Page 82 of Playing Dirty
Our corner of the crowd erupts through a building full of boos, but who fucking cares. We're up by one and I'm laughing while Jonesy hammers my helmet, yelling "THERE HE FUCKING IS!"
Betts grabs my jersey as I drop onto the bench. "Hell yeah, O'Rourke! Fucking beautiful!"
"And this means you owe me that fancy bottle, by the way.The beard predicted a sweep back in round one. The beard is never wrong."
"No chance."
LA punches back, because cornered teams always do. Late in the second, Decker smacks in a rebound and makes sure to skate the long way past our bench, pointing at the name on his own jersey. Like I said, a total fucking loser.
The third period is an absolute knife fight. We're trading hits, taking heavy contact, and leaving everything on the ice. We're seven minutes from the final horn when Betts refuses to let the puck out of their zone through sheer stubbornness, shoveling it toward the front of the net. It hits my stick. Then the back of the net.
And just like that, we're back in front.
The last two minutes are pure adrenaline. They pull their goalie to send out an extra attacker, six of them against five of us, their crowd roaring them forward. We defend the house hard, blocking everything in sight. Jonesy dives headfirst to cut off a pass; Tom eats a slap shot. Sam makes two massive saves.
And with thirty seconds left, the puck finds its way back to me. I skate through the neutral zone, dodging a hit and racing toward the empty net. My heart feels fucking steady;Ifeel fucking steady. I feel like nothing can even touch me tonight. I glide past the last man and shoot.
The puck crosses the line and the buzzer sounds a second later.
It's over. Swept.
The bench empties and we crash into a pile, gloves and sticks raining down everywhere. Betts is screaming himself hoarse, Jonesy is howling with laughter, and all of us are celebrating to a chaotic mix of cheers and boos.
I emerge from the pile laughing, because I'm on top of the fucking world. I look up to find her, and she's on her feet, jumping up and down and screaming for me. I can't tell her howmuch I love her from here, but fuck, I think I've been falling since that first meeting at the launch party. And I'm never letting go.
"We fucking did it!" Jonesy yells, nearly tackling me again. "Conference Final, baby! We fucking did it!"
Four more wins to Brennan. Eight to the Cup.
I finish loading the dishwasher and click it shut, surveying the small, sunny space of Margot's kitchen. Her house is cozy in a way that reminds me of a grandmother's place back in Ireland, if the grandmother in question collected succulents, a minor forest of windowsill cacti, and more paperbacks than the local library. There's a stack on the counter alone that could concuss a man.
She slides up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. "Thanks for handling the cleanup."
I turn around in her hold and band my arms around her, pulling her against my chest. "Well, it's the least I can do after you made such a grand dinner for me, Ace."
She smiles up at me, the evening light catching the dark edges of her hair. "Wine on the porch?"
"Sounds grand," I murmur, and steal one more kiss before letting her go.
She gathers a bottle and a pair of glasses, and we head out to the back porch, settling onto the swing overlooking her small garden, the dahlias fully recovered from the great gutter flood, and watch the Napa hills go pink in the dying light.
She's in a pair of shorts and a tee, and once the swing starts its slow rhythm, she slides her legs over my lap and leans back against the floral cushions. We stay like that for a bit, just swinging in the quiet, completely relaxed and content with the wine and the view.
I'm off tomorrow for the next road game, and we've been making the most of every second in between, with her coming to every home game she can manage. This last month has been unreal.
"Oh, I forgot to mention, Sabrina gets back from her film trip this week," she says, swirling her own wine with considerably more authority. "And she wants to officially have you over for another movie night with us this weekend."
I rest my hand on her knee. "Sounds great. I had a lot of fun last time."
"Good." She smiles over at me.
"Oh, that reminds me. Speaking of sisters." I take a sip of my wine. "Fiadh wanted me to pass something along. She saw the news that your guy from the arena got formally charged, and her exact words were, 'tell Margot I said good riddance, and that I'm proud of her.'"
Margot smiles. "It only took a month for them to actually move forward. Though I suppose that's fast, compared to what most people have to deal with."
"Well, I'm proud of you too. You handled the aftermath far better than I did, and all I had to survive was three games in a suit. You’re tough as nails."
She grins. "Thanks. And for the record, I did thoroughly enjoy watching him get punched, so my moral high ground has a bit of a slope to it."
