Bombshells, p.26
Bombshells, page 26
I watch as Loretta lifts a book off the counter, revealing not one but three key cards, each with a sticky note and a different name on it. One says SYLVIE, but there’s also one for HEIDI JO and one for BESS.
Huh. I think Loretta has met quite a few hockey players.
“Here you go, dear. Welcome to Nashville. Best of luck tonight.”
“Thank you so much.” Before exiting the shop, I peek out toward the elevator bank, making sure the coast is clear. And then I make a dash for it. “I’m on the move.”
“Awesome. Twelfth floor. Head to the left after you get off the elevator. Room 1212.”
“Copy that.” I press down on the button, and an elevator opens immediately. It’s empty. Yes! “I’ll be right there, unless it all goes horribly wrong in the hallway upstairs.”
“You got this, baby. Go!”
Once I slide the key into the elevator slot, the car ascends smoothly upward.
Ninety seconds later, I’m hustling down an empty hallway toward the door marked 1212. It opens just as I arrive in front of it. Anton basically snatches me into the room. I yank my bag in behind me and kick the door shut.
“Finally,” my boyfriend gasps, wrapping himself bodily around me. “I missed you so much.” His kiss is fueled by three days of separation and—let’s face it—a lot of pregame nerves.
I hug him tightly and receive several hot, furry kisses, because playoff beards are fierce. “Sit down, hunk,” I say, nudging him onto the king-sized bed. “Now talk to me. How’s your shoulder?”
“It’s fine. Really.” He rubs the spot that was sore last week. “I’m feeling good. Just hyper. And too deep inside my own head.” He flops down, propping his head up on a hand, his bright eyes smiling. “Talk to me, gorgeous. I just need a little Sylvie time. Tell me all the news.”
I spread out beside him, mirroring his posture. “Okay, Cedric and Trina both got summer jobs at that pool in Red Hook.”
“No way! That’s amazing. Can’t believe he made that happen.”
“Well, Trina got a lifeguard position, but Cedric is working security. He gets a pool pass as a perk, though, and he’s enrolling in some swim lessons.”
“Sweet! I’ll send him an email.” Anton threads his feet between mine. He’s cuddly. We’ve become that kind of annoying couple who’s always touching each other when we’re out with friends.
“Deal with it,” Anton says when people tease us. “We’re here, aren’t we? You can’t accuse us of hiberdating.” Because he still has a Frankenword for everything.
We’ve had a crazy, wonderful year. In spite of the pressure of all those early predictions, the Bruisers did make it to the finals again.
Meanwhile, the Bombshells finished our season in a very respectable third place. And I played four of our last ten games, with a save average that’s only a percentage point behind Scarlet’s. Rebecca and Bess have already made it clear that I’m invited back next season.
And in between all those hockey games, Anton and I have only grown closer. “You two are just a really good team,” Fiona remarked once.
That’s exactly how it feels to me, too. Like Anton and I just work. Our schedules are insane, so we have lots of time apart. But we’re still always in sync, with phone calls and an endless text conversation that fills my days with fun and humor.
And when we’re actually together? There’s nothing better. Anton doesn’t hold anything back. He always makes me feel like I have his full attention. For someone who claimed not to be boyfriend material, he seems to have achieved elite capabilities in record time.
I try not to wonder what the future holds. I try not to plan. As a couple, we’re taking things day by day.
The days are pretty great, too. So it’s not like I have anything to complain about. Besides—no matter how the Bruisers play in their last one or two games of the season, it’s over in less than seventy-two hours.
Anton says he has a surprise planned for me. I think it’s a getaway to Vermont. A couple of months ago, I found a certificate in his dresser drawer, good for a weekend getaway.
I can’t wait.
“Have you seen Bess lately?” I ask him. The truth is that I’m running out of gossip to distract him with.
“Yep.” He pushes a lock of my hair off my face. “She looks like she swallowed a basketball. There’s a photo of her and Rebecca sitting side by side at the pool in Tampa, with matching bellies.”
“It’s going to be an exciting summer in Brooklyn,” I point out.
“Yep.” He gives me a smile, but it’s full of nerves. And then he rolls me onto my back, spreads his hot body out on top of me, and kisses me like it’s his last moment on Earth.
And, okay, I’m here for this. In a bossy, alpha maneuver, Anton stretches my arms overhead. I’m trapped beneath his eager body, getting kisses so hot they could power the sun.
I melt into the mattress and take it. Soon enough, we’re straining against one another, daring each other to take it further. There’s only one problem.
“What happened to ‘no nookie before games,’” I pant between kisses. That was one of his newest rules for himself. “And if you give me beard-burn, we’re gonna be so busted.”
Anton breaks our kiss and then laughs. “I’m sorry. I know I’m sending out mixed signals.” He lets go of my hands, and then kisses my neck softly.
“Hey, it’s okay.” I ruffle my hands through his overgrown hair. He and his teammates all look like mountain men. “Tell me why you’re so nervous today. Is it because you think you can’t win tonight?”
He looks down at me, those bright eyes warm and locked onto my own. “No, baby. It’s just the opposite. It’s because I think I can.”
“Yeah?” I roll to the side, so we’re eye to eye. “Explain.”
“I have a pretty long history of self-destructing right when my goals are in reach. I can’t let that happen this time.”
“But you won’t,” I promise him. “You’ve done everything right. It will either happen or it won’t.”
He leans in and gives me a snootch. That’s what he calls a nose kiss—it’s a Frankenword for smooch and snoot. “Thank you for coming here and helping me cinch up my bag of crazy.”
“Any time, okay? For what it’s worth, I’ll love you exactly the same amount no matter what happens. You know that, right?”
He gives a slow blink. “I do know that. And it’s worth a lot. It’s everything.”
I give him a sweet kiss. “Now let’s take a nap. You’ll feel better if you get an hour or two of shuteye.”
“Okay, baby. Good idea.” He gets up off the bed and kicks off his sweatpants. Then he pulls back the covers and gets into bed, while I set both of our Katt phones with alarms, just so he doesn’t have to worry about oversleeping.
Then I remove my sundress, put on a cotton tank top, and lie down beside him.
He curves his body around mine and sighs.
I close my eyes and try to relax, hoping he’ll settle down and rest.
But after a time, Anton’s lips begin tracing the back of my neck. And then his tongue comes out to play.
“Fuck it,” I say, rolling over to meet his kiss.
He pulls me in, and we come together in a slow slide of tongues and wandering hands. I hitch my knee up onto his hip, and he groans as his erection bumps against the fabric of my panties. “Baby, I think I need to break a rule.”
“Are you sure,” I breathe against his lips. The beard burn will totally be worth it.
“Rules are what you make of them,” he says, as his hand slides into my underwear.
“What…does that mean?” I gasp.
But the pleasure of his touch is so swift and consuming that when he mutters, “I have no idea,” I don’t bother asking for clarification.
We kiss and touch and free each other of any remaining clothes. I forget all about hockey, and I’m sure he does, too. There are only these sheets, and this man, and the perfection of this moment. When he lifts my leg up onto his shoulder and slides home, we both groan from the rightness of it.
“Love you,” he says, moving right away. Like he can’t stand to wait.
“Love you,” I echo as the pleasure builds. We gave up condoms right around the time we gave up sneaking around. And both the new birth control and the honesty have been equally freeing.
Today we set some kind of speed record for mutual satisfaction. It’s only a few minutes later when we pull into the station together, panting and groaning and then laughing at ourselves.
“Does it count as a rule broken if it only lasts five minutes?” he asks, sinking onto the mattress beside me.
“Nope,” I say authoritatively. “It’s like the five-second rule when a cookie falls on the floor.”
Then we both laugh like crazy people for the next few minutes. Anton’s pregame stress has finally burst. When we eventually settle down together again, the next thing he says is a snore.
And I take it as a compliment.
Forty
Much Rejoicing
ANTON
“We can end this tonight,” Coach says, pacing the visitors’ locker room before the final period. The game is tied—two to two. “They expected to shut us down by now. They’re on edge. They thought they could break down your game and pick it apart. We’re not going to let that happen.”
I glance around the circle at my teammates, and I see determination on every single face.
If we lose this game, we still get one more chance. It’s not over. And that’s the scenario that Nashville is counting on.
But every man in this circle knows that the other outcome is possible, too. Where we finish this once and for all, and go home with the cup.
I can feel that possibility. Like a buzz in my veins. It’s out there. All we have to do is take it.
“This is the strongest you’ve ever been as a team,” Coach says. “This is your moment. End it during the next twenty minutes, guys. It’s yours for the taking. Go get it.”
A cheer rises up, and we all stand. I snap my helmet back onto sweaty hair. Every man has given a hundred percent effort, and now we’ll double down and try for two hundred. There are back-pats and fist-bumps as we funnel down the chute one more time.
I feel a firm squeeze on my forearm, and it’s Campeau. He gives me a quick nod. We got this.
Things are cool between us again, as they should be. When Coach said this is the strongest we’ve ever been as a team, he didn’t just mean physically. We’re a unit. And I’m one twenty-third of that unit.
I made it to the top of the top. It’s happening.
Skating out with O’Doul to start the third period, we take our positions for the faceoff. The crowd is deafening. These two teams both want it so badly.
But someone’s going to win, and it might as well be us. All we need is a sliver of advantage.
The ref skates in a tight circle, positioning himself between the two centers. The arena goes quiet. Or maybe that’s just in my head, as all my focus narrows to this one moment.
The puck drops, and Campeau wins the faceoff, sending the puck to me.
Later, when I look back on these most important twenty minutes of my career, that’s the tipping point I’ll come back to—Campeau winning that faceoff. The early possession sets the whole tone for the period. It puts Nashville on their back foot.
We don’t waste the chance. Our passes are sharp. We create scoring opportunities. Campeau’s first shot on goal is deflected, but Castro scoops it up and ships the puck to O’Doul.
The two of them play keep-away for a minute before Castro changes it up, firing off a shot to Trevi. Who pops it into the upper left-hand corner of the net.
The lamp lights, and now we’re leading early in the third period.
There is much rejoicing on our bench, while Tank and Crikey take a defensive shift. But then I’m back on the ice two minutes later, as Coach does his best to keep our legs fresh and the other team guessing.
Maybe it’s hubris, but I feel unbeatable now. That must be why, when Drake sends me a deep pass a minute later, I line up a long shot from the blue line.
Instead of passing it, or skating it in, I see the opening the goalie has created for me, and I fire on it.
The keeper moves, and we probably both think he’s going to get there in time.
But he doesn’t dive low enough for my puck, which drops to the ice before sliding right in, just beneath his glove.
It doesn’t seem real until Campeau screams, “YEEEEEEEEES!” in a display of emotion never before seen on his stoic face.
Then my teammates pile onto me like a pack of puppies, while music thunders through the arena.
Unbelievably, there’s still fourteen minutes left in the third period. As I line up for another faceoff, I know that technically anything could still happen.
It doesn’t, though. We play a nice clean period, avoiding the penalty box. The minutes tick down while a frustrated Nashville team fails to break us.
And when the buzzer rings, we’ve done it. We’ve won the whole damn thing.
I tip my head back and look up at the stadium, which is throbbing with emotion. So this is how it feels. Wow.
The cup is suddenly visible at the edge of the rink. Yes that cup.
I can’t wait to touch it. And celebrate with Sylvie.
Four hours later, I’ve been showered in kisses and hugs, then showered in champagne, and then showered for real. Then I’ve gotten drunk on champagne with my teammates, with Sylvie, with my mom, and with the whole stinkin’ world.
And then I’ve sobered up in time to get messages of congratulations from everyone I’ve ever known, including my little brothers.
But not my father, who insists on being the exception who proves the rule.
And I’m finally, finally opening the door to my hotel room again in the wee hours of the morning.
“God,” Sylvie moans, shuffling in behind me. “I’m so tired that I can’t feel my face. Can I have the bathroom first?”
“Go ahead, sweetheart.”
She drags herself in there with a nightgown and a few toiletries. I strip down to my boxers and turn down the bed. Now we can sleep as long as we like. There won’t be any practice tomorrow. Nobody will wake us up early. It’s been a night for the record books.
Even so, I’m not quite ready for it to end.
Sylvie comes out of the bathroom looking sweetly sleepy. She hops into the bed and groans as she slides down into the high-thread-count sheets. “What an amazing day.” She yawns.
I stroke her hair away from her face. “You know, I heard some of my teammates say, ‘This is the happiest day of my life.’”
“That’s fair,” she says, giving me a tired smile. “It’s the culmination of years of hard work. I’m sure they didn’t mean to upstage the birth of their future children.”
“Well, that’s the thing.” I chuckle. “The day I met you, I was deep in that groove—like I’d make my season pay off, or I’d die trying. Nothing else mattered. And then half an hour later I spotted you.”
She slips her hand into mine. “It’s been quite a year, hasn’t it?
“I got so much more than I asked for. But I was wondering if you were game to actually make this the best day of my life.”
She frowns up at me. “You already scored with me, and then scored in a winning championship game. Unless you want a back rub or a drink from the mini bar, I really don’t see what else I could add.”
That’s when I reach over and slide open the nightstand drawer, plucking a little box off the bible.
“Sylvie, I know it’s been less than a year since we met. But I’m in love with you. And I plan to stay that way for the rest of my life.” I open the little box and show her the ring that’s inside it.
It’s an emerald-cut solitaire diamond that my mother helped me choose. “A classic design for a classic beauty,” my mother had said.
“Anton.” Eyes wide, Sylvie sits up quickly. “Is…is that what I think it is?”
“Would you be my wife?” I ask, my voice nearly cracking on that last word. If I’ve moved too fast, or if she just flat-out says no, it’s going to hurt. But as a great man once said, you miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.
The beat of silence that comes next is the longest of my life.
“Yes,” she gasps. “Yes, I will. Oh, Anton! I can’t believe you!” But she must mean it in a good way, because she throws her arms around me.
I pull back so I can slip the ring onto Sylvie’s finger, and she makes a little squeak of happiness. “It’s so beautiful!” She climbs into my lap, and I hold her close.
Now this really is the best day of my life.
“You were right, Maman,” she whispers.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Nothing, baby. I love you.”
“And I love you.” I give her a slow kiss.
“I have a question.” She raises her hand, the one with the ring on it. And then she flips over her hand to admire it.
“Anything, baby.”
“Did this depend on winning the game?” She giggles. “Because maybe I need to thank your teammates.”
“No, you goof. I was waiting until it was all over. Tonight. Or this weekend. Whenever I got the chance to focus on something other than the game. And the chance to remember that hockey isn’t everything.”
“It’s not everything,” she echoes. “But it’s pretty freaking great.”
I chuckle and cuddle her closer. “The day I met you I knew you were special. I just knew.”
Sylvie reaches past me and shuts off the lamp. And we settle in for a long sleep before we plan the rest of our lives.
Thank you for reading Bombshells! Did you know that Drake and Charli are getting a book? It’s called Shenanigans, and you will not believe the trouble they’re in! Turn the page for a 1st chapter preview…
Shenanigans Chapter One
