Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
The announcer’s voice now fills the place. “First goal of the game at one minute of play by Xavier Montgomery.”
My father comes over to me right away and hugs me, and I can’t help but sob in his arms. “He did it,” I cry, unable to control the sobs.
“He did it,” my father confirms, kissing my head. “Just like you knew he would.”
“This isn’t me,” I tell him. “This is all him.” I look toward the bench. “He did this all himself.”
EPILOGUE TWO
XAVIER
Eight months later
I finish my shift and get on the bench, my heart beating fast in my chest. I reach out, grabbing a green Gatorade bottle and spraying water in my mouth before looking up at the Jumbotron. There are two minutes and seventeen seconds left of the triple overtime. Game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals, both teams have given it all we have. Both teams are fucking exhausted, but this is what you fight for all year. Someone is hoisting that Cup tonight; the question is, who will be the hero?
I lean forward, watching the play, holding my breath the whole time. This season has been the best of my life. I thought coming back would be hard, and it was. I had to prove myself all over again. I had to do it through baby steps. The only difference was that I was vocal about the struggles. When it got to be too much, all I had to do was say the word, and I was taken out of the lineup for interviews. Surprisingly, the press was respectful of this, and no one tried to overstep. Through it all, I had the best woman by my side. She completed me in ways I didn’t know were possible. She even tried to come out of her shell and ask me things. But the only thing she really cared about was if I was okay. I was more in love with her every single day that went on.
“Stone!” the coach yells for Dylan, who looks back at him. “I want your line on there with Wilson and Grant.” I look over at him, wondering how the fuck this is going to work since Cooper plays as forward. “Grant, you good to play back?”
“Yeah,” Cooper says as we get up and make the line change. Not fast enough because the other team skates into the zone, and it takes a second for us to get into position, but not before they get a shot at the net. Our eyes fly to the little black puck, which bounces off Steven, our goalie. Wilson is on the puck first, and the five of us now hustle back toward the other end.
He skates it out, looking over at Michael and passing it to him. The three of us skate against the two defensemen in front of us. I skate at the same pace as Michael, Dylan staying back just a touch. In case the puck gets intercepted, he’s there to help the defense line. Michael passes the puck to me, but Dylan skates up and intercepts it, just like the play we did in practice a couple of days ago. He skates into the zone, rushing for the goalie. The three forward players are all around him, leaving me empty. He glides closer to the goalie, going right, making the goalie slide over to him before he passes me the puck. The goalie slides across the ice, but it’s too late, the puck has touched the blade of my stick, and I’ve sent it into the net. The horn fills the arena, but it’s drowned out by the crowd behind the net that is banging on the glass. I jump into the air as Michael comes over and jumps with me. Dylan skates to the net to grab the puck before joining us.
I wish I could describe the feeling that is going through me. But I can’t. Cooper joins us with Wilson, who jumps on us. Now the whole team is around me, surrounding me. The roar of the crowd is deafening, but it’s even louder since we are at home and there are about thirty thousand fans outside now celebrating. My heart beats in my chest as the horn still blares. The emotion is off the charts.
We stand together as a group, as we did all year long, before breaking and skating to the middle of the ice to shake hands. Gloves are scattered over the ice, helmets thrown off, sticks tossed to the side. I take a second to skate to the bench and put my things down, looking up and seeing Nico and Manning high-fiving each other. Manning looks over at me in a split second, points his finger up to the crowd, and only then do I hear that they are chanting my name. “Son of a bitch,” I say when tears form in my eyes, making Manning laugh.