Page 81 of Grasp The Moment
I’m not done with her yet.
“And if you ever so much as fucking think about spitting at my wife again, you’ll wish that you never stepped foot out of Texas, Rosemary. I mean that with all my heart. If I ever catch wind of you trying to pull some shit that endangers my family, you’ll see why no one on the ice fucks with me. You’ll regret the day you met me, Rosemary—believe that.”
“All I ever wanted was you, Derek,” she says, voice trembling as a salty tear springs into her tear duct.
Give me a fucking break… The crocodile tears. Really?
Scoffing, I tilt my head. “You left our newborn on my porch. You left me, and you left our baby. Fuck you,” I spit, leaning in closer, relishing in the way she flinches. “I don’t care about your wants and your needs. You're lucky I didn’t get you arrested for child endangerment.”
She lets out a shaky breath before clenching her jaw. The look she gives me is one of pure hatred, but she nods, looking away from me. I take it as a dismissal and leave her there in the hall.
When I enter the chaos that is our locker room, three things are apparent.
My locker is completely decked out in kitchen supplies and aprons.
The room is empty.
It’s quiet… Too quiet for game day.
“If you assholes are trying to play a prank on me, I’ll give you to the count of three to come out.” I chuckle, looking around the nearly empty room, just as someone laughs, the sound resembling an injured horse.
Charlie Tyson…
Turning to my left, I’m about to call out Charlie as the lights in the locker room flicker on and all of the guys come out of their hiding spots, cheering.
“Happy last game, Mama Bear!” they cheer, confetti poppers going off as the guys crowd me, jumping and laughing as a team.
My heart is full as all of the guys—my family, cheer for me. It feels surreal knowing that this is my last ever game as a goalie for Summerfield. It feels like it was just yesterday that I was waltzing my ass onto the ice for my first ever game, and now, over a hundred games later, I’m playing one last time with my team.
Coach claps a hand on my shoulder, a gleam in his eyes as he says, “I’m proud of you, kid.”
And I truly believe him.
He’s been there for me since Delilah was one year old and has helped me every step of the way. This team has become the people I depend on, no matter what. It’s bittersweet that tonight is my last game with them before the playoffs and the Frozen Four.
Charlie and Braxton clap hands on my shoulders, grinning at me like madmen. I chuckle as Braxton wiggles his brows at me, pinching my cheek.
“Let’s win this shit.”
Nodding, I tap their backs. “Let’s win this shit.”
I’m locked in, my mind solely on the game and how I can keep our opponents’ pucks from our goal. Nothing, and I mean nothing, can break my focus.
The announcer for tonight's game begins by announcing each graduating player to the ice along with their families. Senior night typically begins with the players walking on the ice with their families as the crowd cheers. We announce our future plans to the audience and watch a slideshow on the Jumbotron of our baby photos before the face-off.
Braxton is announced first. His older sister and father escort him out onto the ice, a barrage of bouquets in their arms as they walk their son to center ice to be cheered for. Braxton’s smile is brighter than the sun, his eyes gleaming under the rink lights as he looks up at the cheering crowd.
