Delayed Penalty (33 page)

That was when we got aggressive.

Remy took a shot first, missed, and knocked one off Sealy's stick, and then Leo got possession again, only to have it stripped away.

The Flyers put in Arkady Vadim, one of their veteran players. The guy was a fucking maniac on the ice with speed, tricks, and consistency. Since starting in the NHL back in '03, he'd never missed a penalty shot or shoot-out goal and was nicknamed
The Closer
. The entire bench groaned and hung our heads when we realized who they put in. It wasn't good.

My eyes caught Ami's. She was sitting to the left of our bench with my family and Callie, all with the same nervous energy swirling in their eyes. She noticed me looking right away and gave me a thumbs up and a smile.

I winked back and looked back to the ice and then the jumbotron to check the score, as if it might have changed.

Vadim circled and then went in for the kill, guys hacking at his stick with no control. He didn't do any tricks. His mission was speed and accuracy. Cage, a little jittery facing Vadim, watched the puck and play around him, his eyes constantly darting from the puck to his stick with fierce body movement. Cage was poised, ready, knees bent, stick center.

When he got to the crease, he went up like he was going to take a slap shot but then swung a fake and then tried to just tap it. Cage read him well, played the pipes, and deflected it off his shin pads.

All of us were on our feet cheering on Cage. Play stopped; a fight broke out between Sono and a Flyer and was stopped by the refs.

"You're up," O'Brien said, nudging me forward. My brow lifted at his words.

No fucking way,
I thought. He was putting me in during overtime in the Stanley Cup? I knew my shift was coming up, but he thought I could do it. Leo skated to the bench, his time up, and then Coach motioned for me, Remy, and Leo to get back out there. He was throwing in his first line.

"No fucking way. You serious?"

"If you don't want the chance..." he smirked, "...I'll give it to Ryan."

I barreled over that wall quicker than I ever had before.

As I circled the ice, I couldn't look up at anyone as they announced my name. The crowd intensified. Never had I heard them this loud. I couldn't look up because the nerves were so intense right then I thought for sure if I made eye contact with anyone, I'd choke.

I could hear my dad beating against the glass but couldn't look. Here was his boy, the little boy he gave up a career at playing in the pros for, playing in his first Stanley Cup game.

The final countdown was there with thirty seconds in this overtime period, each excruciating second longer than the last. I felt like I couldn't breathe, let alone make a shot if it came down to it.

With my jaw set, my eyes moved from the ice to Sealy, ready, rocking from side to side in front of their goal. Taking a deep breath, I envisioned the route I wanted to take. I wanted it. All I had to do was get the puck in the goal somehow. I wanted it bad. I wanted it for so many reasons. I wanted to win this Cup for our team, for my family, and for Ami. I wanted to show Ami that good things did happen to people. Life wasn't always bad, sometimes good things did happen, and they could make all that bad shit simply…fade.

Just like falling in love, becoming a legend, winning in a sport, a Stanley Cup, a game, finding your way, your mind, body, heart, all of it operated on muscle memory. You experienced it before, and your body reacted to the signals you gave it to do things like playing hockey, falling in love, giving away your heart. But something, an unexpected action that you hadn't done before, lingers under the surface, one your muscles had no memory of doing.

I did what I said I wouldn't do. I looked up and saw Ami pressed against the glass, her starry blue eyes on mine. We got caught for a moment, locked together, until I gave her a cocky nod.

I could hear the giggle she let out, well not really, the crowd was pretty fucking loud, but I liked to think I heard it.

With the puck on my stick, I charged forward, hunched in position, keeping control and avoiding the defense. It was the critical moment when my concentration turned to commitment. I took off from the red line, taking my time as I swept right and then left and back right. Changing puck possession from side to side, I passed to Remy. Remy got it back to Leo, and then when I thought he'd take the shot, he passed it back to me. I used my stick handling speed to my advantage, like some kind of find the ball under the hat game. Sealy kept up, his eyes low on my movements, anticipating my move.

Their defense was strong, blocking, but I took the wrist shot and swept it under Sealy's leg to catch just the tip of the crossbar. It bounced off Sealy's pad and went in.

Lucky fucking shot, but it went in.

The Blackhawks hadn't won a Cup since 1961, the second longest drought in NHL history. It felt good. I might have scored the goal, but I couldn't take credit for it all by myself. It was Remy who kept it in control, judging the right time to pass to Leo. It was Leo who waited until I found an opening. I might have been the one that scored, but it was the Chicago Blackhawks who won—together.

Since playing in the NHL, I'd never made a show of a goal because I didn't score that much. I wasn't out there to score. But hey, when you were the one that won the game with the winning goal in overtime, a strip tease was warranted in my mind. I didn't give a strip tease, but fuck if I wasn't excited. I was shouting and jumping and pumping my fists, and then my team was all over me. I couldn't see anything besides my boys piling on me, all with the same exaggerated enthusiasm.

From the time you were a little boy, red faced, frozen hands, and a runny nose, you dreamed of hoisting that Cup, but you never thought that it would actually be you someday. The thing was, I knew it would be me someday.

Every team, every coach, and every player started out the season with the same goal in their head. They wanted that Stanley Cup, and they literally had no other interest in mind.

Those same coaches and players, as the season progressed and they're suddenly looking at a 22-36 ratio, they never lost sight of what it meant to hoist that Cup.

So in September, November, December, and March, when you've battled and defeated the odds, you finally saw that you worked toward that one goal together.

Just like anything in life, love, happiness, family, all of it...you worked toward one goal and then it was within reach.

As I looked at Ami, the meaning behind what we were and what we overcame held just as much, if not more, meaning now.

Goal – A goal is scored when the puck crosses completely over the goal line within the goal frame.

After winning a Stanley Cup and hoisting that Cup over your head, you did one thing: you celebrated. In more ways than one.

Guess how I celebrated?

"Make love to me," she said, eyes on mine, the high of the victory radiating through both of us.

"Do you know what it is you're asking for?" My hands moved hers over her head against the pillow, my head dipped forward to tease the skin of her neck.

"I'm asking for you, Evan."

My fingers shook as they went for my shirt. It was different this time, I could feel it. We weren't going to stop, not after tonight and the win.

When her hands went to the nightstand and she pulled out a condom, I smiled, the room spinning a little less. "You sure?"

"Yes, are you?" she asked, holding me in place. "You're swaying again."

I touched my finger to my nose. "Perfectly fine."

Ami laughed and quickly got the wrapper open. As she touched me, placing the condom on, I had to close my eyes, my hand grazed the side of her bare breast and then moved to her face.

When she got it on and lay back against the bed, I fell forward, supporting my weight with my arms. "I can't believe we won the Stanley Cup," I said, the win still heavy on my mind.

"Okay, dude, we're about to have sex." Her hands lifted mine back to her breasts. "Let's concentrate on that."

"Oh, I am..." I pushed my erection into her hips, letting her know I was all for that. "It's just been an unreal night…and now here you are..." My lips moved from her neck to her ear, over her jaw, and then found her lips. I whispered against them, pulling her down on top of me, "...loving me, wanting me despite my drunk ass."

"You're not that drunk, remember?" Her finger moved to tap the tip of my nose.

I was nervous, but I wasn't going to show it, and honestly a little terrified. I was thankful for the alcohol. I could only imagine what I would have been like. But there was also an energy I had never felt before. Not even in a game. Not even in a Stanley Cup win.

I blinked down at her, struggling to keep my composure.

All joking and teasing aside, there was still something incredibly intimate happening. I didn't necessarily want our first time to happen when I was drunk, but like I said, I wasn't that drunk. I was still very much aware of what was about to happen between us. For a moment, I froze.

Ami gave me these looks. She always had. They were just looks, but then they weren't because if I really looked behind the starry blue, it told me so much more than her words ever could. This look, the one she was giving me right now, told me that she waited for me. She was about to give me a piece of herself she'd never given to another. It didn't matter that someone stole her virginity, like it was a fucking car stereo they jacked. Her virginity was something she was
giving,
and it wouldn't be lost until she gave it. This look, that one, it was telling me it was mine to take.

My hands moved down her body to her hips, my face lowering again, finding her lips as I situated myself at her entrance. That was when I noticed her shaking. "You're trembling. Are you nervous?"

"A little," she murmured, unable to hide the fear in her eyes.

My hands moved, resting over her heart, and the other curled around her neck. "Don't be. I'll never hurt you." My hands wandered down her body, lingering for a few moments, before I brought my eyes back to hers.

Her eyes fluttered closed when she felt me there. I could feel her body tense, but she pulled on my shoulders, telling me she wanted it as I slowly entered her.

She winced, unable to hold back, burying her face in my shoulder. I wanted to ask her if she was okay, if I hurt her. Technically, she was a virgin. It would still be like her first time for a while.

"Jesus," I groaned. Ami's eyes opened, focusing on my words that continued to fall from my lips. I had no idea what I was saying, but it was a lot of groaning and cussing. It felt too fucking good not to. At some point I moved my lips to her shoulder, trying to control the moan when she wrapped her legs around me, inadvertently letting me go deeper.

"Careful," I told her, struggling to catch my breath. "We need to be careful."

"I know."

"Look at me. I need to see that you're okay." I moved again, this time my hand moved and angled her chin up so I could see her eyes. They had tears in them and her chin was quivering. But I knew she was okay. The tears weren't from pain. It probably hurt; the tightness consuming me told me I was stretching her enough that she had to feel some pain. Those tears, the ones falling freely from her eyes, told me that she felt what I wanted her to feel. The passion, the love, all of it was plastered across her face, mirroring my own. This memory, the one happening right now was something I never wanted to forget. It was a moment in time I knew I would want to relive. I would want to take a snapshot of her face, the one telling me I was the first and I would be her last, I knew that by her expression. That was why I wanted this memory with me forever. Nothing is forever, I'm not stupid, but this memory, it could be.

I wanted this. For so long I wanted this. I wanted to feel her beneath me. I wanted to make love in the warmth of her blue eyes and be the stars I saw in them. I was.

I would do anything for this girl. And she knew that. It had never been about the sex for me. There was always something deeper with her, and I saw that from the very beginning. It was about her and what I saw in those starry blues. It was everything she told me through them.

It felt different being with Ami than it did with other girls. Maybe because I loved her and didn't love the others. Maybe it was because she loved me and not what we were doing, or maybe it was just Ami and everything with her was different. The way she looked at me, the way she touched me, the words she said, it was all different from everything else I had ever felt.

I knew when her hips began to move, still wincing from me being inside her, that I wasn't going to last long. It'd been six months since I had sex with anyone. I wasn't lasting long.

My movements became slightly more frantic as I rocked against her. Ami found my eyes again. I wanted her to come but knew that wasn't happening. For one, she was probably in too much pain. And two, I wasn't lasting long enough for that. Maybe next time.

Being with her like this was more than I imagined. And I imagined it a lot. Believe me. I was suffocating in the sensation of her, and I wasn't willing to breathe without her breath in my lungs.