Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
“Say hockey!” Chef said.
“Hockey!” we all chimed together.
Arushi smiled as she clicked a few photos, and I swore I felt another smile, one that wasn’t in the room with us, but rather watching from somewhere above. I knew I’d never get the chance to hear her say it, to know for sure… but my heart told me Jenny would be happy to see us all together.
She’d be happy I was introducing our daughter to her, happy with who our daughter was becoming.
Happy that I had somehow found my own happiness, too.
As soon as the photo was taken, Ava was calling Chef in to join us, not taking no for an answer. I held Chloe’s phone in my hand as far out as I could to capture us all in one selfie, the smile on my face so foreign and yet so right.
Ava was clawing at my arm to see the photos as soon as we dispersed, and I lowered my hand so she could see, swiping through each one.
“Wow,” she breathed on a little smile. “We really are doing our best.”
When I handed Chloe her phone back, I kissed my girls one last time before heading out the door.
And I made a vow to learn my lesson.
I made a vow to print and frame those photos tomorrow, and to paint every wall in this house with the memories of us.
Happy Beginnings
June
Will
Skates cutting into fresh ice.
The puck gliding before a clink sent it flying.
My heart pounding in my ears, fast, but steady.
Chirps from my teammates.
Curses at missed attempts.
The crowd chanting and screaming.
The satisfying plunk of a puck hitting the bar and bouncing off.
The even more satisfying buzzer when we scored.
This was the symphony of the fifth game of the final round in the Stanley Cup Playoffs, and it was music to my ears.
Three periods had happened in what felt like a blink of an eye. It was impossible to be fully present in a game like this because every ounce of energy was tied up in doing what you came to do. Our wingers were focused on scoring. Our defensemen protected me. I protected the goal. And as a team, we fought tooth and fucking nail to clinch the win.
We were ahead three games to one in this series, and if we took it tonight… it was over.
The Cup was ours.
Tampa buzzed with an energy I’d never felt from the city I knew and loved, not in all my years on the Ospreys. We battled it out to a sold-out crowd, all of them ready with fish in hand to make it rain on the ice. Banners hung from skyscrapers and city banks. The lights on the riverwalk twinkled blue and white. Every radio station and news outlet were tuned into this game, to this period, to these final minutes.
If we lost, we’d still have a chance — but our next game would be in Sacramento. Traveling back and forth between the west and east coast was brutal for even our most seasoned players, and when Coach huddled us up in the locker room before the game, we were all in agreement.
We were winning this thing.
Tonight.
I knew I looked like a wild animal from the outside, my eyes as wide as they could go as I took in every slash of the puck and every change in direction from each player on the ice. My heart skipped before tripling its pace when the puck was suddenly heading my way, perfectly in the control of Sacramento’s center.
He drilled toward me like he was going to take the shot himself, but as I crouched low and prepared to block, I spotted the right winger cutting past Jaxson.
The center passed, the winger wound up with all his might before knocking the puck toward me, and I snapped into action like I could read his mind.
My left leg shot out, putting me practically in a middle split, and the puck hit my shin guard before popping back.
I didn’t have time to celebrate the block before I was in position again, another shot coming from the left winger who was waiting for the rebound. This one I covered with my glove, stopping the play to the roar of nearly twenty-thousand Ospreys fans.
It was thunderous, a rumbling I felt in every inch of my body as I sniffed and tossed the puck to the ref. I nodded at the acknowledgements that came from my teammates, but then we were back in action.
There were only three minutes left in the game, and we were tied one to one.
I didn’t want overtime. I wanted to win now. But it wasn’t up to me. All I could do was play my part, block every shot that came my way and pray that one of our guys could get a shot in at the other end of the ice before the final buzzer.