When I look his way, there are tears welling in his eyes and his chin trembles, but he gives no other acknowledgment that he’s heard what I’ve said.
“I’m in love with your son, and I will not stand by and let him be hurt by you any further. I won’t let it happen. Are you prepared to risk losing your other son too or are you going to try and find a way through your anger to treat him how he deserves to be treated?” I take a step back. “Your call.”
And without another word to Gary Maddox, I turn on my heel with so much more I want to say but restraint locked in place, and head toward my cheap seats.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
HUNTER
A GLANCE AT THE CLOCK.
Ten minutes left in the third period.
It’s a tied game.
Ten minutes left to either be a hero or forgotten.
Two to two.
Ten minutes left to make something happen.
Katzen collects the puck and slings it out to me.
I pass it over to Finch then dodge around a defender. My grunt as his shoulder checks me is loud in my head.
C’mon, Hunter. Twenty bucks and me taking over all your chores if you can make this goal. Show Dad that you can.
The puck is stripped from Finch and we race back to help Katzen.
Withers cuts across the ice and intercepts the pass. We all switch gears and go back the other way.
We’ve been at this for fifty fucking minutes.
Our legs are tired. Our chests burn from breathing so hard.
We need to stay focused.
No more missed passes. No more checks turning into fights.
We need to focus.
We have to win.
I have to win.
Pass after pass we move down the ice. Withers to me. Me to Heffner. Heffner back to me.
A glance at the clock.
Time’s wasting.
We need to score.
There is no sound.
There is no crowd.
There is no pressure.
It’s me and the goalie.
It’s the puck and the net.
It’s Jonah beside me, pushing me to make this shot.
Daring me to prove that I can.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
DEKKER
“TEN. NINE. EIGHT.”
The Jacks fans in the crowd begin the countdown to the buzzer.
“Seven. Six. Five.”
To them winning their first Stanley Cup.
“Four. Three. Two.”
To twenty men a childhood dream is about to come true.
“One.”
The arena erupts into chaos.
The men on the ice even more so as they pile on top of each other in an ecstatic frenzy.
Frozen in excitement, I stand in the midlevel seats in the arena with both hands covering my mouth in a state of shock myself.
They did it.
They really did it.
I can’t take my eyes off Hunter as he breaks free from the pack and skates over to the edge of the rink that’s closest to the box seats where his parents are seated. He stands there and points to the booth where Jonah sits in his chair, and I don’t have to see Hunter’s face to know that tears are streaking down his cheeks are elation, relief, and everything mixed in between.
He won Jonah his Stanley Cup. The one promise he could fulfill . . . he did.
I don’t even realize tears are sliding down my own cheeks as I watch Hunter begin to search the arena, his lips moving as he reads the huge section numbers painted on the walls until he finds mine. It takes him a second but when he finds me, the look he gives me is one I’ll never forget.
“We did it,” he mouths, and all I can do is nod and watch him shine in the moment of his life.
He’s quickly engulfed by reporters and teammates and his attention is diverted, but my heart is full beyond measure.
My attention shifts to the box seats where Hunter’s family is seated. To where it’s ventured numerous times tonight. To the man standing at its edge with his arms crossed over his chest in a formidable stance, but with a hand that’s lifted a white tissue to dab beneath his eyes.
My anger is still there at Hunter’s dad, it still burns bright. I don’t think I will ever find it in me to forgive him for the years of agony Hunter experienced at the hand of his father. Perhaps a better woman would forget and forgive.
I’m not her.
But where does that leave us? By protecting the man I love and this man—his father—taking a step forward, when for so long he’s refused to budge?
I’m not sure how to process his presence tonight as I make my way down the edge of the rink, but one thing keeps repeating in my mind. He showed up. He took a first step. He’s the one crying, watching one son reach the pinnacle of his sport and fulfill a promise he made to his twin.
Maybe my words hit home.
Maybe this might change things.
Only time will tell.
I make my way to edge of the rink, wanting, needing to be closer to Hunter. Closer to the man I love.
Just as I get there, when I’m as close as I can possibly be while the TV networks are getting everything set up for the presentation of the Cup, Hunter skates over to where I am.
“You,” he shouts and points to me as he climbs on the team bench so he can reach over the plexiglass partition. “Let her down here,” he says to all the fans screaming for his attention.
It takes a few moments before fans realize what he’s asking, so I can make my way to the seats right by the team bench. I climb up on the seat of the stands so I’m tall enough to be pulled into the arms that Hunter engulfs me in. His lips are on mine in a kiss that is one of pure jubilation.
“We did it, Dekk! We fucking did it!”
He reaches down to the back of his pants where he’s obviously tucked something and produces a LumberJacks hat and places it squarely on my head.
I throw my head back and laugh, and then have to hold it to my head when I almost lose it.
“It’s a good look on you,” he shouts above the fray.
“I’m so proud of you,” I tell him and kiss him one more time. “Now go celebrate with your team.”
He steps down off the bench but his eyes still hold mine, and the goofy grin on his face tells me he’s struggling to take this all in.
“I love you,” he mouths.
“I love you more,” I say, my words drowned out by the roar of the crowd as the Stanley Cup is carried out onto the ice.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
HUNTER
Dad: Congratulations.
I STARE AT THE TEXT just delivered to my phone and then back across the room where my dad is standing against the wall with his cell in his hand but his eyes locked on mine.
I wait for the criticism to come. For my phone to alert another text where he tells me what I did wrong or what I could have done better. I expect the negativity that I’ve lived with all my life to come roaring in.
But he doesn’t send another text, he doesn’t say a word. He only gives a nod, but it’s a nod that says more than I could ever ask for. It says things I’ve longed to hear for far too long and now that I don’t need to hear them, I can probably appreciate them more.
But it takes me back. It challenges me to remember a time when there wasn’t something negative to weigh down anything positive that has happened.
And still, the text doesn’t come.