn time we think we’re ready to grow our family, we get scared all over again. One step forward, two backwards. God, we’re tired. So damn tired of failing. Failing ourselves. Failing you. Failing Bryce.”

“We’re sorry, Jaxon,” his dad says. “We’re sorry we walked away when you needed us most. We’re sorry for hurting you. We know it’s not enough. That it’ll never be enough. But sixteen years later, and damn it, you deserve to hear the words.”

“We love you, sweetheart.” With shaky hands, she reaches into her purse, pulling out a Ziploc bag filled with ticket stubs. Ticket stubs dating back nine years. Vancouver. Nashville. Carolina. Fuck, my debut game in LA at eighteen. “We’ve watched you every step of the way. Been so damn proud of you. You did it. You worked for it. And you deserve it, Jaxon. You deserve everything good in your life.”

Suddenly, every racing thought in my head stills. All the insecurities that have spent years attacking my self-worth, bubbling just below the surface where I can keep them contained if I try hard enough, begin to wane. The frantic pounding of my heart slows to a steady, gentle thrum, and everything is quiet.

You deserve everything good in your life.

It’s funny, isn’t it? A lifetime of people walking away and never looking back left me scrambling for validation, for connection. Left me desperately chasing a version of me I’d never be able to attain. It took nearly sixteen years to realize the reason I’d never been able to be better was because there was nothing wrong with who I was in the first place. I’m still working on it, struggling every day to accept that I truly am deserving of all the good things in my life, a struggle that gets easier every day with my family by my side.

And a handful of carefully selected words, spilled out like the tears cascading down their faces and mine, wipes the slate clean with a single sweep of the hand. Because life is too short to hold grudges, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that hurt people are desperate enough that they’ll do whatever they think they need to do to ease the pain, that we’re all just out here doing the best that we can, wherever we are in life.

So when I tell them, “I forgive you,” there isn’t a piece of me that doesn’t feel it. There isn’t a bone in my body that doesn’t feel the weight of all that heartache shifting from my shoulders, the way my chest expands like I’ve finally broken the surface of the water, and I’m taking my first full breath in ages.

“Why?”

“Because that’s what family does. And you’ll always be family to me.”

Six months ago, I convinced myself I was alone in a room full of people. I watched my friends with envy as they expanded their families, loved and were loved without condition. I sat there and refused to see that when they expanded their families, they expanded them to include me. That when they loved without condition, that love extended to me too. They accepted me the way families are meant to, and I sat by day after day and convinced myself none of it was real. I waited for it to end, for it to be robbed from me the way it always was, and I wasted so much precious time I’ll never be able to get back.

So when I step onto the ice forty-five minutes later and see all the people in the stands, the ones wearing my jerseys, people who love me, who want nothing more than for me to succeed in life, when I look at the team that’s stood by my side even when I tried to push them away, I’m overwhelmed by the power that courses through me. The confidence. I feel unstoppable, invincible.

Jesus, what a wild thing it is to be loved.

That must be why when the “Cha Cha Slide” comes on during warm-ups, I’m the first one sliding into position, why nobody rocks the ice better than me for those brief minutes, even though Carter insists it’s him.

When we head into the dressing room after warm-ups so they can flood the ice, Lennon follows with her camera. She snaps picture after picture, her phone off to the side and recording while Coach steps back, letting our captain hype us up the way only Carter knows how to, screaming about a team who never gives up, a team who deserves this. A team he’s proud to call family.

We head back through the players’ tunnel, and I pull one glove off, hooking my finger through the belt loop on Lennon’s skintight leather pants, dragging her into to me.

“Still can’t believe Gran didn’t put my number on the back of your vest.”

She arches one perfect, dark brow. “Jaxon, you asked her to crochet king below it. You wanted me to walk around with RILEY 69 KING on my back.”

“Oh, well, excuse me for wanting everyone to know I take my diet very seriously. People are always asking me what I eat; the answer is my girlfriend’s delicious cunt.”

“You’re filthy.” With a fistful of my jersey, she tugs my mouth down to hers. “I love it.” Her lips touch my ear. “Win tonight, and I’ll let you feast on it while I swallow your cock.”

A long, loud sigh comes from beside us. I look up at Adam, leaning against the wall, head down. “Needed a minute before the game. Saw you guys having what I thought was a sweet moment, so I thought it was safe to come back here for some quiet. That’ll teach me, huh?”

“Walked yourself right into it, bud.” I clap him on the back as the team takes the ice. “C’mon. You’re gonna rock it, Adam.” I pop a kiss on Lennon’s cheek before following Adam, pausing in the doorway. “Hey, tidbit!”

She glances at me over her shoulder, a small smile playing on her lips.

“You’re not my line, Lennon. It’s Vancouver. It’s Carter, Garrett, Adam, and Emmett. I stepped off the plane feeling lost, and that wasn’t new to me. But the hopelessness was. I managed to hope for the better with every trade, but it got harder each time. When I came to Vancouver, that hope was gone. I had nothing left to give. Nothing left to find. Nothing left to hope for. And those guys out there? They took one look at me and said, nope, that’s not gonna work here. They drew the line, and I slowly stepped over it. You’re not my line, Lennon. You, honey? You’re my after.”

With a wink and a grin, I step onto the ice, watching as my girlfriend wipes her tears away before they can fall, her nose scrunching.

“I love you. Now I’m gonna go win us a cup.” I gesture at her camera. “Make sure you get my good side.”

I give my all on the ice. Put every bit of myself out there. I show up for my team, the same way these guys have always showed up for me. I keep myself in check, keep my fists to myself, peek at the people who matter every time someone tries to pull a penalty from me to knock us down a player.

I play fair, but I don’t play nice. This body was made to defend, to push, and I do just that, pinning Pittsburgh’s offense against the boards, knocking them off course. I do my job keeping the puck away from Adam as much as I can, and when there’s only thirty seconds left in the third period, I’m exhausted, desperate for a break.

The game is tied at one apiece, heading for overtime. As we line up for a puck drop in our end, I take a moment to soak it in. I want to win, but the truth is I’ve already won. This has been the best year of my life, and it’s only June. I have everything I need, right here within my reach. I want the cup, but I don’t need it. If I never get to touch it, never get to see my name on it, I’ll be okay.

Carter bends, stick across his thighs as he waits for the ref in the center of the circle. “Hey, Jaxon?”

“What’s up, buddy?”

“Love you.”

I straighten as the players around us chuckle.

Carter’s eyes come to me over his shoulder, right along with his smirk. “I’m waiting.”

Clearing my throat, I get back into position as the ref holds the puck out. “Love you too.”

The puck drops, and all hell breaks loose as Carter battles it out with Pittsburgh’s centerman. He pokes the puck between his legs, and Garrett scoops it up on the other side, passing it across to Emmett, who races down the ice. He gets rocked into the boards, a clean hit he shakes off, but the puck is already barreling back into our end, Pittsburgh’s left winger charging toward me. I match his every move, skating backward so I can track him. When he moves to dash around me, I lay my body into his, knocking him to his ass.

I take off out of our end, firing the puck off to Garrett when I cross the red line, the boys following him into Pittsburgh’s end as he dodges a defenseman and heads behind the net. He pauses there, the puck moving back and forth on the blade of his stick as his eyes bounce around the ice, taking in everyone’s position. They come back to me, waiting just inside the blue line, and he smirks. Stepping out from behind the net, he hurls the puck toward me.

I don’t think. Don’t even let the puck hit my stick first. With three seconds left in the game, I wind up, shift all my weight to my right foot, swing forward, and let that puck fly when it slaps against my stick. Pittsburgh’s goalie dives right, his glove coming up to nab the puck out of the air.

But the puck sneaks over his shoulder, hits the back of the net, and drops to the ice.

The buzzer blares. The fans explode. And my teammates pile on top of me.

Lennon is the first one on the ice five minutes later when they roll out the carpets for the photographers, sobbing uncontrollably but acting like she’s not, trying to laugh her way through it.

“I didn’t even like hockey six months ago,” she weeps as I skate toward her. She lifts her camera, snapping a picture of me as I come closer. “It was just a job. And now I’m a-a”—she hiccups, taking another photo—“a puck bunny!” I stop in front of her, and she sniffles quietly, staring at me through her camera. “God, you’re so fucking handsome.”

“Len?”

“Yeah?”

“Put the camera down, honey.”

She slowly lowers it, showing me her tear-streaked, soaked face, and when I open my arms, she leaps at me, wrapping her legs around my waist, arms around my neck. “You did it,” she cries into my neck. “You got your dream.”

I squeeze her to me, Carter, Garrett, Adam, and Emmett hollering as they watch us. My eyes coast the arena, where the girls are sitting with the kids, crying and snapping photos. Where my gran sits behind them, crying with Bryce’s parents.

And back to the woman in my arms.

The one who gave me the courage to take my final steps.

My after.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “I got my dream.”