“I’m going to go and see them as soon as I go in,” she says, coming to me. “Whatever happens tonight, I want you to know how proud I am of you.”

“I know.” I smile and kiss her. “Now get out of here so I can get in the zone.”

“Fine,” she says, and she kisses me on the lips and then wipes off her glitter.

I get in the zone, and when I go back into the room, the energy is just crazy. Half the team isn’t talking while the other half is overtalking. “This whole year,” Viktor says from beside me as he drinks his energy drink. “It’s all led to this.”

“I’m retiring,” I tell him. Something I haven’t really told anyone yet, but my contract is up, and it’s time to hang up my skates. He looks over at me with shock. “I mean, I say that every single year.”

“I celebrate one year sober tomorrow,” he says, tapping his finger on his bottle. “One year ago, it was a totally different story.”

I look at him. “You did it, man.” He really did. For the past year, he busted his ass to be where he’s at. “You should be proud.”

He just shakes his head. “Win or lose this game, I still win the year.”

“Yeah.” I smirk at him. “But how much better would it be holding the Cup over your head?”

“Good point,” he says, and we get up to walk out and get on the ice. The fans have already started coming in, and I look at the seats and find Vivienne sitting with my mother and laughing about something while my father and brother sit next to each other talking.

I look toward the box and see Matthew not even there. He’s in the press box tonight, where he’s been the whole series. We lost the first game at home and then won the next one and then went to St. Louis and took the two games. I start my stretches, and by that time, the national anthem has been sung by one of the top Broadway girls. I look ahead, and when the lights come back on, I take my spot between the pipes. I skate back and forth in front like I always do and then skate side to side.

The puck drops, and I get ready in the crease, head down for just a second, and it was at that second I didn’t see the puck passed from one side to the next, and it flies over my shoulder and into the net. Seven seconds in. “Fuck,” I hiss, putting my mask on top of my head and squeezing the water into my mouth while I watch the replay.