Page 46 of He Has Game (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Chapter 12
Finn
Thursday, April 2nd, second to last game of the season. The season is winding down, but I’m wound up tighter than Dick’s wad. Crouched ready in the goal, I’m watching the guys forecheck down the other end of the ice and glancing at the clock. The score’s three to two our favor, and we need to hang in less than one more minute until the final buzzer.
Fuck if the puck doesn’t scoot out of the zone and it’s a race between Brady Mack and number eight of the Devils. I prefer not to think of the opposition by name during a game. Makes things easier if I need to clang one of them against the cross bar or slash them across the face with my stick. They skate toward me faster than I can take a breath. Mack is fast, usually the fastest one on the ice in any given game.
But not this time. Too many minutes on the ice in this game slows him down and I face up against number eight, bearing down on me. I see the puck, his stick, and his eyes in a continuous cycle of eye movement. Concentrating, anticipating, I move out and crouch ready, knowing my large body cuts down the angle to nearly impossible. I see the flick of his stick a flash before he lets go and at the same time my hand goes up to where I know the puck is going.
The puck hits my glove as it’s heading for the upper right corner, dead on the net. I hold on, making the save. Number eight barely misses crashing into me and I can’t let him go, bumping him hard to the ice as he tries to skirt the net. I collapse to my knees, adrenaline spent, as the crowd noise erupts in my ears and the Garden comes to life with lights, noise, and action where there was nothing but me and number eight a second ago. The buzzer sounds above the din, ending the game.
My team descends on me as I rise up on my skates and come to meet them. I hate being backed into my net, even by friendly fire, even after the game is over. Then, in a new ritual that I can’t help no matter how uneasy it makes me when I think about it or acknowledge it, my eyes turn to the crowd, to find the seat not far from the bench along the boards where I know she’ll be sitting, and I lock eyes with her. Vivvie stands, arms raised as always, mouthing my name and wearing my jersey.
Tearing my attention away, I join the celebration with my guys, tapping shins with my stick and skating off the ice.
In the locker room, I sit on the bench half undressed as guys buzz around me. It was a fifty save game, well above the norm, and the team is aware, expressing their gratitude.
“You earned your keep tonight, big man. Saved us,” Brady Mack says. “Chippier game than usual too. Ask Kaskov.” He grins wide and slaps my back as he walks by, heading for the showers. He’s referring to the guy I started a fight with when he’d been pushed into the crease, something I should have let go. Something that lead to a power play and one of the goals against us.
Aiden sits next to me. “Yeah, what was that all about? You usually know where to draw the line.”
“My mother’s in town. Her presence always irritates me.” It’s true, but it’s only part of the answer. It’s mostly because of Vivvie. Aiden probably suspects this too because he knows Vivvie doesn’t sleep over and he knows I don’t sleep over there. He hasn’t said anything yet, but I know he’s wondering what the fucking deal is—or rather the no-fucking deal.
To the rest of the room I say the chippiness is because I’m distracted by my fiancée. Because that’s what they assume, what they want to hear. Setting Vivvie up as a distraction is a good foundation for our eventual breakup. Acknowledging that makes it tougher to keep up my grin.
Because it happens to be the goddamn truth. No wonder I never wanted a girlfriend. So much work and energy and not even the side benefits in this case. But when we win the Cup it’ll be worth it. No matter how distracted I am, I swear I’ll pull through for the team.
After barely a two-minute shower, I dress in record time. I need to have a word with Vivvie before we meet the others at the restaurant. Tonight’s the fucking big dinner. And her parents insisted on showing up. Of course they did. Because they’re fucking decent supportive parents and they can’t say no to a personal phone call from fucking Sherry Boylston.
I send Vivvie a text telling her to have Grace take everyone to my car in the parking garage so I can talk to her alone when I come out of the media room after the postgame interviews. The media take longer with me than usual and Mary won’t let me off the podium until all the questions are answered. I bluff and joke my way through without mentioning my fiancée or my mother.
Emerging into the hallway, dressed in a white shirt and dark jacket, my eyes find hers immediately like they have a homing device, a Vivvie detector that cuts through everyone and everything to find her fast.Like she’s my lifeline and I need her. As if she’s vital to me.
But that’s not true. What does she have that I need? I haven’t even fucked her. Maybe that’s what I need to do.No shit. Some revelation. Cutting through the bodies clogging the corridor, not caring that some of them are snapping photos or videos, I get to her in three strides.
She looks up at me with that smile, not quite shy but still reserved. And those eyes that can see a thousand miles deep into my soul whether she knows it or not. Because somehow she gets me, understands and doesn’t judge. She accepts me.And she wants me.
Maybe this is the night I give her what she wants.Never mind that I know she’s falling for me, that I can’t give her what she needs, likethe commitment of a decent man who will appreciate and cherish her for who she is, a man who will trust her.
She makes the first move, leaning into me, but I take over, cupping her face, slipping my hand into her silky hair and pressing our mouths together to taste her hot, moist lips, to possess her sweetness while I can.
A wolf whistle from behind me signals Aiden’s presence and I end the kiss, collecting myself so I don’t punch him in the mouth for interrupting us. The hair trigger on my patience needs to be dealt with if we’re going to make it through tonight’s dinner. And even though I know the cure is in my arms right now, fucking Vivvie is going to have to wait until after dinner.
“You coming out for a drink before you’re off to your fancy dinner?” Aiden asks. Everyone’s heard of our special dinner party. Everyone suspects Sherry is setting me up. No one can do a thing about it.
“No time. I think fucking Sherry planned it that way.” He nods. Looks at Vivvie.
“You look beautiful tonight as always. Finn’s a lucky guy.”
Vivvie blushes her mild pink. “Thank you, Aiden. You played a tough game tonight. Your forechecking is becoming legendary.”
He beams. I squeeze her tighter in my arm and move. “We’re off,” I say. I take her toward the garage, but I open the door to the stairwell and pull her through to where we’ll have some privacy in the harsh cement and steel space.
“Tonight,” I say, looking into her expectant eyes. “No matter what happens at dinner, we’re going back to my place. I want you to stay over.”
Her eyes go wide and I can feel the heat come off her as blood suffuses her face, making it more red than pink, the kind of color that signals a rush of desire rather than embarrassment.
“I want to stay over. Knowing will give me incentive, no matter what Sherry or anyone else says, to not keel over.” She gives a half grin and I kiss that tilted corner of her mouth.
