35. Finn

Finn

I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the suitcase beside the door. I’ve been thinking about this morning, when I returned the keys to the guest house to Ellie. How sad she’d looked that we were leaving. I wanted to shout at her that we were always leaving. That was always the plan.

Without Penny knowing, I’d watched Sam’s first disastrous Final Cup game, thinking to myself that if it was that bad, I’d go back to him even if just to save my own reputation. But then, miraculously, his performance improved. They took the next game, then New York took two more by slim margins. Then the Vipers held out for another two games, bringing the score three to three.

Tonight is the final game of the Stanley Cup Championship, and my flight leaves one hour before it begins.

A knock shakes me out of my thoughts

“Finley!” someone calls from the other side of the door, having found it locked. “Open up!”

Gently, I place my hand on my stomach, then stand and turn the door handle.

“Finley Asher !” Fallon says, stepping in and crossing her arms. “You were not about to fly back to California without saying goodbye to us!”

I blink at her, then look over at Lola, who’s admiring my suitcases.

“I’ve been thinking of getting a set of these,” she says. “Are they nice?”

“Lola,” Fallon hisses. “ Focus .”

“Oh, right—we’re doing this whole thing.”

“What is this whole thing?” I ask, glancing between them. Penny shows up in the doorway and I raise an eyebrow at her. She let these women into the guest room to make me feel bad about going back to California?

At first, when I delayed our flight, Penny was delighted. I told her I was doing it to give myself time to think, but then I still couldn’t bring myself to unblock Sam’s number. What if I did, and there was nothing from him? That would hurt more than just blocking him and leaving behind.

Obviously, a voice in my head says. That’s why you want to block him and run back to California. Because you’re afraid.

Now, Lola pushes her curls behind her ears and grins at me. “This whole thing is the same thing that happened to me when Devon and I broke up.”

“You and Devon broke up ?”

“Yeah, for a little while,” she says, “it was a legal thing. I won’t bore you with the details.”

I mouth, “ Legal thing?” to Fallon, who just rolls her eyes.

“It’s the third-act breakup,” Lola says, like that’s a phrase that makes sense. “You and Sam are meant to be together—that much is obvious—but this is testing your loyalty to one another. Showing that you can make it through the toughest of times.”

“He told me to get out of his father’s hospital room.”

Fallon cringes. “Yeah, Brett told me about that. But Penny also told us that you haven’t been willing to hear him out since that happened. I think the two of you need to talk.”

“Honestly,” Lola laughs, “I’m surprised a woman like you needs this kind of middle-school intervention.”

“ What ?” I ask, sitting back, a wave of amusement and embarrassment flooding through my chest.

“Look at you!” Lola practically cries. “In your fancy suits and with your perfect hair. I’ve never seen you anything but totally put together. I’m just surprised that when you and Sammy had a fight, you didn’t schedule a moderation meeting. Put it in the calendar. Break everything down into bullet points.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being mean or not,” I say, tilting my head and looking at her.

“The point is ,” Fallon says, sounding exasperated. “We’re taking you to the game tonight. Penny told us about what happened with you two. And according to Brett, Sam has been a wreck.”

“He’s been playing just fine.”

“He’s been playing kind of okay,” Lola corrects, leaning in. “And Devon told me that if they lose this game tonight, Grey is going to be a shit head for an entire year.”

“Plus, it’s not just about how he’s been playing,” Fallon says, leveling her gaze with me. “This thing isn’t about his performance, or about hockey. It’s about the two of you. The fact that if you fly back to California now, you’ll never know what things could have been like if you stayed.”

Without meaning to, I rest my hand on my stomach again, my mind flashing to images of Sam—the perfect dad. What our life here could be like. I could write my book, and we could raise our baby together. If Fallon and Lola notice this involuntary gesture, they don’t say anything about it.

“Well, the car is here,” Penny says from the door, her eyes meeting mine. “So it’s now or never.”

***

“Well, shit,” Devon says, sitting down with a chili dog in his hand. “Sammy is playing like garbage, huh?”

Lola glares at him, but I can’t muster up the energy to follow suit. I can barely tear my eyes away from the rink below us.

Devon isn’t wrong: Sam is playing like garbage. Halfway through the second period, and he’s allowed four goals. Brett and the line are struggling, with only one goal to answer. It’s like when Sam plays poorly, it affects the morale of the entire team.

“His positioning is off,” Lola says, the steam from her hot chocolate rising up around her face. “He’s biting on every fake.”

Fallon leans in close. “Lola fancies herself a hockey expert.”

“I heard that,” Lola says, pushing Fallon’s bicep playfully. “And for your information, I happen to have three best-selling books about hockey on the market right now.”

“Novels,” Fallon corrects, sighing. “ Romance novels.”

“I don’t like your tone,” Lola says, and Devon laughs, throwing his arm over her shoulder.

“I know you’re an expert, bunny,” he says.

“Gross,” Fallon says, rolling her eyes, but there’s the hint of a smile on her face.

Out on the rink, there’s a minute left in the second period. The crowd is going wild—it’s not feeling good for the Vipers. Ranger fans hang over the partitions, hooting and hollering, waving their hands.

The Rangers are drunk on the possibility of an easy win. Sam skates to the net. He does his usual routine—tapping the posts, adjusting his mask, settling into position. Then, almost as though he can feel my gaze on him, he looks up.

Our eyes meet, even from this far, and I can almost feel the expression on his face. He can’t believe I’m here. His shoulders straighten. His stance shifts subtly, his eyes never leaving mine. Slowly, as though afraid of what might happen next, he raises his hand up in a quiet, still wave.

I raise mine, too, setting my hand against the glass gently.

The puck drops, and he looks away, and everything had shifted. Right away, the Rangers center snags the puck and rockets into a breakaway. Sam’s weakness. But I don’t worry for a single second.

Sam holds strong, his body language confident, and shuts down the shot easily. I watch Brett skate around the back of the neck, can hear the faint din of their voices carrying, muffled through the cheering and the other sounds on the ice.

Sam looks up at me again. The entire game shifts momentum, and the Rangers don’t know what hit them.

“There it is !” Devon shouts, jumping from his chair and lifting Lola up off her feet. “ Yes! ”

The Rangers keep pressing, but Sam stops everything. A glove save on the center. A split pad save on the left wing. Each stop more confident than the last.

“This is the goalie who won us sixty games this season,” Devon says, grinning.

The Vipers feed off his energy. Brett scores on a power play, then Morrison adds another. By the end of the second period, it’s six to two, Rangers up four.

“They're not out of this,” Lola says, squeezing my hand. “Not with him playing like this.”

The third period is a masterclass in goal tending. Sam moves like he’s reading the Rangers’ minds, anticipating every shot, controlling every rebound. The Rangers fans get quieter with each save, while the Vipers fans, ever loyal and still hanging on, get louder.

Brett scores again. Then the left wing. It’s six to four.

“Five minutes left,” Fallon announces unnecessarily. We’re all counting every second.

The left wing scores on a beautiful feed from Brett. The Vipers are only down by one, and my heart is thudding in my chest, adrenaline hot and thick in my veins.

With two minutes left, Grey pulls Sam for an extra attacker.

Brett wins the face-off clean. The puck goes back to the Viper’s left wing at the point. He fires through traffic—

The horn sounds. The game is tied, six to six. Our box erupts into cheers, families and fans melting into ecstatic shouting and crying.

“Holy shit ,” Devon whispers, completely still as Lola jumps in his arms. “They actually brought it back.”

Overtime is all Vipers. Sam stones the Rangers on three separate chances, and then Brett finds his right winger on a two-on-one.

Game over.

Seven to six—Vipers.

The team mobs Brett, then flows toward Sam. Through the glass, I can see him beaming, can practically hear him laughing as Brett tackles him.

“That is, without a doubt, the greatest comeback in Stanley Cup history,” Lola announces.

“For once, I actually believe you,” Fallon mumbles, her hand against the glass as she looks down at the rink. Brett has both his arms in the air, and he’s looking right up at the box.

When I find Sam, I realize he’s looking up, too. His eyes are right on me, and I can’t wait any more—I need to go to him.

“Can someone tell me how to get down there?” I ask, pushing out of my seat.

Lola and Fallon burst out of their seats, clamoring over one another. We hurry to the elevator.

“Oh, I just love a good reconciliation!” Lola says as she jams her finger into the button.

My heart thuds as the elevator doors close. I can only hope Sam does, too.