Page 70 of Puck Your Bunny

The arena explodes. Twenty thousand fans erupt into absolute mayhem. The noise vibrates through my skates and rattles my ribs.

I scramble up from the ice. Wally comes flying across the zone. I brace myself. He tackles me right against the boards. We crash into the plexiglass, screaming in raw triumph. Simon slams into us a second later, crushing us against the glass in a massive hug.

The rest of the team pours over the bench. Henry leads the charge, tossing his gloves and stick into the air. A tidal wave of white and black jerseys swamps us in the corner. We form a massive dogpile of shouting, sweating hockey players. I grab Wally's helmet, shaking him. We pulled it off. We secured the ultimate prize on our final night in the League.

The refs blow their whistles, breaking up the pile. We untangle ourselves. We skate around the zone, picking up our discarded equipment.

Tradition dictates the next move. We line up at center ice for the handshakes. The Heathstead Bears look devastated. We form a single-file line. I bump gloves with their captain.

"Hell of a series," I tell him.

He nods, staring at the ice. "Enjoy it, Lars."

The handshake line finishes. The stadium crew rolls the red carpet onto the ice. The League Commissioner walks out,flanked by the guards carrying the massive silver Alpha Cup. It gleams under the arena lights.

Wally skates forward to accept the trophy as our captain. He grabs the sides of the Cup, lifts it over his head, and screams at the ceiling. The crowd roars in response. He kisses the silver metal. He skates a short circle before turning to me.

Wally shoves the Cup into my chest. "Your turn, brother."

I grab the silver handles. The metal feels freezing cold against my sweaty palms. I hoist the massive trophy over my head. The weight is incredible. I skate toward the far end of the rink, heading straight for the VIP level.

I stop at the glass. I look up at the suite. Vayda stands right at the edge, pressing her hands against the window. Tears stream down her cheeks. She wears a massive, beaming smile. Kristy flanks her, cheering with the rest of the crowd.

Every instinct in my blood screams at me to drag Vayda down to the ice. I want her out here. I want to celebrate with my mate.

I check the urge. The media swarms the ice with cameras and microphones. They want a story. Dragging her down here shoves her right back into the spotlight she hates. It risks reigniting the tabloid drama. We promised to protect her privacy.

I raise my stick. I point the blade right at her, acknowledging our pack. She taps the glass in response.

The on-ice celebration lasts for another hour. We do the mandatory locker room champagne shower. We endure the endless press conference, answering the same repetitive questions about the double-overtime play.

The second the PR director dismisses us, Wally, Simon, and I ditch our gear. We throw on clean t-shirts and trackpants. We leave the chaotic locker room and navigate the concrete tunnels under the stadium.

We find the private green room our agent secured for the family.

I push the door open. The quiet room offers a massive relief from the arena noise. Henry sits on the sofa, drinking a water bottle with Kristy. Vinny and Brendan are at home, so the room feels intimate and calm.

Vayda turns around.

I cross the room in three strides. I wrap my arms around her waist and lift her off her feet. She buries her face in my neck.

"You guys did it." Her voice shakes against my skin.

Simon and Wally crowd in. They wrap their arms around us, turning the embrace into a massive pack hug.

I set Vayda down. I stand back and look at my family. We survived the tabloids, secured the championship, and finalized our bond. The hockey chapter ends tonight, but the future starts tomorrow. I look at Vayda, standing between Wally and Simon, and I smile. This is everything I’ve ever wanted.

Chapter 23

Epilogue

Sunlight pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my custom suite. The morning glow warms the polished wood floor. Dust motes dance in the air. I sit in my power chair. This chair represents years of hard work. I spent hours in rehab sessions training my fingers to gain the motor control needed for the joystick. The occupational therapist worked with me every single afternoon.

We practiced gripping small foam balls. We practiced pushing large buttons. My hand rests on the control pad right now. My thumb nudges the lever. The chair glides across the wide-open floor plan. Every room in this house offers wide doorways. This custom design allows me to move from the bedroom to the living space without a single barrier. Every detail here exists for my comfort.

Two four-year-old girls sit on the plush rug a few feet away. They focus on a massive tower of wooden blocks. They are fraternal twins. One girl has a mop of curly red hair matching Simon. Her name is Sophie. The other girl, Jade, has dark, straight hair and deep, dark eyes matching both Kel and Wally. They stack the blocks with frantic energy. Their tiny fingers move fast. Cali, our old calico cat, dozes in a patch of sunlight on my bed. Her tail flicks every time a block hits the rug.

"Give me the green one!" Sophie reaches across the rug. "It goes on top!"