Six months later
Someone throws me a water bottle after the final buzzer sounds. Game seven of the Cup final, here in Pittsburgh, and we won 2-0. I know I’ve won a cup before, and I’ve played thousands of hockey games in my career, but knowing this is the last one, I’m real worked up. Everything seems to slow down as I look around the arena. I hear the roar of the crowd, see my teammates clapping each other on the back. My coach comes out and pulls me in for a hug, saying, “I’m really gonna miss you around here, Stag.”
“Thanks for giving me a chance, Coach,” I say, clapping him on the back.
“Sure you won’t change your mind about this?” I shake my head, then, and he sighs, walking away to the crowd of ecstatic fans.
I know I should take off my helmet and talk to the press, but I want to keep it on for just one more minute, savor these last seconds as a pro hockey player. The guys in suits come out on the ice, rolling out the little carpet they put down so nobody drops the Cup. There’s a squad of guys wearing special white gloves and they present the cup to our captain, who immediately skates over and hands it to me. Me!
I’m the first one to get to do my victory lap hoisting up the Cup. I toss off my helmet then and make my way around the rink. I pause beneath the box, where my family is pressed against the glass, going wild. Thatcher is up front, holding their tiny baby, Wesley. He came a little earlier than they were expecting, but Wes and Emma are both doing great. Well enough to come to a night time hockey game, anyway. I shake the cup in their direction, and see Tim gesturing for Juniper to come down.
He sure as hell better help her get down here. At 38 weeks pregnant, she’s still rowing every day on the rowing machine, so she’s no slouch. Even if I do have to hand her the handles, since she can’t reach around that Stag-baby belly. But I can’t have my pregnant wife slipping on the ice. Then I remember that Alice is pregnant, and Tim probably won’t want to leave her alone up there. He gets extra nuts about safety when Alice is pregnant. We’ve been teasing the hell out of him, getting all anxious again right after he started to calm down. I frown, wondering who is going to give JJ a hand, and then I see my father helping my wife down the stairs. That makes me smile. I’m glad he’s here with us this time to see me win the Cup. Mom would like that. Ted should be around for all these moments. Hugging all these Little Stags.
I finish out my lap and hand the cup off to the next guy, staring around the arena at all the fans, who are waving flags and pumping their fists as they shake their Fury jerseys, many of them with my name on the back. I never thought anything would top this feeling—being part of the best team in the entire pro hockey league. But this doesn’t even compare to how I feel when I see my pregnant wife smiling at me from the entrance to the ice.
I know the team is going to ask me to say something about my retirement, and I make my way over to help her out to the podium before they hand me the microphone and ask me to comment about my choice to quit hockey at 29 when I’ve never even had a major injury.
I pull my wife in closer and she doesn’t even wince at the smell of me in my gear or my sweaty jersey. The reporter makes his way over to us, asks rapid-fire questions, and hands me the mic. “Look,” I say. “Hockey has given me so much. When I was a young kid in trouble, hockey gave me an outlet for my anger and my grief. Hockey brought me home to my family and let me experience teamwork.” I give JJ a squeeze. “But this woman right here? She’s growing my son. And this is my whole world right now. There’s nothing more important to me than being here for them.” I drop a kiss on Juniper’s cheek, thinking about how proud I felt when she won Olympic gold, but how hard it was for me to get away to be there for her when she hit that milestone. I don’t want to repeat the mistakes of our father; I don’t want to miss one difficult or one joyful moment of this family life. “I want to make Team Stag my priority, and I truly hope my fans can appreciate how much that means to me.”
Juniper starts to shuffle off the ice with me, but I’m still in my skates, so I bend down and scoop her up to thunderous applause from the crowd. She nuzzles her nose into my neck and says, “I thought you were going to talk about your long-term plans to coach at-risk kids?”
I shrug, setting her down on safe, dry ground. “There’s time for that later,” I tell her.
I look ahead down the hall and see security escorting my family down to greet me. My entire family—my father, my grandmother. Both my brothers. Their babies. Everyone in the world who matters to me is right here, together. I pull everyone in for a group hug, and smile. The Stag Family is cranky and loud and up in each other’s business, and every bit of it feels perfect. Together, we have come so far. And right now? The Stag Family is exactly where we need to be.