Bring It Home (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 3)

He’s right. If I hadn’t tried to make Posey relax, we wouldn’t have gotten in that fight. But then, we wouldn’t have had make-up sex either. So, really, I should probably pick my battles. That’s a good plan going forward.

“Or here is an idea,” he adds. “You guys just win, and everyone will be good.”

I snort. “No pressure, huh?”

Shea grins at me. “All the pressure, buddy.”

Aiden laughs. “We got this.”

“We do,” I agree on an exhale. “As long as our wives don’t kill us before we even get to the rink.”

Once more, I laugh with my brother, who is about to be my brother-in-law, and my father-in-law as we get out to head in to lunch.

Shea clutches my shoulder, squeezing it when I fall into step with him. “Don’t worry so much about Posey. She’s stronger than she looks.”

“You aren’t lying.”

He squeezes my arms once more, such compassion in his eyes, and this warm feeling runs through me. I grew up without a stable father figure, and for the longest time, I never thought that would happen for me. That’s not the case anymore. Not only will my child have the best grandfather in the world, but I now have a father I can look up to. Who can give me advice on how to be a good husband and father. The Cup final is up in the air, and as much as I want to win, I know I already have.

I won in the wife department because she came with a family that is now mine.

Now, I just need to bring the Cup home.

Oh my God, my fucking ankle.

Ryan holds my ankle in place as he sprays it with cold spray to freeze it before wrapping it so damn tight, I can’t feel it—or my foot, for that matter. From where I sit, I can hear Coach pushing and demanding our best. We’re almost there. This final is no fucking joke. We are tied at one apiece. It’s the second overtime, and I don’t think there is a player on that ice who isn’t banged up or exhausted. It’s basically been fucking war.

I get off the table, walking gingerly to my spot as Coach looks back at Posey. It’s hard not to notice how beautiful she is. She has her hair up in a sleek ponytail and her makeup done to the nines, and I can’t help but want those glossy purple lips on mine. She looks like a queen in her tight purple dress that she’s paired with her knee-high, high-heeled boots. She started wearing them at game four and hasn’t quit since. I know they hurt her feet, especially since her belly is growing. It’s all I see as she stands there.

My baby carrying my baby.

“This is it,” she says, coming forward since Jakob has decided not to say anything. I’ve noticed he lets her take the lead a lot of the time. “This is our moment. Everyone said we couldn’t come back, and look at us. We are here, and we will win. We have got to take away Merryweather’s eyes! Rush that fucking net and block him. Get a tip! Defensemen, I need shots, and hard ones. Get scrappy. Fight for that goal because the Cup is ours to lose.” She looks around the room, hitting everyone’s eyes. When her eyes fall to mine, they’re full of fire. Of belief in us. “I can stand here and tell you to do it for the coaching staff, for the organization, the fan base, the city—shit, anything. But fuck that. Do it for you. Do it for the glory for you and your team. It’s time to go to war, boys. Who’s ready to bring home the prize?”

Did she practice that? I’m pretty sure I heard her in the bathroom this morning saying that, but before I can even really think or tease her on it, the guys are in it, ready to win it. We cheer loudly, smacking one another, pumping the room up. When we line up to go out there, we’re all still pumping one another up. When Sinclair comes over to us on his crutches, my stomach clenches.

“Let’s go, boys! We can do this!”

As much as I want to win for Posey, I want to win for him. The ice is in sight, and I stare at it until it’s time for us to get out. Once my skates hit the ice, I feel it. I feel that second wind of adrenaline. Gone is the exhaustion; I can sleep when I’m dead. Now, I have to do my part to bring the Cup home to Nashville. Home to my captain. Home to the love of my life.

Let’s go.

Problem is, the IceCats have found their second wind too. Posey wasn’t kidding; this is a fucking battle. We fight for the puck, and yes, we’re all a little slower than we usually play, but still, our hearts are in it and no one will give up. Every time the ref blows the whistle, I sigh in relief. A second to breathe. I skate beside Aiden and Wes, my brothers looking just as drained and out of breath as me. Since Aiden is doing awesome Aiden things, our line is playing big minutes. We are the only line that didn’t change. Our defensemen pair is different, but that’s it. We’re still strong. We’re still who everyone wants to be. The line that makes the difference. Pretty sure I added to that difference when I took a puck to my chest after I dropped to block a shot from my cousin-in-law. Chandler Moon is my enemy today—though, he is a really great guy.