Page 394 of Faking the Goal

Murray is waiting when I stand, and the second I look at him, the asshole is wearing the smug expression of a man who knew something he deliberately refused to tell me.

"You fucking knew."

"I suspected."

"Bullshit."

He laughs and pulls me into a quick hug before clapping me hard on the shoulder. "Congratulations, kid. Go get your jersey."

I turn toward the stage.

And stop.

Because I need one more second.

Just one.

I look back at Mom, crying and smiling at me. At Miho, practically bouncing out of her seat. At Taylor, wiping tears from beneath her eyes while wearing the biggest smile I've ever seen on her face.

My girls.

The three women who stood beside me when everything else in my life was falling apart.

Dad told me hockey would get me nowhere.

He told me I'd eventually come crawling back.

He told me I'd never make it without him.

And now, with my name still glowing across the screens above the stage and an NHL team waiting for me on the other side of this aisle, I realize I don't feel angry at him.

I don't feel anything.

Because this moment isn't about proving him wrong.

It's about proving myself right.

I squeeze Taylor's hand one last time.

"Go," she says through her tears, laughing when I hesitate. "Your NHL team is waiting for you, Grumpy."

Fuck.

My NHL team.

I lean down, kiss her once more.

"I love you," she says, soft enough that I almost miss it under the noise of everything around us.

My chest tightens.

"I love you too," I answer without hesitation.

Then I finally turn toward the stage.

For the first time in my life, every step I'm taking belongs completely to me.

EPILOGUE 1