30. Sam

Sam

January slips into February, and Finn and I fall into a steady, consistent rhythm. My numbers keep climbing—save percentage, reaction time, everything Finn tracks in her endless spreadsheets. She beams every time she shows me a new chart, and I find myself working harder just to see that look of pride on her face.

“You might be gunning for MVP,” Coach Aldine says at practice one day, and I have to look down at my skates to keep everyone from seeing the smile on my face.

The other guys on the team don’t care when I ask them to call me “Sam” instead of “Sammy.” When you’re a superstar goalie, the masses bend to your will.

Life with Finn is easy and fun. Her adherence to a daily routine adds a little more structure to my life, and I convince her to stay at my apartment more than not. We have morning training, then practice, then game tape review over dinner. She likes to sit cross-legged on my couch, a glass of wine in her hand and her tablet balanced on her knee, her hair falling loose from its perfect style until eventually I reach over and tug it out completely.

For Valentine’s Day, we take a day trip to New York City between games. We eat at a nice restaurant.

“I could take clients here,” Finn says, her hand in mine. “Or…I could not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been thinking about writing a book for a while,” she admits, nervously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. I’ve never seen her like this before. “And this might be the perfect environment for it. Quiet, easy. I could take a break from clients and work on writing.”

“Finn,” I say, gripping her hand and leaning forward over the table, wishing I had her back in our hotel room already. “I think that’s a great idea.”

March is cold and slushy, and I have to buy her a proper pair of boots. We’re not the best team in the league, but we’re far from the worst. I’m getting better, but Finn insists there’s still something missing, that maybe I really do need to jump out of that plane to push through my fear of heights. She says we’ll do it, but we end up being too busy.

Finn and I spend cold nights together, cuddled closely in bed. She rests her head on my shoulder and tells me more about her adoptive parents, about the biological father that dragged her away from them. About the trailer she shared with too many siblings.

I still can’t tell her about my dad. When I try to, the words stick in my throat.

“Dad,” I sigh one morning, my hand in his. “I think I’m in love with her. I mean—I know I am.”

His monitors beep steadily. Outside, snow is falling, adding to the blanket of white covering Burlington.

“Do you remember when I was a kid, and I asked you how you knew you wanted to marry mom?” I pause, watching his face for any sign that he can hear what I’m saying. “You said that it’s just something you know. In your gut. That you feel it there, and it’s never a question. That’s how I feel about Finn. I’ve felt like that since the first time I saw her. Like I was hit by a truck, or struck by lightning.” I laugh, cringing at the way that sounds. “It’s true.”

In April, we go with everyone else to the big city-wide egg hunt. Clementine runs around, squealing and pulling me away to show me the eggs she’s found, her little hands turning them over in wonder. Finn watches on, her hands tucked into her coat, her eyes wide and soft.

It’s too soon to talk to her about having a family, and what that would like. Knowing Finn, I think there’s a chance she doesn’t want kids. Maybe she wants to focus on her career. I want her no matter what she says, but I hope that she wants what I want.

A family. Lots of kids, us all together in a house. Matching pajamas on Christmas and movie nights and fort-building together. I’d teach my kids how to play hockey and get really involved in whatever they were into.

We talk to our managers and agents about the deal with Lululemon. The lawyers are still in the process of drawing up the contract, but it looks like it will go through.

“Get on your knees,” Finn says, and I do. Then, I bend her over my bed, my hand on her back, her soft gasps muffled against the duvet.

When we’re alone, electricity sits hot and heavy between us, the promise that at any moment we could shift into each other. I taste her on the couch, fuck her on the kitchen counter. When she sucks me off in the shower, the water sliding down her chin and dripping onto her chest, I swear it’s the hardest I’ve ever come in my life.

On the ice, it’s like my new dedication to improvement rubs off on the other guys. Brett gets even more serious, and starts to dominate the ice in new ways.May brings playoff hockey and endless hours of preparation. Finn practically moves into the practice facility with me. In between, we go to the botanical gardens together. I learn that Finn loves the smell of lilacs because they remind her of her freshman dorm, the first place she felt totally free.

I look at properties online, thinking I should buy her a house where I can plant lilacs outside the windows, so the scent comes through in the Spring. We advance through the first round, then the second. The city is electric with playoff energy. Signs in shop windows, jerseys everywhere you look. My save percentage is the highest in the league.

When we scrape through the playoffs and are confirmed to compete in the championship against the New York Rangers, Finn surprises me with a set of lingerie. She pushes me down onto the bed and runs her tongue over my body, slots her hips against mine. Every time I have her is better than the last.

I keep waiting for the moment that we slow down, want each other less. But it never comes.

June arrives with the Stanley Cup finals and humidity that hangs heavy over the city. I stop by the hospital before each game, telling Dad about upcoming match-ups, about strategies Finn and I have worked on.

“I'm going to ask her to marry me,” I tell him during one visit. “After the finals. I already picked out the ring.”

I pull it out of my pocket and open it, even though I know he can’t see it. I wonder what he felt when he picked out a ring for mom. More than anything, I wish I could ask him about that stuff, wish I had someone to show me the ropes.

We practice. We strategize for the first game in the Stanley Cup against the Rangers. I come home, and Finn makes me laugh so hard I cry by telling me about her first client, who was deathly afraid of clowns.

The ring sits in my dresser drawer, tucked inside an old practice jersey. Sometimes at night, I take it out and look at it, imagining how I’ll ask her. Imagining our future together.

“Sam!” Finn calls from the living room. I quickly stash the ring away again, turning and smiling at her as I come out.

“Come on,” she giggles as she pulls me down onto the couch with her. “I’ve been waiting for you forever .”