Save of the Game

by Avon Gale

  Riley was probably going over game footage in his head—footage he’d been watching almost obsessively at home—because the Storm had only played the Phoenixes twice during the regular season, and Riley hadn’t been in goal for either game. Vazov played in the first one, as it was early enough in the season to give him a start without fucking up points or playoff spots.

  The second time Riley was serving his three-game scratch for fighting with Halley. Along with the Storm losing the second game of the finals, that made Riley more determined than ever to study the game footage so he didn’t make any costly mistakes. Ethan was glad Riley was so focused, but it seriously messed up his sex life. Ethan had a lot of restless energy and desperately needed sex to burn it off. Instead Riley suggested they go for a run. No way was that as much fun.

  The series went the same way in Tulsa, with each team netting a win. They were well matched, and it was a fun series. Tulsa had a great enforcer named Nathan Kelly, and he and Ethan got in a fight practically every game. There was a lot of name calling, and while the teams didn’t fraternize between games, Ethan was sure that once the series was over, he and Kelly would probably meet up for a beer. The guy was also a much better skater than Ethan, and even scored goals sometimes. Coach Spencer told him that with a pointed look whenever he caught Ethan sneaking back into the hotel smelling like smoke.

  It was also amazing to look up in the stands—usually from the bench or the penalty box—and see his family in their Kennedy jerseys, waving signs and cheering loudly whenever Ethan got in a fight. Whenever he made a save, they cheered for Riley too—which meant they cheered a lot. The games were incredibly low scoring. Riley stopped upward of thirty shots a night, and the Storm didn’t put up as many shots. They needed to start, because they were winning games by a single goal, and Spence spent most of his time during intermission and time-outs yelling “Get the goddamn puck to the motherfucking net already.”

  Ethan and Halley got along better, and Halley appeared to be over his Angry Birds fixation, though he was still on his phone a lot. He smiled kind of dopily at it, which seemed less like “irritating video game” and more like “cute girl or guy.” Ethan teased him about having a girlfriend and grinned when Halley blushed and stammered something about how it was new and they’d just met. Ethan wished him luck and went back to cheerfully texting Riley ridiculous sex things. Because apparently his weird goalie boyfriend could deny himself road sex, but not suggestive text messages.

  Ethan still refused to call it sexting.

  The Storm won in Jacksonville, and they could have won the Kelly Cup in game six in Tulsa. But the Phoenixes didn’t want to see them lift the Cup on their home ice, and no one on the Storm could blame them. They all remembered watching the Renegades celebrate when they won the conference finals last year in the Storm’s arena. Game six was intense, with very little scoring and few penalties. Ethan didn’t even get in a fight. He spent most of the game on the bench, watching Riley play like a man possessed. That game went into double overtime, and it looked like it was heading into a third when a Tulsa player found the back of the net and sent the series back to Jacksonville tied at three games each.

  The atmosphere for the finals was as electric as Ethan had ever seen it, and if he wasn’t playing a rivalry game in Madison Square Garden to a sold-out crowd, you couldn’t prove it by him. He and Riley hadn’t technically had sex the night before. They got themselves off, quickly and frantically, lying next to each other in bed, without touching or saying a single word. It was seriously weird, but hot too, and Ethan felt way better afterward and could at least fall asleep. But he was still keyed up.

  The Phoenixes took an early lead, but the Storm evened the score, thanks to Halley. The teams went into the first period intermission tied, with one goal each. The second period remained scoreless, but not for lack of effort on the Phoenixes’ part. They outshot the Storm 13-6, and kept them pinned in their own zone for the majority of the period.

  “Goddammit, boys. Hunter can’t win this goddamn game for you,” Spence yelled at them during the second intermission. “The puck. The net. Get it there. That’s all.”

  It was a miracle that speech didn’t include any strange metaphors or violent imagery, but maybe that’s how they knew their coach was serious.

  With the game still tied and four minutes left in the period, it looked like they were headed to overtime. Ethan got called for a totally bullshit penalty, and when he was sent to the box, he knew it wasn’t good for the team. With a one-man advantage, the Phoenixes would have more firepower and a greater chance of scoring. Given how well the goalies were playing the series, a lead with less than four minutes left would seem insurmountable, even if it was only one goal. And while the Storm weren’t as hemmed in their own zone as they’d been the period before, the shots were still firmly in the Phoenixes’ favor.

  Ethan’s stomach dropped to his feet as he watched one of the Phoenixes’ forwards send a beautiful shot toward the net during the power play, but Riley flipped on his back and kept the puck out by kicking it with his leg.

  The crowd—including Ethan, in the penalty box—went crazy. They showed a replay of Riley’s save on the screen, and Ethan was so turned on he would have blown Riley right there on the ice. No question. And he was pretty sure he wasn’t the only guy on the team who’d consider it. Fuck. That save was amazing.

  The Storm couldn’t lose. Not after that. Ethan would make goddamn sure of it.

  When the penalty box opened and Ethan went back on the ice, he skated like a madman toward the puck, grabbed it, and made a beeline for the Phoenixes’ goal. With one minute and three seconds left in the game, Ethan aimed and shot the puck with every ounce of determination in his soul—despite the burn in his lungs and the sweat stinging his eyes—and nearly fell down as something started flashing. For a minute he thought he’d lost consciousness, but then he realized what it was.

  The goal light.

  Two seconds later his teammates surrounded him.

  He’d just scored a goal. No way. Ethan burst out laughing—though it was hard because he was so out of breath he was practically wheezing. On his way back to the bench, he saw his mom and his sisters in the stands. He grinned, flashed three fingers at them, and was pretty sure he saw his mom burst into tears. He might have too, but no one would ever notice under all the sweat.

  “Ethan goddamn Kennedy,” Spence said, hitting him in the back of the head as Ethan sat down. “I swear on all that’s good and fucking true, I would give you a goddamn cigarette right now if I had one.”

  Ethan laughed and then sat back and watched as the seconds counted down, one after the other, toward the end of the game. When the buzzer sounded and the Jacksonville Sea Storm converged on the ice to celebrate, they all swarmed Riley—because Ethan’s goal was the game winner, but Riley was the reason they had a championship.

  And Ethan couldn’t be happier.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THE TULSA Phoenixes were good sports about their loss, and Riley gave their goaltender a hug and a backslap as they went through the handshake line. The goaltending in the series had been fantastic, and not just at Riley’s end of the ice either. The final score was 2-1, which proved just how talented both Riley and the Phoenixes’ goalie, Jason Bow, were.

  But Riley had faced almost twice the number of shots, and with the lowest goals-against average in the last three years of the playoffs, he was awarded the Most Valuable Player award. He could hear Ethan’s enthusiastic shout over everyone else, either because he was on the ice with him or because Ethan was just that loud.

  Riley smiled every time he thought about Ethan scoring the game-winning goal, and he was happy Ethan’s family was there to see it too.

  When the presentation of the Cup was over, family and friends came onto the ice to celebrate with the players. Riley skated over to Ethan, who was grinning from ear to ear, and clapped him on the back. “Good shot, Kennedy.”

  “Thanks. I had to
do something. No way could we lose after you made that sick save, Hunter.” Ethan paused and then said, “Brace yourself. Here comes the family.”

  Two seconds later Riley found himself nearly tackled by the Kennedys as they finally made it across the ice.

  “Riley! That was so amazing,” Kelsey enthused. She was wearing a Kennedy jersey, but pulled it off to show she had one of his shirts on underneath. “We all have one. See?”

  Riley felt a rush of warmth at that and hugged her exuberantly. “Thanks, Kelsey.”

  “My big brother won the game,” Britt shrieked, flinging herself at Ethan. “Also, fuck, bro. This ice is slippery. Don’t let me fall down. I still can’t believe you can ice-skate. What the hell.”

  “Language,” Maura said, but she was smiling. “Oh, that was so exciting. Riley, that was amazing, and I see why you were the MVP. You’re so talented.”

  Riley hugged her, his face flushed with pride and embarrassment. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said a little shyly. He’d never had a proud parent, and he liked it. It wasn’t his parent, but it was Ethan’s, and that was close enough. Better actually.

  “Hey, Riley.”

  Riley turned to see his sister, who was wearing a Hunter jersey and smiling. She looked almost shy, like she wasn’t sure if she should hug him or not, so Riley reached out and tugged her in.

  They pulled apart and smiled at each other. Maybe it wasn’t what the Kennedys had, but with time and effort, it could be, because things worth having don’t come easy. That was true about the position he played, the championship he was celebrating, and the loudmouthed defenseman he’d fallen in love with.

  Riley had to do a few press interviews, and there were photographs and ridiculously large trophies to pose in front of. He also had to say hi to Lane, who called Zoe’s cell phone and did nothing but scream in his ear for two minutes.

  The hubbub died down a bit and Ethan and Riley were making plans to go celebrate, when a sudden hush fell over the ice and Sea Storm captain, Ryan Sloan, suddenly got hold of a microphone.

  “Oh no,” Becker said, his brand-new ECHL Kelly Cup Champions hat perched on his sweaty head. “Is he going to sing?”

  “I hope not,” Zoe said as she watched Ryan. “He’s not any good. At least if his shower performances are any indication.”

  “Hey. So this is a pretty great day. Right?” Ryan smiled as the Storm players and assembled friends, family, and fans gave a rowdy shout. “I’m gonna see if I can make it even better.”

  With a flourish, Sloany handed the microphone to Campbell and then skated over to Zoe. He went down to his knees on the ice—a bit inelegantly, given he was wearing most of his gear. Riley was close enough to hear the squeaky noise Zoe made as Ryan presented her with what looked like—

  “Ry, is that your mouthguard?” Zoe sounded a little strangled.

  “Well, I didn’t know if I could keep track of a ring, Zo. This uniform doesn’t have any pockets.” Ryan smiled up at her and caught her hand in his. “Wanna get married and keep being awesome?”

  Zoe burst into tears and nodded. Ryan got to his feet, beamed, and grabbed her in a hug. Then he took the microphone back and said, “Hey. She said yes!” As if anyone watching couldn’t figure that out.

  The entire crowd cheered, but Ryan’s exuberant hug was a little too much, and he stumbled, fell on the ice, and landed with Zoe on top of him. Neither of them seemed to mind very much.

  “Oh, that was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Kelsey said, giggling. People were starting to drift away from the ice, and she pointed at a couple who were also taking advantage of the moment to get in a little post-win making out. “Maybe those two will be next.”

  Wait. The name on the back of the player’s jersey was Halley, and the girl he was kissing—

  —was Madison.

  “So that’s who he was texting,” Ethan said. His eyes were wide. “Did you see this coming, boyfriend? Because I did not.”

  Riley didn’t know what to say, so he shook his head. His sister said something to Halley, patted him on the chest, and started over toward Riley.

  “Hey, Ma,” Ethan called. “We gotta add one more for dinner.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  RILEY VAGUELY recalled having some important conversation with Halley in the men’s room, but he didn’t remember it. It might have ended with a handshake or a hug. Not a fistfight, though.

  Not a blow job either. That was a bathroom conversation with Ethan—not Halley.

  Riley and Ethan spent the day after their win lazing around and watching game highlights on YouTube. Someone had uploaded Ryan’s proposal, and the video had almost as many hits as Riley’s scorpion save. Ethan made them watch the save video four or five times because it got him hot, and Riley ended up getting a blow job out of it.

  Then Riley made them watch Ethan’s goal over and over, because Riley loved the way Ethan laughed when his teammates crashed into him to celebrate.

  “I wasn’t laughing. I was wheezing,” Ethan protested.

  Riley’s favorite part was the little salute Ethan gave his family as he smiled up at them in the stands and flashed the number three.

  When some greasy food, a shower, and a few beers made them feel better, Riley showed Ethan the rope he bought on Amazon.com—the kind that was specifically meant to be used to tie people up for sex.

  “Where would we be without the Internet?” Ethan was sprawled, panting and naked, on Riley’s bed with red rope still tied to each wrist.

  “Still trying to figure out hand jobs?” Riley offered, and Ethan cracked up. Riley thought of all the things he’d fought for and won during the year, and how the tattooed idiot laughing on his bed was maybe his favorite.

  IT WAS two days after the Sea Storm’s win, and between the locker-room champagne, the family dinner, and the drunken celebration with his teammates, Riley hadn’t had a chance to talk to his sister. It was time to figure out when the hell she started dating Bennett Halley, because Riley was still not sure how that happened—and if Halley told him in the bathroom, Riley had forgotten already. Being a big brother who was involved in his little sister’s life meant having opinions about who she dated. Or so the handbook, as written by one Ethan Kennedy, suggested.

  “I met him after the first practice I went to,” she said, looking a little nervous. “He’s a nice guy, Riley. But that’s not why I want to stay in Jacksonville. I swear.” Riley didn’t think it was, but it was nice to hear her say it. “I like him. I know what it’s like to try and be good enough to live up to someone’s expectations and how it can fuck around with your head. That’s all.” Madison opened the fridge and sighed. “Why do you drink this coconut stuff, Riley? It’s gross.”

  “Martin Brodeur drinks it, and you get used to it,” Riley said, as if it were some kind of slogan. “It’s hydrating. And what do you mean, ‘live up to someone’s expectations’?”

  “I mean,” Madison said, grabbing one of Ethan’s Pepsis instead and popping the top, “that’s what I’m always doing at home. Mom wants me to be this perfect trophy wife, like the first lady or something. Who knows. She set me up with Seth, you know. My umm… boyfriend.”

  Riley raised his eyebrows. “Shouldn’t you maybe not call him that?”

  “Okay. My former boyfriend. I’m pretty sure he got the hint that I wasn’t into him when I ran away from our engagement party and left the ring he gave me with his housekeeper.”

  Riley raked a hand through his shower-damp hair. “Do you know how that sounds, Madison?”

  “What? I left a note. What did you want me to do? Leave a diamond on his doorstep?”

  “You couldn’t have told him in person?” Riley asked.

  “That sort of defeats the point of running away,” she said, and Riley began to see that stubbornness might just run in their family. “And also, no. He’s very controlling. He would have done something to keep me there.”

  “Something like what?” Riley asked, feeling dangerous
. He didn’t need a handbook to know that kind of thing wasn’t okay.

  Madison gave him a droll look. “Something like a super horrible guilt trip? This isn’t a Gillian Flynn novel, Riles. He wasn’t going to lock me in a garden shed. Anyway, you don’t understand, because you’ve never had to worry about any of this stuff with Mom and Dad.”

  Riley gaped at her for a minute. “What? Yeah. Because they pretend I don’t exist, Mads. Do you know the last time I saw our parents was three years ago?”

  “Yes. Because it’s the last time I saw you too. That’s what I mean, Riley. You’re lucky. You get to do whatever you want because Caleb is going to take over the business, and you don’t have to.” Madison downed some of her Pepsi. “Even though I’m way smarter than Caleb and also better at math.”

  “I get to do whatever I want?” Riley remembered how his parents always treated him with casual neglect and all those lonely trips home in the car. After she learned that Madison hadn’t been kidnapped for ransom his mom hadn’t called again. “They forget I exist, Madison. They don’t care about me, and you think that’s better?”

  “Honestly, Riley? Yeah. I do. They didn’t throw a fit when you wanted to play hockey. They just wrote checks and let you do it. When I started ballet, they insisted on going to all the performances and dissected my technique on the way home. When I wanted to join the volleyball team in high school, Mom told me that athletic girls didn’t get asked on dates and I should think about doing pageants instead.” Madison slammed her Pepsi on the counter. “Know what they got me for my eighteenth birthday? A nose job.”

  Riley raised his voice. He couldn’t help it. “Know what they got me for my eighteenth birthday? A card signed by Dad’s assistant and a check. The same thing they get me every year.”

  “Okay. Well, I got a perfect score on the math part of my SATs. How’s that?” Madison’s eyes gleamed bright. “At Brown I wanted to study business and accounting, but Mom insisted I join a sorority and study French Literature, because I wasn’t going to need a degree anyway. Then she politely suggested I spend less time studying and more time keeping my figure.