Page 176 of Cheap Shot

And, to his surprise, a message from Gabriel Theriault. “It’s no secret that we have had our differences over the years.”

Luke let out a laugh at the sight of them taking swings at each other, Gabriel significantly smaller physically but filled with fury as he whaled on Luke, getting in a solid uppercut to the jaw that had rattled Luke’s skull.

“I didn’t like you even when we played together in Calgary.”

Luke laughed harder at the shot of him and Gabriel shouting at each other on the bench, some disagreement about a play that he’d long forgotten.

“But there’s truly no one else like you in the league and watching you over the years, seeing the way you’ve transitioned your game recently, it gives me hope for the future of our sport. It makes me appreciate the times we did have together.”

There was footage of their playing days in Calgary, an on-ice celly with Gabriel and his father, Alain. That was the thing about the sport of hockey. Even when you didn’t like a guy, you were still connected. Still a part of something bigger.

There were messages from all the O’Shea family—Catherine, Declan, Finn, Pat reminiscing about his career.

And finally, Connor, talking about the milestones and achievements they’d reached together. “When I found out you were coming to Boston, I was excited to play with you. And even more excited to not play against you.”

The crowd laughed.

“You’ve been part of our locker room for so long that I can’t imagine it without you. Your energy and your drive are always inspiring. I look forward to more games, more laughter”—there was a shot of the guys toasting at O’Neill’s, then a video of Luke lifting the Stanley Cup at the parade through Boston, Connor’s arm slung around him, both of them clearly drunk off their asses—“and, hopefully, more Cups together.”

The video reached its conclusion and the roar from the crowd rose to a fever pitch, shaking the entire arena, and Luke acknowledged the chanting of “Craw-ford, Craw-ford” with a lift of his hand and a small wave.

His teammates tapped their sticks on the ice and even the New York players standing in front of the bench tapped their sticks against the boards in acknowledgment.

Luke couldn’t swallow past the tightness in his throat as Connor, Graham, and Mickey skated over to him.

The announcer continued. “Earlier today, Luke’s teammates, coaches, and the hockey operations staff—along with team owner Ned Merritt—had the pleasure of presenting Luke with personal gifts, commemorating his one thousandth game. At this time, Connor O’Shea, Graham Pennington, and Mickey Krause have joined Luke and have a few additional gifts to give him.”

In the past, Luke had seen them give red roses to the WAGs, but last week when someone in the head office had asked him what Sebastian’s favorite flowers were, Luke had laughed and sheepishly admitted that he had no idea, but that they had a running joke about cactus.

Now, Graham handed a floral arrangement to Sebastian, who smiled as he looked down at them. “Cactus blossoms and succulents,” he said. “Perfect.”

Luke smiled too.

Connor handed over an engraved silver hockey stick and Mickey carried a framed piece of art of him in his uniform, made up of a thousand smaller photos from his career, one from every game.

After, Luke posed for a few pictures with Sebastian, Connor, Mickey, and Graham.

Luke bent down and brushed his lips to Sebastian’s cheek, thinking about how it would have felt if Sebastian hadn’t been here. If he’d stood by himself on the ice.

And while it wasn’t a horrible thing, while he hadn’t been lonely before, he was glad he had someone to share this with. He was glad he hadSebastianto share it with. Stubborn and frustrating as Sebastian could be, he was the only person Luke could imagine being by his side now. The only person he could imagine a future with.

After hockey was over, he’d still be there.

The announcer finished the ceremony with, “So please join the league and the entire Boston Harriers organization in congratulating number fifty-four, Luuuuke Crawfordddd!”

Luke took a lap around the ice with the silver stick lifted in the air in acknowledgment of the crowd’s cheers.

He didn’t feel so different from the young man he’d been when he skated out for his NHL rookie lap, scared and nervous and sure that he’d be sent down again soon.

But here he was, over a thousand games in. His career was winding down, but for a guy—one of the last few enforcers still playing and often called the most hated man in the league—he felt pretty damn lucky.

After the ceremony, the gifts were handed off to Harriers staff members who would keep them safe during the game and Sebastian hugged Luke one last time in the hallway.

When he went to pull back, Luke held him in place, looming over Sebastian in his skates. He cupped Sebastian’s cheek in his hand, hair hanging in his eyes.

“What?” Sebastian reached up and tucked the hair behind Luke’s ear so he could see his expression better.

“I love you, you know that, right?” Luke’s voice was too quiet for anyone else to hear but his voice didn’t waver at all.