28. Sabrina

Chapter 28

Sabrina

Jamie's drive had led to Euli's goal, which tied up the game. Two minutes remained on the clock, and I could see my own thought in all my teammates' eyes:

Forget overtime. Let's win this in regulation.

I agreed. Especially since Calgary was dangerous in OT—of their twelve regular season games to go into overtime, they'd lost two. In the postseason, they were 3-0 after regulation.

Yeah, forget overtime. We're winning this now.

My line was gassed, so we went to the bench. The second line went out, and right about the time the announcer called out that there was one minute left to play, Coach sent my line back onto the ice.

I was ready. So were my linemates.

Sims and Caldwell were fresh, too, and I glanced from player to player. Nothing but fierce determination.

We could do this.

They weren't going to make it easy, though. It was a battle to get possession after the faceoff. One of Calgary's defenders had the puck, but Sims checked her hard, knocking her off the puck and stealing it away.

All the action quickly moved into our offensive zone, where it was cycle after cycle, battle after battle, until finally—fucking finally—we were set up. Caldwell passed me the puck. Our defenders situated themselves in front of the net to block the goalie's sightlines.

I had the puck. Shoot? Pass?

In the space of nanoseconds, I analyzed the situation.

I had the shot, but the goalie was poised and ready. Even with a screen of three players—one of hers and two of mine—between us, she could still catch glimpses of me. Still anticipate what I was going to do.

Laws, however, was off to the side. Wide open. With a much better shooting lane than I had.

I wound back for a one-timer, and the goalie and screening players all moved around to try to either block me or the goalie.

Just before my blade hit the puck, though, I stopped, then snapped it toward Laws.

No one was expecting it. No one but her.

And before anyone could course correct, Laws fired it on net.

I didn't even hear the goal horn over the crowd. We almost toppled Laws in hugs, and when we skated back to the bench for fist bumps, everyone was on their feet and practically jumping up and down.

Nineteen seconds left on the clock. We had the lead.

We could… We might fucking win this thing .

We set up again. This time, we weren't going to make a drive for the goal—just take possession, and hold on to the puck. Cycle it. Skate around with it.

Unfortunately, Calgary won the faceoff, and the puck holder skated for all she was worth toward our defensive zone.

We were on her heels, but she was fast. Too fast.

Panic surged through me as she neared the goal.

Anya was ready. Low. Glove and stick both ready.

The player shot.

Anya batted it away with her stick. Rebounds were never ideal, but—

The buzzer went off.

The game was over.

The playoffs were over.

We'd…

We'd won.

This didn't feel real. Even after I'd almost suffocated in the pile of hugs after my teammates cleared the bench… even after they'd wheeled out the Cup… even after I'd hoisted it above my head and skated around the ice to the deafening roar of fans and teammates…

It just didn't feel real.

The ice crew rolled out rugs, and family members poured onto the sheet to celebrate with us. I looked around for Lila, but she wasn't out here yet. Probably waiting out the biggest crush so she could move more slowly on her crutches. I could wait; I wanted her to be safe more than anything.

My brother shouldered his way through the crowd wearing a Pittsburgh Bearcats, WHPL Cup Champions baseball cap like the one I had on. He threw his arms around me and damn near knocked me onto the ice. "Holy crap, Beans! You won the Cup!"

I almost started crying again, hugging him back fiercely. "We did! I can't believe it!"

"Pfft. I can." He gave my back a slap and let me go. "I've watched almost every game—you've all been killing it!"

"Yeah, but they gave us a run for our money."

"Well. Yeah." He rolled his eyes as if I were still his dumb little sister. "It wouldn't be worthwhile if it was easy."

"Eh." I shrugged. "If I wanted easy, I'd play against your team."

"Oh. Oh." He touched his chest. "That's cold, Beans. Cold ."

I snickered and hugged him again. "You deserved it and you know it."

He just chuckled and smacked my back. He'd made the same comment to me when we were teenagers, and I'd been waiting a damn decade to toss it back at him. "Seriously, though," he said. "Congrats. This is amazing."

"Thanks." I pulled back. "Maybe next year will be your year."

With a quiet, self-deprecating laugh, he said, "Yeah. We'll see."

His team had been eliminated during the men's league's second round. It hadn't been a blowout, but it hadn't been their greatest performance, either. To be fair, they'd been plagued with injuries as most teams were this time of year, and they'd been down three of their top six. His coaches didn't seem to think depth was all that important, so they hadn't done much to shore up their bottom six; losing an entire line's worth of their best forwards had been a disaster .

Next year? Maybe if they replaced all their coaches.

My mom and sister came down too, and we shared hugs.

And then…

Oh, God.

I knew it was coming, but I still wasn't ready when my father's face emerged from the crowd.

And I didn't know what to make of the way he was beaming. Or the fact that he wore a cap that matched the one my brother and I wore.

He was… celebrating my team's win?

Oh my God.

This was real. He really was here and celebrating.

I glanced at my mom, who nodded.

Then I skated to the edge of the carpet where he was standing. "Dad?"

He beamed. "Well done, kiddo." He smacked my padded shoulder. "Turns out you've really got it."

I had to blink past the sting in my eyes. All my damn life, I'd waited to hear him say that. To hear him tell me I was good at hockey, and that the hockey I played actually mattered. Now that I had Olympic medals, World Junior Women's medals, and a Cup, he finally saw what I'd been begging him to see all along.

The little girl watching him at training camp couldn't have even dreamed of this moment.

But the woman standing here now…

Pulling in a deep breath, I skated back, getting out from under his hand and out of his reach. "No, Dad. We're not doing this."

He blinked, hand still hovering in the air where my shoulder had been. "Not doing—what are you talking about?"

I let go of a caustic laugh. "You did everything you could to stop me from playing hockey. Everyone says you opened doors for me, but you and I both know you put up nothing but walls." I sensed people watching, including some with cameras. All my media training told me to stop. That I would get into trouble. But goddammit, I wasn't about to let this be Dad's moment of fatherly glory. And I owed this to that little girl who'd been hurt so badly by her father's cruel dismissiveness. "Don't tell me you've suddenly decided women's hockey is worthwhile now that you can take credit for your daughter, because all you ever did was try to stop me from playing." I gestured around us. "You had nothing to do with this."

"That isn't true," he growled. "You had access to—"

"I had all the lessons and coaching Mom could sign me up for behind your back," I snapped, and people definitely heard that. I should've stopped. I really should've. But I looked him right in the eye and snarled, "You don't get to take credit for any of this, Dad. You don't get to celebrate it with us. Not after you told me time and time again that there was nothing more useless than being an expert at something worthless."

The gasps around us told me my words had carried farther than I'd expected. My father's eyes flicked from side to side, as if he'd realized the same. The rising panic in his expression told me he knew his entire reputation was as vulnerable as an empty net—one well-placed shot away from game over.

"Sabrina," he said in a low voice. "This isn't the time or place for—"

"It isn't the time or place for you to pretend you care about me or about this sport," I threw back. He narrowed his eyes, taking on that expression I knew well from when teenage me had pushed him too far. I could let him snap now. Let him eviscerate his own reputation right here in front of cameras and hot mics. Let him finally show the hockey world who he'd been all along.

But winning via the other team's own goal was never as satisfying as potting that decisive point myself, so I started talking before he could.

"You can't spend my whole life trying to pull me back down the mountain, then think you can celebrate with me when I reach the summit. This is my moment. My team's moment. You've made it clear for years that you wanted no part of it." I shrugged with all the defiance I'd been cultivating for my entire life. "You're not welcome here."

And then I skated back to join my teammates, keeping my head high and pretending I wasn't shaky all over from standing up to him like that. In public . In front of cameras .

Lila caught up with me, leaning on her crutches at the edge of a carpet. "Hey. You okay?"

I exhaled. "Yeah, I'm…" I glanced back to where my dad and I had faced off. He was gone now, several people—including reporters—looking around with startled and puzzled expressions. We definitely hadn't gone unnoticed. My shoulders dropped beneath my pads. "Fuck." I rubbed my hand over my face. "Now all the coverage is going to get hijacked to be about me and my dad instead of the team and the—"

"Sabrina." Lila gathered me in her arms. "That's not your fault. The commentators and reporters fed that monster, and so did your dad."

"But I made a scene with him here ." I gestured around us. " Now . This is supposed to be about us winning the Cup, not…" I exhaled hard.

"It's not about him." Lila kissed my temple, then let me go and took my hand. "It's all about us and the team." As she herded me toward our teammates, she added, "We're not going to waste any more time on what he did, because we're going to celebrate what we did."

I tried to smile, but it was tough. Yes, we could focus on our team's achievement, but I'd spent my whole life around the highest levels of this sport. I knew how an exchange like the one we'd just had would become a huge scandal, overshadowing everything the Bearcats had done. As it was, no media outlet could mention my name without trotting out my pedigree. I wasn't na?ve enough to think "Bearcats win Cup in Inaugural Season" would be the headline when "Doran McAvoy, Daughter Square Off After Cup Win" would be so much juicier.

I was proud of myself for finally standing up to my father and for refusing to let him act like he'd always been the supportive dad. But I also hated myself for tarnishing this moment for our team. This should've been about us, the Bearcats. Not us, Doran and Sabrina McAvoy.

"Come here." Lila pulled me in closer, and she kissed my cheek. "You're amazing. You played through his bullshit your whole life, and then you didn't let him come in at the last second and act like he deserved to be here. You're a lot stronger than you think."

I exhaled. Then I met her gaze, and I smiled. "Do you care if anyone knows we're together?"

She laughed. "You mean the five or six people who haven't already figured it out after I've kissed you like three times?" She shook her head. "Not at all."

I grinned. Then I kissed her. Not deeply or inappropriately, but long and tender. I thought I heard some camera snaps, but I didn't care.

She drew back and grinned up at me. "I'm going to go congratulate Jamie. She's probably beside herself right now."

"Good idea. And you made a big difference for her tonight." I caressed Lila's cheek. "Don't think for a second that you didn't contribute to us winning."

"Oh, I know," she said with a cocky grin. "I'm just glad you all know that."

I laughed and rolled my eyes. "Shut up."

She giggled, then hobbled along the crowded carpet to find our rookie teammate.

A moment later, my mom appeared beside me again, and she reeled me into a tight hug. I almost cried as I enveloped her in my sweaty gear and jersey. We'd already celebrated together, but suddenly I was overwhelmed by how much she'd done to get me to this level. By how much she'd fought against to help me lived my dream. At least one of my parents deserved to be out here with me. "Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome, sweetheart." As she pulled back, there was an unusually wicked little glint in her eyes. "And good job, putting your father in his place."

"You saw that?"

She smiled. "I'm pretty sure everyone saw it."

I groaned.

"It's okay." Mom put a hand on my arm and squeezed just hard enough for me to feel it through my pads. "It was long overdue for everyone to see who he really was."

"But did it have to be now? " I gestured at my teammates, who were celebrating with their families as they continued passing the Cup around. "Today should be about us. Not him."

"It won't be about him."

I shot her a dubious look.

She gave me one of those "Mom knows best, just wait and see" looks. "All the sports networks have been ignoring the bad things about him for years, and they know it. Now that he's made an ass out of himself in a way they can't ignore, they're not going to want to touch it with a ten-foot pole because they all helped make him into the monster he is."

I scowled. "They'll just act all shocked and scandalized like they had no idea he was this way."

"They can try." Mom smiled knowingly. "And even if they do try to crap on him, everyone knows your father will sic his lawyers on them. Some of the tabloid sites might try to make a big stink out of it, but the sports networks that want to stay relevant and solvent aren't going to take that risk."

I considered it, then sighed. "I hope you're right." I wanted to believe her. I really did. I just wasn't sure if I could.

Mom patted my arm again. "Either way, don't let him steal your night." She pointed with her chin at my teammates. "Go celebrate. You've earned it."

I chewed my lip. Yeah, I'd earned it. But had I also blown it?

Right then, Val skated up beside me. "Hey, Mac. You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm…" I turned around and realized about half a dozen of my teammates had joined her, and they were all looking at me with concern written all over their faces.

When they should've been celebrating the biggest moment of their careers.

Goddammit.

"I'm sorry about…" I gestured to where my dad and I had had it out.

Val shook her head. "No, don't be."

"Definitely," Sims agreed. "He was all ready to make tonight about himself." She nodded in the same direction I'd pointed. "But now he's gone."

I looked, and… she was right. He was still MIA. Scanning the ice, I couldn't find him anywhere, and he was not an easy man to lose in a crowd. He'd quite possibly left the building by now.

I exhaled, letting my shoulders drop.

"Come on." Anya wrapped her arm around me. "Let's go celebrate."

I hesitated, worried I didn't deserve to take part in something I'd almost ruined.

Lila appeared beside my mom, and she gave me a gentle nudge. "Go. You've earned this. He doesn't deserve to take it away from anyone, including you."

I held her gaze, then smiled and tipped my head in the direction our teammates had gone. "You coming?"

"Of course." She beamed. "They're going to do the group photo by one of the carpets so I can join in."

That had joy bubbling up in me. She was part of this. We'd all done this together, including me and Lila. Both of us would be in that group photo with the Cup. Both of our names would be engraved on it. Though there would be articles and commentary, I was sure, the pall of my dad's presence was gone. There was nothing left but joy and celebration.

So I joined my team. I posed, smiling beside the Cup. I drank from it just like everyone else did, and my God, champagne had never tasted so good.

As far as I knew, my father had left. I didn't see him for the rest of the night, and no one—not even the nosiest and most obnoxious reporters—mentioned his name to me.

Tonight was about the Pittsburgh Bearcats.

We'd all made it. Into our own professional league. To the top of our game. To the playoffs.

And tonight, we'd won the Cup.

No one could take that away from any of us.