Risking the Shot (Stick Side #4) - Amy Aislin Page 0,91

to bow out for whatever reason.

It was rowdy, it smelled like beer, and the music was so loud it vibrated in his bones. Tay loved it. However, he’d love it more if Dakota were here. He understood, though—Dakota needed to take Andy home.

Come celebrate with us?!?!? Tay had texted Dakota after the game.

Can’t, Dakota had written back, complete with a sad face emoji. Gotta take Andy home. Calder apparently has a very late date, so he can’t babysit. Come over after? I’ll leave a key under the mat.

Tay: It’ll be late.

Dakota: Ask me if I care.

It was already past one in the morning. Tay had been plied with beer from more than one teammate, taken selfies with more than one fan, and had eaten enough nachos for his stomach to bulge unattractively.

“Here it comes, here it comes!” From the next table over, Xappa stood on his chair, beer held aloft, gaze on the nearest television. “This is where we win this shit!”

The TV showed a highlight from overtime, volume off, but that didn’t matter. Tay had lived it mere hours ago.

He’d been sweating his balls off, anticipation making his ears ring. Two of Columbus’s players blocked the net as he approached with the puck he’d stolen from their third player. No dice; he’d never get it passed them. He swung around the net, his opponents so busy keeping an eye on him—the guy with the puck—that they didn’t notice Grey come out of nowhere and strategically place himself in front of the net. Tay saw him, though, and the next few seconds slowed. The roar of the crowd muted; a loose thread in his glove he’d been able to ignore all night tickled his pinky; his own breath was heavy in his ears; the sweat-soaked collar of his jersey was rough against the back of his neck.

In the next moment, he sent the puck Grey’s way. It barely tapped Grey’s stick before Grey sent it flying at the net. It rebounded off the goalie’s stick. One of the Columbus players flipped it away, except it bounced off the end of his teammates’ stick right in Tay’s direction, and even though it was utter fucking chaos, Tay risked the shot.

He lit up the lamp amid a roar from the crowd that was the loudest he’d heard it in a long time.

On the television, they replayed the highlight from several angles. Xappa rotated in Tay’s direction and pointed at him. “To that motherfucker over there!”

Tay’s skin tingled, his grin stretching his facial muscles. They’d won. They’d fucking won. They could lose every game from here on out, and the team behind them in the rankings could win every one of theirs, and they’d still be in the playoffs. It was the first time in Tay’s professional hockey career that he’d made it this close to the Stanley Cup. This lightness in his chest? This desire to run down the street shouting in happiness? This restlessness that made his fingers drum on the table and his leg bounce?

It was reminiscent of only two other times in his life: when he’d signed his contract with the organization four years ago, and when Dakota told him he loved him.

He was a lucky son of a bitch.

Tay lifted his beer in Xappa’s direction in thanks, to a chorus of “To that motherfucker!” from the rest of his teammates. And then the rest of the bar, at least those in hearing range.

The guys started heading out soon after. First Collet headed home to his wife and kids; Cherny was right behind him, van Kooten next. Dean and Grey followed them out after checking with Tay if he was coming back with them. Slowly, the herd thinned until only a handful of them were left—the single guys looking for some action.

Tay wasn’t looking for action. Okay, not true, but he only wanted it from one person, and that person was fast asleep a fifteen-minute Uber ride away.

“I’m heading out too,” Stanton said, finishing off his one and only beer of the night.

Xappa’s head snapped up. Okay, for real? He wasn’t fooling anybody with his I’m-just-performing-best-friend-duties schtick. Except Stanton. But to Tay, Xappa’s moony eyes were so obvious it was amazing Stanton remained oblivious to the fact that Xappa wanted him to kiss him again—while sober this time.

“Want to share an Uber?” Stanton asked. They lived in the same building, on different floors.

“Nah.” Tay stood with him and pulled on his coat. “I haven’t moved back into my place