Page 165 of Fighting Chance

how the hell does that answer anything?

LEWIS

he was offering to be a moon for costumes

KIERAN

I think a public mooning on socials was warranted for that garbage offer

IRVING

I was being charitable!

Johnson is howling over the photo Lewis took of Irving grinning over his shoulder as he mooned us in the locker room earlier. Thank God Grayson had the foresight to stay out of the locker room with Bambi and Emmy.

With Emmy in my arms now, I try to contain my laughter while keeping a hold of her. Although I don’t think she’d notice me jostling her, she’s so laser-focused on Bambi beside us.

O’Connor walks past snickering, flashing me a meme on his phone that’s already circulating. A bunny has Photoshopped her face onto the sun, while arms stick out of it, reaching for Irving’s moon on the horizon.

Before I can stop myself, laughter explodes from me, echoing through the arena. I can’t wait to get back to my phone later and look at what people are posting.

My smile drops as the doors open and Coach Anderson walks in.

“What the hell?” I mutter.

Irving sobers up within a second. “I swear, Coach, I didn’t want my ass on the internet. It’s Lewis’s fault, not mine!”

Coach Anderson, who looked like he actually had a pep in his step for once, comes to a screeching halt, his nose wrinkling as he looks over at Grayson. “Do I want to know what Tweedledee and Tweedledum over there are jabbering on about?”

“No, sir.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose coach takes a deep breath as Irving mutters. “Are we in trouble?”

Grayson rolls his eyes. “No, I told you, it’s guys’ night.”

Shaking his head, Coach spins on his heel, striding down the hallway and quickly returning with something black and white in his hands. The IceHawks colors.

Emmy and I watch as Coach unfolds the material to reveal a shirt. A smile stretches across his face, wide and full of joy, as he spreads it out. It’s a child-sized jersey with the number 47 printed on it, along with a name on the back.

Mini Ashford.

My heart soars.

Clenching my jaw so none of these fuckers see that I want to cry, I manage a wobbly smile, slapping Coach on the shoulder, my voice gruff as I cough out, “Thanks, Coach.”

He wraps both Emmy and me in a hug before he pulls back and hands it to her. “Welcome to the family, little Ashford.”

She looks like she doesn’t fully comprehend what’s happening.

Emmy gazes around, her eyes taking in Grayson filming on his phone, with silver lining his eyes. Peering behind me I spot the guys all watching on with a mixture of tears and awe. Clearing my throat I face coach, unclenching my jaw and allowing the tears to spring into my eyes before croaking out again, “Thank you.”

She leans forward slowly, hesitant at first, but eventually she wraps her hands around the T-shirt, holding it to her chest in a hug.

I must be hallucinating. Because it looks like Coach’s eyes are glazing over with water, too.

Clearing his throat, he claps his hands together. “Well boys, are we going to teach mini Ashford how to skate or what?”

The boys behind me break out into cheers and Emmy claps along with them, the energy infectious.