33. Jenner

Chapter 33

Jenner

After taking down the Rebels in five games and battling it out with the Miami Storm in a back-and-forth series that took six games to settle, the Indy Speed were headed for the championship round against the Chicago Crush.

The past two seasons hadn't gone our way, but through perseverance and grit, it would seem that the third one was set to be the charm. We'd finally made it back to the Finals. This time, we were determined to emerge victorious.

After our trip to Philly, I was in a much better headspace. Knowing multiple people were going out of their way to support our family had lifted a huge burden off my shoulders, and I was able to focus on the game, which was what I was paid to do.

My mom had been in town for three weeks now, and though Evie would never admit it, she liked the company.

Pam Knight was a natural caretaker, and she made sure my wife didn't lift a finger, which I wholeheartedly appreciated. She got her to appointments—going more frequently now that Evie had hit the thirty-two-week mark—and ensured that she was eating enough, drinking enough, and getting plenty of rest, which was easier said than done at this point.

Did it suck knowing my wife and daughter weren't in the stands as we took this next step? Absolutely. But I knew how taxing attending a game would be for Evie, and even watching on TV, staying up late enough to witness its conclusion was often a struggle.

While we'd been the top seed in the Eastern Conference, the Crush held that distinction in the Western Conference. Since they had more regular season points than us, they were the ones who held home-ice advantage for this series. That meant we were headed on the road for Games 1 and 2 in Chicago.

We dropped Game 1, losing by a score of four-to-two, but made the necessary adjustments as a team to beat the Crush in Game 2 two-to-one.

Back in Indy for Game 3, we were firing on all cylinders. The hometown crowd's energy lifted us up, and we were buzzing—executing perfect passes, laying the big hits to separate our opponents from the puck, and cashing in on quality scoring chances. We won big, beating the Crush five-to-nothing.

Game 4 was more of a grind. Chicago wasn't going down without a fight. They made us work for every zone entry, every shot, and challenged us in the corners. Neither team had scored a goal through fifty-five minutes of regulation. If we remained scoreless for another five minutes, that would mean a sudden-death overtime.

The extra time would wear on both teams, so to lose would not only be a mental hit but a physical one.

Thankfully, Goose did what he did best, being a brick wall and not letting a single shot past him. On one particularly skillful block with his pads, he kicked the puck out to the half wall, and I was able to scoop it up and make the stretch pass to Braxton in the neutral zone. He and Asher were off to the races, challenging the lone defenseman for the Crush.

I could see the move before it happened. Braxton flicked the puck to Asher, whose stick barely touched it before sliding it right back over to our young center. The goalie and defenseman had both locked on Asher as the shooter and were caught completely off guard when Braxton sniped from close range, scoring the game-winning goal with less than sixty seconds on the clock.

We were riding high on our return trip to Chicago for Game 5. We were up three-to-one on the Crush in the series, which meant we only needed one more win. Even when we had been in the Finals three years ago, we hadn't come this close. Each time we took the ice from this point forward, we had an opportunity to secure the championship and have our names immortalized in silver like so many greats who had come before us.

It was every player's dream, and so few were able to achieve it.

But we were the ones here now, and we had to make the most of this chance.

Unfortunately, in Game 5, we couldn't quite find our groove, and a few bad penalties were the difference between a win and a loss. While it sucked that we wouldn't be traveling home with the trophy, it would be even sweeter to win it on home ice.

So, that's where we placed our focus.

It was time to seal the deal.

Evie gave me a hug and kiss before I left for Game 6, wishing me good luck. My heart threatened to burst when I saw she'd dressed Hope in the custom Daddy jersey Maddox had gifted us at Christmas.

Crouching down, I pulled her from her swing and cradled her against my chest. "Well, aren't you the cutest little Speed fan I've ever seen?"

She was becoming more vocal by the day and let out a tiny squeal.

I bounced her. "Can you say, ‘Go Speed'?"

Hope's response was incoherent babble, and drool drenched the fabric of my white dress shirt.

"Close enough." I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Be good for Mama, you hear?"

My mom moved toward us with outstretched arms. "Better get going, or you're gonna be late."

Rolling my eyes playfully, I replied, "Yes, Mom," and handed over my daughter.

Mom placed a hand on my forearm and squeezed. "Do you remember what I always told you going into a big game when you were growing up?"

How could I forget?

A smile touched my lips as I repeated her advice from my youth hockey days. "Play the game like you love it, and the rest will fall into place."

Brown eyes that matched mine grew glassy. "No matter what happens out there tonight, just know that everyone is so very proud of you—me, your dad, your siblings, and most of all, your beautiful wife and daughter."

Fuck, I had to get out of here before I let emotions take hold. I couldn't afford to be anything less than one-hundred-and-ten percent focused going into this game.

"Love you, Mom." I squeezed her from the side, making sure not to crush Hope.

Another quick kiss to Evie, and I was out the door.

Tonight was our night. It had to be.

The crowd was already on their feet screaming, and we'd barely taken the ice for warm-ups. If they could keep this up, maybe it would be enough to throw Chicago off their game.

As a team, we took turns shooting on Goose, warming him up. Then, we broke off into smaller groups to stretch and work on individual skills, such as passing or puck handling.

Asher and I had always paired up for this part, so he was right beside me when I dropped to my knees, spread them wide, and pressed my hips toward the ice to stretch out my hip flexors.

For some reason, women always went wild for this move. I mean, yeah, it did look like we were humping the ice, but it was an important stretch, one we couldn't very well stop doing because female fans made lewd signs or dedicated social media posts about how much it turned them on.

"Feeling loose?" Asher called out over the raucous crowd.

"Yeah."

The talk with my mom before leaving the house had helped me. This was a game I'd been playing my entire life. The stakes were higher than when I'd been a child, but the game itself hadn't changed. If we focused on fundamentals and team play, we should have an edge.

But there was still one thing weighing on my mind.

"Just sucks that if we do manage to pull this off, Evie and Hope won't be here to share it with me."

Raising an eyebrow, Asher's gaze shifted toward the curved glass in the corner where the players' kids usually hung out pre-game. "You sure about that?"

"What?" My head whipped around so fast I could have sworn I heard a crack.

There, pressed against the glass, was my tiny redheaded cutie, held up by her mother, the love of my life.

Asher nudged me with a shoulder. "It's Baby Girl's first hockey game. You should go over and say hello."

I let out a disbelieving laugh as I pushed off the ice and skated over.

A few of my teammates were hanging out there, making silly faces at their kids or tossing warm-up pucks over the glass for them.

I couldn't be sure who it belonged to, but a voice called out, "Make way for Cap! He came to see his girls!"

They all shifted, allowing me the perfect view of my little girl dressed in my jersey, a pair of oversized headphones gracing her tiny head. When her blue eyes landed on me, they lit up, and she flapped her arms, chubby hands making contact with the thick glass.

I waved a gloved hand in her direction as I approached, "Hey, little one." I knew she couldn't hear me, but the way her rosebud lips curved into a wide smile, it was almost as if she knew what I was saying.

Stopping at the glass separating us, I swallowed back the emotions at seeing my family on such a big night.

"I'm so glad you're here," I whispered. "Daddy's gonna go out there and win this one for you."

Dropping my forehead to the glass, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to center myself. My heart squeezed when I skated back and locked eyes with Evie. She knew how big this night was for me, for the team, and she'd made sure to be here with our daughter. I couldn't love her any more if I tried.

"I love you." I knew she could read the words on my lips.

Her smile brightened, and a touch of pink graced her cheeks as she said those three little words back to me.

Blowing them both a kiss, I skated away, more confident than ever that tonight was the night the Indy Speed would become champions.

Maddox made his pre-game speech, the emphasis on not getting ahead of ourselves.

Yes, the prospect of winning it all on home ice was exciting, but we couldn't get so focused on it that we forgot how to play the game. He stressed how important it was to take the game one shift at a time and make each one of them count. But he also cautioned that the Crush would be hungry. They were the ones with their backs against a wall, knowing if they didn't win, their season was over, so they were going to play tough. We would have to match their intensity if we had any chance at success in closing out this series and becoming champions.

We clapped in unison when he read the starting lineup. Then, he left the locker room.

Next, I stood, pouring my heart out to my teammates about the crushing blow of defeat we'd suffered three years ago. Those on the team at that time nodded along in agreement; that wound was still fresh in many of our minds. This was our chance for redemption—to show the hockey world that we were the best and to cement our legacy for generations to come.

Energized, the guys headed toward the tunnel in preparation for the pre-game hype video and our entrance before the anthem.

Maddox grabbed my elbow and pulled me aside before I could take my spot in our pre-determined lineup.

Usually, he and the rest of the coaching staff were on the bench before the players hit the ice, so I looked at him in question, wondering what he was still doing back here.

With his green gaze boring into me, he spoke, "The lights are bright, and the stage is set. It has always been our dream to do this together." Maddox let out a wry laugh. "We might not have pictured it in this dynamic, but I think we've both been on the receiving end of life's curveballs as of late." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes before reopening them. "A year ago, you were alone. Now, you've got the family you always wanted with the woman who has always held your heart. It's time to go out there and make your wife and kids proud."

I gave him a tight nod. "That's the plan."

"Good. Let's kick some Crush ass."

With a hearty slap on the back, he pushed through the players and disappeared down the tunnel toward where it opened up to the bench.

My best friend was right. There was no more powerful motivator than having my family in attendance and making them proud.

And that's exactly what I intended to do.

We couldn't say Maddox hadn't warned us. The Crush were feisty, not ready to go down without a fight.

Having been in their shoes, I knew the will to win wasn't always enough. The team that played harder and tallied more shots didn't automatically achieve victory.

Sometimes, it all boiled down to luck.

And that's what happened for the Speed tonight.

Tied 2-2 in the third, we were dragging, trying to keep up. If we went to overtime, I wasn't sure we'd be able to squeak out a win. And returning to Chicago for a winner-take-all Game 7 could be a death sentence after an incredible run.

With the seconds ticking down on the final period of regulation, we managed to get the puck deep into our offensive zone. Braxton chased, beating the Crush defender to the boards and shooting it up to Wyatt at the point.

Our D-man pulled his stick back, sending the puck hurtling toward the net. The Crush goalie blocked it, sending it toward where Asher skated below the circles. I hustled my ass to the net, knowing if I could create some mayhem out front, it would distract the goalie.

Asher was at a bad angle but knew he had support that could cash in on a quick rebound, so he shot toward the net.

It all happened so fast.

One second, I was confused about the sharp jolt to my skate, and the next, the crowd went wild.

Stunned, I stared back at my teammates, who were all pointing in my direction, arms thrown up in celebration.

Braxton rushed me from behind. "They don't ask how. They ask how many!"

"What?"

I spun around as Asher joined us, the big man grinning from ear to ear. "Nothing like a perfectly placed boot, my man."

It finally hit me.

Asher's shot must've deflected off my skate and into the net, scoring with—I checked the scoreboard—fifteen seconds left.

Barring a disaster of epic proportions, we were going to win the championship!

Hopped-up on a mix of adrenaline and disbelief, I skated with my teammates to celebrate what could very well be the game-winner.

But, of course, what would life be if not for a little drama?

The Crush's coach barked at one of the refs, accusing me of kicking the puck into the net. While it was legal for the puck to glance off any piece of player equipment on the way to scoring a goal, you couldn't actively kick it in.

Since it was the final minute of the period, he couldn't challenge it, but the delay was enough for the review booth to call down and ask to take a closer look. If this was what a championship boiled down to, they needed to be sure.

It was a good thing I was already drenched down to my base layer, so a little additional bit of sweat while I awaited their decision was barely noticeable. My heart beat in triple time as the nerves crept in the longer the refs were bent over their tablets, headphones on with a direct line to the control room, scanning the play from every angle.

I stopped breathing when they removed those headphones, and the head referee skated to center ice to address the crowd.

He pressed the button on his mic pack, and his words echoed throughout the deathly silent arena.

"After review, it was determined there was no kicking motion. We have a good goal."

Air rushed into my lungs as the roar of the crowd rivaled the buzzing in my ears. Black spots danced along my vision, and I bent over, placing my head between my knees.

A hand patted me on the back, and a voice I knew well said, "Sometimes, it boils down to being in the right place at the right time. Hell of a lucky break on that one, Knight."

Focusing on my breathing until I was no longer in danger of passing out, I straightened, turning around to survey my best friend behind the bench.

His smile said it all. He knew what we all did but were afraid to say out loud.

We were champions. And I was the lucky son of a bitch who'd made it happen in the eleventh hour.

Maddox inclined his head toward center ice. "You're the hero, Jenner. Take the face-off and enjoy it when the bench clears."

Fuck. I still couldn't believe this was really happening.

My skates moved on their own as Braxton winked, taking up a position on the right wing where I usually stood, allowing me to glide toward where the ref waited to drop the puck.

Squaring up against the Crush's center, Newson, I recognized the defeat in his eyes. A pang of empathy shot through me, knowing exactly how he felt. But there wasn't time to dwell on it as the puck dropped, and instead of trying to win it and risk losing it, I tied up Newson, allowing Braxton to swoop in and chip the puck back to Wyatt. He made a D-to-D pass to Ford, and the buzzer sounded.

Sticks and gloves and helmets flew into the air, and the noise level rose so high inside the arena that it was a wonder anyone would leave without permanent hearing damage.

But none of that mattered because, in this moment, my brothers and I had finally reached the top of the mountain. We had clawed our way back from a crushing loss only a few years back, letting it fuel us and lead us right here.

The Indy Speed were motherfucking champions.

We were a mass of bodies piled up behind the net, hugging anyone within reach. Some guys were openly weeping; others let out cheers as it finally sank in.

It took a while before we calmed down enough to line up at center ice to shake the hands of our opponents. I had to hand it to them. They'd played a tough series and could have easily won tonight if it weren't for a perfectly placed skate. It was a difficult pill to swallow, knowing that that was the difference between forcing a Game 7 and the end of their season.

Either way, I couldn't wipe the giant grin from my face while making exchanges with each of the players on the Crush, as I was the first through the line, being our team's captain. I stopped briefly to hug a few guys who'd been former teammates of mine throughout the years, and they graciously congratulated me and my team on our victory.

A member of the Speed staff was handing out branded championship ballcaps and towels, and I snagged a set for myself. Tossing the cap over my sweaty hair, I wiped my face with the towel before slinging it around my neck.

The pomp and circumstance demanded our attention next, but the only thing I wanted to do was celebrate with my girls.