and what my intentions were. Simon now knew in no uncertain terms that I loved his niece and I’d do anything to protect her. He also knew if she’d have me, I was going to marry her. He’d agreed to help smooth the way with her parents if she agreed.
I didn’t say anything about the baby because it wasn’t my place. I wanted to but I’d refrained. Fuck, I wanted to scream it from the rooftops.
On my way home, I called her again. “Sydney. Please fucking call me,” I begged. “Or come to the game tomorrow night and we can talk afterward. Please. I love you. We can work this shit out. I need you. I want it all. You, the baby, everything. Just… call me.”
When I finished, I hung up. That’s when it dawned on me that she’d never returned the sentiment. Maybe this was more about the fact that she didn’t feel the same way than anything else.
Fuck.
Tuesday night, we skated out onto the ice for warm-ups, and I looked to the two season ticket holder seats I’d purchased for her. They were empty. I wasn’t sure what I expected. She’d pretty much said we were over and hadn’t replied to a single call or text. I didn’t understand. I’d left her messages saying we could figure everything out. I’d told her I loved her. I’d told her I wanted us to be a family. I’d begged. I’d even cried a little.
Jesus, I’d been reduced to a pussy-whipped asshole.
The first two periods were awful. We were ahead, but it was by the grace of God more than anything.
“Jesus Christ!” Coach shouted. “What the hell is this shit tonight?”
“What difference does it make? We’re still winning,” muttered Papadopoulos. We all froze, because if Coach’s face got any redder, he might have a stroke. He stalked over to Papa and stood with his arms crossed.
“What was that?” he ground out.
Papa held his tongue, thank fuck.
“Yes, I understand we are ahead, but by only one point. That’s nothing when we still have another period to play. The only reason we’re ahead is pure luck. We don’t win a Stanley Cup with luck, boys,” he said as he walked around looking at all of us one by one.
Tired and sweaty, we could only meet his gaze as he made the rounds. Especially because we knew he was right.
“This team is better than that. We win because we’re the best fucking team in the league. Do you hear me?”
Several of us agreed and nodded.
“I can’t hear you!”
“Yes!” roared through the locker room as we began to find newfound energy and drive. I wasn’t sure where it came from, other than none of us wanted to let Coach Soderberg down. He was a damn fine coach and had been an amazing player before he retired. As the youngest head coach in the league, he had a lot to prove, but he’d been doing a kickass job.
When we headed back out, it was with new determination.
As I neared the ice, I couldn’t help but glance at the direction of the seats I’d set up for her.
There was someone sitting there. Long dark hair under a team beanie made me pause. I’d convinced myself I’d never see her again.
She looked up and immediately stood. At first I thought she was running off again. Until she shocked the absolute shit out of me. She bent down, grabbed something, and quickly went down the steps to the boards. Then she slapped a poster board against the glass.
No way.
Instead of going to the bench like I knew I was supposed to, I quickly skated over toward her section. It was likely I might not play the rest of the game if Coach lost his shit, but I didn’t care.
Heart pounding harder than it had the entire first two periods, I came to a stop by the glass. Jerking off one of my gloves, I pounded on the glass. She peeked around the sign. With everyone around her going crazy because I was there, she smiled expectantly.
To anyone in the crowd, she was just another fangirl with a sign. If I had blown her off, it would be a situation of no harm, no foul. I couldn’t stop my laughter. The sign she held up read:
ALEX KOSINSKI—MARRY ME AND LET ME HAVE YOUR BABY
Incredulous that she was doing this, I glanced around at the crowd then back to her. I looked at her questioningly. I banged on the glass again.
“You