They have fought long and hard. I know you are tired. Jasper is sore and ready for a break. It has been a long and hard year, but also the best.
The playoffs.
A second Olympic gold medal in February.
And we.
Us. God, that still sounds so good to me. The ‘we’ part of our life is so damn good. So damn easy. It feels so damn good.
Something about admitting it out loud, truly accepting it, has taken a weight off Jasper’s shoulders. He is still quiet and introspective, but now he smiles.
Under the cover of darkness, we crawled up to the roof of our Chestnut Springs cottage and talked about life. Of fears. Plans. Of babies. We talk about everything because we always have.
“Why are you smiling, Sloane?” Harvey nudges me, obviously watching as I zone out and stare at the grizzly bear logo painted in the center of the ice.
“I just…” I shrug, watching the hum of the sand. I’m happy. Even if they lose tonight. Everything feels…
-They are both settled. Figured out what counts in life. It’s the people. Not the things. Not the acclaim. People.
-Yeah. Talking about people. Does my mother still drive you crazy? “She’s been living in the house for six months, and she and Harvey argue like an old married couple. I really can’t make head or tail of it.
I’m not sure I want to do it.
“That woman,” he murmurs. It’s as if after years of keeping her opinions to herself, she blurted them all out left and right. It’s a surplus sale of opinion in that house. Buy one, get ten.
I huff out a laugh before the line of people heading our way catches my attention. Beau, who has returned home safely but is walking cautiously, leads the way. He is followed by Rhett, Summer and Violet, who have made the trip back just to watch the game.
A few seats away, Cade carries his new daughter, Emma, strapped to his chest in a baby carrier. He is a proud father, with his eyes more on the little girl than on the game. Seeing it has a strange effect on my ovaries.
Willa is her usual playful self, sitting next to Luke trying to teach him how to throw popcorn into the air and catch it with his mouth.
He keeps hitting them both in the face.
No matter what, seeing everyone here cheering for Jasper warms my heart.
He needs this.
He deserves it.
We are not in the box. We have taken almost an entire row of the stadium behind the net. Full of Eatons. Full of family.
Maybe not the family he was born into, but the one that loved him the most. The one who would do anything for him.
A doorbell rings, Violet places a beer in front of me and takes a seat.
-Take. Baby.
-Can’t…
He shakes the plastic cup, making it dangerously close to spilling.
-You will do it. It’s Buddyz Best. You love this shit.
I smile at the lager. It’s true that I love this beer. But not because it tastes good. It’s because I remember drinking it the night Jasper pulled me out of that farcical wedding. I remember drinking a mug while Jasper leaned over my back and taught me how to play pool.
The dog on the label makes me smile, and the memories it evokes make it taste delicious.
I take a drink and my nerves calm as I watch my man skate across the ice from the bench. He looks up in our direction and Beau waves the giant sign he and Rhett made in his direction.
I saw how they did it. Like children, they laughed while they sprinkled sprinkles on the glue with which they spelled the words.
It says: Jasper Gervais is my number one stud!
Jasper puts on his helmet, probably rolling his eyes from behind the cage.
Rhett yells, “Marry me, Jasper!” -just as Summer elbows him in the ribs.
It wouldn’t be an Eaton family outing without some kind of crazy antics from the boys.
But as soon as the timer starts, everyone falls into a tense silence. I should be watching the game, but I spend a lot of time watching Jasper on the net.
His incredible concentration. The way he carries his body. The speed of your reflexes. He’s not just good at hockey, he’s a generational talent. It gives me chills.
And if I’m totally honest, it gets on my nerves that he’s so superior. I’m very attracted to that part of him. His passion and tireless commitment to being so good at his sport.
I admire that about him. We connect on that level. When we have to train, we don’t hold grudges or complain about the time we spend apart. We both pursue our passions and are better at what we do because we have each other’s support.
The crowd roars as the opposing team marches down the ice toward Jasper’s net. Jasper stands to attention to face the attackers. Just by being in the net, he blocks many of his scoring opportunities thanks to his height advantage.
Number 29 passes, and number 17 ends up taking a hard and fast shot.
But not fast enough. Jasper’s gloved hand darts out and pockets the puck, making it look easy.
I gasp as he hands it back to the referee.
With one hand on my chest, I take another sip of beer and realize I’ve drank the entire thing.
The puck drops and the clock keeps ticking. They are tied at one. Jasper played his heart out tonight.
I want this for him so much. The great victory. The supreme achievement. God, my body hurts because I want this for him so much.
There are thirty seconds left and the audience falls silent. Extra time is not a defeat, but it is not a victory either.
It means more time. More chances. More room for tired mistakes.
I can feel the anticipation. The entire stadium is full of it. You could cut it with a knife.
Every second is like a drum that resonates in the stands.
The Gators shoot and Jasper covers, but not enough for the final whistle.
And then… it happens.
Damon Hart flies across the ice, looking over his shoulder with a smile and a small wave to his goalie.
And there is the perfect gap.
Jasper drops the puck on the ice and shoots it straight through that gap. Right on the tape of his teammate’s stick.
I swear everyone collectively sucks in a deep breath of cold air. The seconds pass.
But there are no defenses. They let Damon skate past them. Tap the puck from side to side, left to right. Fake a gunshot.
Their goalkeeper falls into the trap and drops to save the ball.
Damon shoots into the top corner, the hard rubber hitting the back of the net with a whistle that can be heard throughout the building.
The bell rings and the stadium explodes.
Music. Lights. Screams. Confetti. Every person erupts.
But I stay still, watching Jasper jump for joy, stick and gloves flying, helmet thrown away, skating towards his teammates with the biggest, heartbreaking smile on his face as they pile on him for the assist and Damon for the winning goal.
I want to remember this moment, this feeling, as clearly as I remember the first day I saw him. Painfully handsome with sad eyes.
Today, when he turns around and looks for me in the stands, it’s different. He is achingly handsome with happy eyes.
So happy that I want to see them up close. Colors. The way they swirl. The fine lines next to them. I want to feel his stubble on my cheeks and the beat of his heart against my forehead when I let my face fall against his chest.
I run through the crowd, down the stairs to the door at the end of the rink, and he’s there. Waiting for me.
As it always has been.
I let him drag me onto the ice, right into his arms.
“You fucking did it!” I shout at him without any chill. My hands are in his sweaty hair, my legs around his waist, my eyes on his.
Right where they’ve always been.
“We fucking did it.” His hands squeeze my ass and he whispers in my ear: My years of training and your Stanley Cup Maker. The perfect combination.