Wasted Time (The Steel City #1)

66. Penny

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

penny

Overtime.

I’m clinging to Avery and Wyatt so hard that I might be cutting off circulation in both of their bodies. I wouldn’t be surprised if I looked down and their fingers had fallen off.

Over . Time .

How is this possible? How can it all come down to one, uncertain moment?

I might pass out, or puke, or maybe just die. I’ve been on edge all game, but when the third period ended and the score was still 3-to-3, the world went all fuzzy. It’s too close. I get no comfort out of it being this close, and it’s very clear that everyone in this arena feels the exact same way.

If my heart wasn’t safely in Declan’s hands, it would be in my throat.

I remind myself over and over that Declan is magic . There is no way I can even pause to doubt that magic. The way he, Forker, and Boston work together is indescribable. They’ve been a force to be reckoned with tonight.

Forker has that look in his eye, the one that Declan has named ‘The Beast.’ Nothing is going to stand in the way of him and that cup, either.

Pittsburgh has been maintaining control of the puck and they look strong , but still, I don’t think a single person in my row is breathing.

Seth hasn’t stood up in three minutes. His elbows are on his knees, eyes wide and unblinking, hands covering his mouth. He’s peeking in between the people in front of him, too terrified to move.

EJ is hopping up and down like a damn bunny.

I try not to look at them, not to focus on them. I keep my eyes on the ice, on number thirty-three.

Forker snaps a shot to center ice, which Boston seemed to be waiting for. Black drives down the ice, too big to be that fast, but barrelling past other players anyway. He’s heading right for the goal, and the entire arena goes so still that everything seems to go silent, even though it’s deafeningly and intolerably loud. This is definitely not a typical ‘Boston Black’ play.

There’s a shout, and just before Boston moves to take a shot, he slaps the puck to the left, where Declan has just arrived, seemingly out of nowhere.

I suck in a breath, tugging Avery and Wyatt’s hands as I try my hardest not to look away.

Declan shoots the puck so fast that it’s hard to track. The goalie makes a very quick attempt to catch it with his glove, but it’s too late.

It’s too late.

It soars over his glove and hits the back of the net.

Pittsburgh wins the cup.

The scream that leaves me sounds like it’s ripped from someone else’s throat. It tears through me like a reflex, and I can’t stop it. I jump up and down, shouting nonsense at the top of my lungs, clinging to Avery like she’s my only anchor.

My anxiety explodes into fireworks and washes away into a wave of uncontrollable emotion.

He did it.

My screams finally taper off into cries of disbelief as Declan, Forker, and Boston collide at center ice, hollering to each other, their shouts somehow still audible over the crowd.

I let Avery go, and she collects Lauren and Tiffany into a hug.

Wyatt and EJ are openly crying, their arms wound around each other. They’re staring out at that kid they met in their first year of college, the one they all knew would wind up here one day, with so much pride.

He’s Declan Lowes, number thirty-three, a legend in his own right. But right now, to these three boys, he’s their college teammate with an arrogant smile and a sharp tongue.

He was their brother first.

Seth is still seated at the end of our row, his head still in his hands, eyes glued to the ice with a look of pure shock.

“He fucking did it,” EJ breathes.

I reach for Wyatt’s side, desperate to just hold on to someone. He drops his arm around my shoulders and tugs me close.

“He did,” I say, tears falling now. I make no move to wipe them away. They’re the good kind of tears.

“He’s a Stanley Cup champion,” Wyatt murmurs in awe.

“Don’t tell Avery this, but this day will beat our wedding day and the day my first kid is born.”

It’s Seth’s first words in hours, and none of us scold him for it.