30. Grey

Grey

" Y ou want to die, son?" I forced my tone to remain level and calm despite my rage, my terror.

Ellie's fierce attempts to free herself gave me some hope that I might take Colton down and save her life. The hate, the jealousy, I saw in my son's eyes kept me rooted to my garage floor.

"You can't do anything, old man," he sneered. "I've got your sweet little bitch."

"Let me go," Ellie screamed.

"Why should I?" Colton snapped. "I walked into work this morning. My boss flat-out fired me. Why? Because I told the truth about you and my illustrious dad." Colton laughed. "My name is plastered all over the internet. You know what they're saying? I'm a damned liar. Every message board in creation is talking about me."

"You lied about us both, asshole," Ellie shrieked.

"Did I, sweet cheeks? You spurned me for this old man. I got my revenge."

"You kill her, and you'll kill your own child."

Colton froze for a moment, his mouth loose, his eyes wide. "My―my baby? The baby's mine?"

"Yeah." I injected annoyance, derision, and irritation into my tone. "The kid's yours. But you don't deserve him."

The knife faltered, dropped a scant inch from Ellie's throat. "It's a boy? I'm going to have a son?"

"Billy the Kid," I replied, slowly pacing toward them. "You use that knife, Billy dies with Ellie."

Uncertain, Colton looked down at Ellie, and the knife he held. "I want kids."

"Then put that knife down and let's talk about it. This isn't smart, son. You'll go away for murder. You'll never have the chance to have kids if you hurt Ellie."

"Ellie..." He dropped the knife away from Ellie's throat and hovered it over her bosom. He still didn't let her go.

I shut my teeth tightly, and tried a kind smile, extending my hand to him. "Give me the knife, son."

His eyes swimming with tears, Colton stared at me. I saw him waver, caught between his jealous anger and the realization of what he'd done. There was no going back from this. He'd committed a serious felony and faced years in jail. No slap on the wrist this time around.

All I could hope for was that my son , not this imposter, took over.

Do the right thing, Colton, you know what that is.

"What have I done?" he rasped. "Dad. I'm so sorry."

Not waiting for Colton to surrender, Ellie took advantage of his lax arm, and wrenched herself free. Though I would have rather she had stepped away from him, in case he changed his mind, she grabbed his wrist, and plucked the knife from his hand.

With more compassion than I thought she possessed toward him, Ellie tossed the knife to the floor near me, and seized Colton's hands.

"Colton," she said softly, "why are you doing this? You're only hurting yourself. You're smart, talented, gifted. You'll get another job. Would cutting my throat have solved anything? Anything at all?"

His mouth quivered as his tears rolled down his cheeks. "No. It wouldn't. Ellie, I'm so sorry. About everything. I'm not smart." He made an attempt at a smile and cupped her cheek. "If I was as smart as you say, I should have just let you go." He met my gaze. "If I lost you to anyone, I'm glad I lost you to him."

"Colton," I exhaled, exhausted. Ellie stepped aside in time for me to take my son in my arms. Sobbing like a lost child, Colton clung to my shoulders.

I confess several tears ran down my face and were lost in his jacket. "I love you, son."

His voice muffled, he muttered, "I love you, too, Dad."

***

Gripping Ellie's hand as though I feared drowning, my stomach churning with a tension I couldn't release, I waited for Janet to call us into her office. The results had arrived. Billy the Kid's parentage would now come to light.

I hope you're the baby's father, Dad, Colton had said. I don't deserve to be a father. Not yet anyway. I need some time to figure my life out, I guess I need to grow up. If Billy is mine, I'll do right by him and Ellie. And you. But I need to be far away from you both, take advantage of the second chance you both have given me. I need maturity, I guess, and perspective.

Ellie squeezed my fingers, obviously far calmer than me. "It'll be all right, Grey."

"Will it?" I asked. "The judge gave Colton permission to leave the state for work. What if he never comes back?"

"He will."

I shook my head. "I don't know."

Before leaving, Colton offered a sample for testing his DNA.

I'm sure the kid is yours, Dad, he'd sworn. If not, I'll send child support. And I'll be cheering you on at the Stanley Cup game.

"Dammit," I muttered. "What's taking so long?"

"We still have ten minutes to our appointment."

"Shit."

"Calm down. You're acting like you've never had a kid before."

At her laughter, I scowled. "Very funny. My last kid didn't need a paternity test to prove he's mine."

"Chill out. You're making a spectacle of yourself."

At long last, a nurse ushered us into the practitioner's office. Janet, the lady Ellie trusted with her―our baby―smiled and shook our hands over her desk. I continued to clutch Ellie's hand as we sat in the guest chairs.

"The paternity test came back," she said, opening a folder. "I'm glad we had Colton's DNA to test, as such a close relationship may have muddied the waters a bit."

My tongue had frozen itself to the roof of my mouth. I couldn't say a word as Janet rifled through several pages, as though searching for the right one.

"Ah, here we are," she said.

Ellie squeezed my fingers, smiling in anticipation.

Of course she can smile. We all know who the mother is.

"Congratulations, Grey," Janet finally said, you're going to be a father."

All my air left my lungs as Ellie laughed, triumphant. She lunged from her chair to hug me, yanking my head against her chest. Her hair smothered me, her arms around my neck threatened my ability to breathe.

"I―I'm the father?"

I swept Ellie's hair from my face to gape. "Truly?"

"Truly. You were a ninety-nine point nine percent match. Colton didn't even come close."

"That's my kid." I turned to Ellie, grinning like a fool, laughing. "That's my kid!"

***

It was the championship game of the Stanley Cup Finals.

Cursing, I wiped sweat from my face with my jersey, drifting across the ice as the buzzer sounded for the end of the third quarter. The Vermont Vipers were tied with the Buffalo Sabres with a score of two to two. Neither team had scored since halftime, and nerves had grown quite frazzled.

Though I'd forced all thoughts of her from my mind, Ellie sat in the VIP's box as a guest of Owen Teasdale. I felt her eyes on me as I stepped off the ice to meet in the locker room with my brothers and Coach.

"You okay, Aldine?" Coach bellowed.

I nodded, breathing hard as I sat on the bench. "You know it, boss."

"Good. I'm holding you back to rest up. Ratcliffe will take your place until the middle of the third period." Coach glowered around at us all. "You ladies have done me proud; I'll tell you. But it's not enough. You know the plays. Make ‘em work. Chambers, you get the puck to Aldine. No one is faster on skates than he is. You all guard him with your lives. Take the punches, give back what you got. But make sure Aldine keeps that fucking puck."

It felt strange to watch Ratcliffe skate in my place, the Sabres' center making him scramble for every foot of ice. Still, the kid held his own, his raw talent and athletic speed, his youth, all challenged our opponent's greater experience. I knew the opposition was growing angry and perhaps scared when the Buffalo defenseman body slammed Ratcliffe into the barrier and slammed his elbow into the kid's face.

The buzzer screamed. The ref yelled, "Five for fighting!"

"Aldine, you're in," Coach roared.

Clearly, Ratcliffe had taken a hard hit. His face bloody, his eyes unfocused, he needed Devon's assistance to skate off the ice. My anger, simmering like a volcano no longer dormant, sent me toward the Buffalo guard as he headed for the penalty box.

"You fucker," I growled, "he's just a kid."

The guard sneered. "A kid shouldn't be playing in the big leagues."

"Do that again and I'll kill you."

He swung a punch at my face. I dodged it easily, laughing, and spat on his jersey as I skated past him. In a rage, he chased after me, but was caught by his teammates and shoved toward the box. Turning, I flipped him the bird, and joined my crew.

"This is it, gents," I said. "We have less than two minutes in the quarter. Keep those fuckers off me. Got it?"

Devon mock punched my jaw. "You do your job, shithead, and we'll do ours. You sink that motherfucker. Got it?"

I grinned. "You know it. Let's rock and roll."

Facing the Buffalo's center, the ref holding the puck, I stared into his eyes. He stared into mine. He well knew he was down a man. He also knew he had little chance of protecting his net from me should I get the puck.

I smiled.

The ref blew his whistle the instant he dropped the puck.

I fought for the puck, seized it, and spun. As treacherous as his guard, the forward stuck his stick between my ankles, and tripped me. I fell face first onto the ice, cracking my still healing nose. I half-heard the crowd roar as I got up, bleeding profusely, saw the bastard race toward our turf with my Vipers on his heels and his Sabres protecting him.

Eddie, our fearless goalie, waited. Ready.

I raced toward the group fighting for the puck down rink.

The Sabre slashed the puck toward our net.

The puck flew through the air.

And landed in Eddie's mitt with the ease of a catcher catching a baseball.

The crowd screamed.

The puck in play again, I seized control of it, and charged toward the Buffalo net. I passed it to Devon, who feinted a pass at Steve, then sent it back to me.

The Sabres lost sight of the puck for a crucial second. That instant was enough time for me to feint a pass back to Devon, and instead sent it to our guard. The guard kept it, racing, racing toward the net, the Sabres hot on his heels.

I swept wide, skating hard and fast, coming in from the right.

The goalie paid me no attention at all. All he saw was the guard and the puck coming for him straight on.

Our guard shot the puck to me.

I caught it.

And sent it hurtling into Buffalo's net.

I never heard the buzzer over the screams of the crowd. Smothered by my team, with more of my brothers skating onto the ice from the side, I laughed and yelled my triumph. We won! The Vermont Vipers won the Stanley Cup.

As a team, we skated slowly in front of the bleachers, each of us taking a turn to hold the Cup high overhead. No man was unimportant enough to not take his turn―we all won it.

All of us.

***

I stood on the ice, my team bunched behind me, my image high and huge on the big screen over the rink. The crowds had gradually quieted after the ceremonies of accepting the massive Cup. Though under normal circumstances, the game was over, and they should be headed for the exits.

Instead, the fans waited, knowing something else was occurring.

Owen Teasdale escorted Ellie onto the ice.

She minced rather than walked, carefully making her way toward me. My heart swelled with love and pride as she, while somewhat confused, kept her hand on his arm. I glanced away from her face to find the cameras had included her on the massive screen.

"Grey?" She eyed me with clear bafflement as she glanced from me to Owen and back.

I knelt on the ice before her.

Ellie slapped her hands over her mouth, instantly understanding what was happening. Her blue eyes huge in her lovely face held tears of what I hoped was joy and not mortification. A murmur rose among the bleachers as they, too, guessed what was about to happen.

"Ellie March," I said, my voice loud and clear ringing across the ice and the stadium. "Will you marry me?"

"Oh, my God," she cried as the crowds, and the Vipers, whooped. "Yes, yes! I'll marry you! I love you!"

Owen handed me the box I'd entrusted to him. Still on my knee, I opened it, revealing the diamond engagement ring I'd bought. Taking it out, I slid it onto the ring finger of her left hand. I stood to take my Ellie, the mother of my child, my future wife, into my arms and kissed her.

I don't recall ever receiving a standing ovation before. Ellie and I sure got one now. Every fan in the stadium stood, clapping, yelling, cheering, as I lifted Ellie's hand above her head, grinning.

"This is my Ellie," I bellowed. "My lady! The mother of my kid. Can you say hello?"

Under the thunderous noise, I scooped Ellie into my arms. I skated around the rink's edge with her, kissing her, observing her blush, heard her wild laughter. Above us, the big screen showed us both, up close and personal, my grin, her arms around my neck, our cherished kisses.

"I love you," I whispered, skating toward the ice's exit. "I'll always love you."

Ellie's laugh rang across the stadium. "And I love you, my champion."