by G. K. Brady
Tears threatened to flow again. “I love you too, Dave Grimson,” she choked out.
“That’s all I need to know.” He kissed her long and deep.
Breathless, she pulled away. Behind them, the crowd had quieted to a dull roar. “How about we take this someplace more private?”
He rubbed her nose with his. “Let’s go get that ring first—I don’t want you getting away. And maybe we should go on that real date we still haven’t had. Considering we just got engaged, don’t you think it’s overdue?” He waggled his eyebrows. Ooh, she’d get to see him do that over and over and over … and she’d get to kiss him over and over and over … and …
“What, exactly, did you have in mind for a date?”
“There’s this little honky-tonk I’ve been hearing about that has great ribs, a live band, and dancing.”
“Line dancing?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What if I stomp on your feet?”
He gave her a wide grin. “Don’t care. Stomp away.”
“I have a dress I could wear.”
“Yeah, you do, and red boots that make my knees weak when you’re in ’em. Or out of ’em. Come to think of it, maybe the date can wait.”
“Mmm … better bring your cowboy hat.”
Chapter 41
Only the Beginning
Five months later
Sweat dripped down Dave’s face as he leaned forward, his stick ready, every muscle taut, waiting for the puck drop in their defensive zone … waiting for the final seconds to tick down … waiting for—
The whistle blew, the linesman dropped the puck, and Nelson’s stick blade swept it back. Hadley corralled it and made a quick pass back to Dave in the corner. Dave skated it around the back of the net, looking for the outlet pass, but they were outnumbered six-to-five and he didn’t have an open man. He found that extra gear he’d been finding all night and skated hard, fast, took a hit against the boards that had the other guy losing his balance and going down. Dave tapped the puck out of his zone. Nothing fancy. No icing. He didn’t dare look up at the clock, didn’t dare take his eyes off the puck.
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!
And then it happened.
The horn sounded, and all hell broke loose. Sticks hit the ice, gloves flew in the air, helmets spun where they were dumped, leaving a yard sale of gear strewn over the rink as he and his teammates yelled, skated at each other, mobbed one another, becoming one big tangle of sweat-drenched players jumping, tackling, shouting, cheering.
“We won!” he roared from within a clog of guys. “We fucking won!”
They’d won it all! They’d won Lord Stanley’s Cup!
His eyes lifted to the stands, to the sweetest sight in the whole goddamn world. Ellie, in his jersey, tears streaming down her face, jumping up and down, hugging the other women, blowing him kisses, mouthing I-love-yous. His heart was so damn overfull he wasn’t sure it could take any more before it burst. The exuberant noise faded into the background as he held her gaze, sharing this pinnacle with her, savoring the frozen seconds, engraving this sweetest of all moments in his heart, locking it in his memory vault forever.
The clamor thundered back in his ears, and the arena was a blur of screaming fans and pulsing pompoms. Next came a whirlwind of victory: the traditional handshake with the opposing team, followed by cramming on ball caps declaring the Blizzard this year’s Stanley Cup champs, the team picture with the Cup at center ice, and the awarding of the Conn Smythe trophy to Gage Nelson for most valuable player during the playoffs. The entire time, Dave’s eyes traveled to Ellie, and every time she met and held his gaze, her face lit as though a Roman candle blazed inside her.
Then the best moment of all, after he’d posed for pictures with the commissioner and the commissioner finally relinquished the Cup to Dave. He hoisted it over his head amid his teammates’ cheers and skated a small circle before lowering it and kissing it. Another pump of the gleaming silver trophy toward Ellie and he handed it off to Nelson. And so it went, guys lifting the Cup, kissing it, passing it on. When the families finally made their way to the ice, he spotted Ellie and skated right at her, hoisting her above his shoulders, lowering her to kiss her, and twirling her in his arms on the ice.
Tears trailing over her cheeks, she told him how much she loved him, how much he deserved this, how happy she was for him.
“This is you and me, El. No way could I have done it without you.” He buried his face in her neck. “I love you.”
Without a doubt, she was the best prize he’d ever won. How the hell had he gotten so damn lucky?
“Created your own luck, you did, yes,” Yoda said approvingly.
After myriad on-ice interviews and congratulations, it was finally time to head to the locker room. As captain, Dave held the Cup aloft and walked it down the hallway through a gauntlet of cameramen, reporters, and cheering staff. When he stepped over the threshold into the locker room, his teammates greeted him with deafening shouts of their own. His eyes quickly took in plastic sheeting and stainless tubs filled with iced champagne and beer bottles. The boys each had a bottle of something they were shaking up, and a beat later, fountains of foam spewed at him, at the Cup, and anyone caught in the middle. Drenched, he handed the Cup off to T.J., who took a solid spray-down of his own.
Dave and his teammates yanked off their jerseys and gear, pulling on T-shirts that also declared them the winners. All around him was joyful chaos as guys hugged, sang “We are the Champions” way off-key, and poured beer and champagne on the coaches and each other. Coach LeBrun stepped up on one of the stall benches and let fly a piercing whistle, and the noise dropped a decibel. A huge mic suspended on a pole hovered by his head.
“Yeah, Coach!” someone yelled.
He patted the air in front of him, and the racket slid another decibel. “What a ride, huh, boys?” They hollered and cheered in answer. He perched his hands on his hips. “It was long and it was grueling, but I had no doubt we’d get here because you are true warriors. You battled your way through, and you persevered … through injuries, through the toughest, the best teams in the league, through sacrifices at home. There’s not one selfish guy among you. You believed in each other, took care of each other, and you played your hearts out. For each other. With courage and strength.” Then he bellowed, “You are truly the. Champions. Of. The. World!”
Whoops went up, together with a few more sprays.
His voice dropped. “Every winning team needs guys who step up to the plate, who put aside their egos, who overcome their own struggles, who put other guys on their backs and carry them across the finish line. And every winning team needs a leader.” Coach swiveled his head, and his eyes landed on Dave. “You had a damn fine example of what I’m talking about right here in your captain.”
The room roared around Dave, and emotions that had been dancing in his bloodstream suddenly fused, shot up, and lodged in his throat. He swallowed hard. In that moment, he was damn glad he was covered in champagne because tears were spilling into his beard.
Coach pointed at him. “This man had a battle of his own going on, but you didn’t see that because he put everything aside for his team, and he overcame those struggles so he could be everything this team needed him to be. That’s the mark of a true leader.”
Dave glanced at Ellie, who stood on one of the benches against a far wall with other WAGs, out of the champagne-and-beer rain, her wet eyes mirroring his. His tears came harder, and there was no hiding them. He pressed a knuckle to his eye while guys clapped him on the back, pulled him in for hugs, and cheered, “Rea-per! Rea-per!”
Nelson, hoisting his Conn Smythe hardware, made his way to Dave with a shit-eating grin. “This should have been yours.” He tried to hand it off to Dave, but Dave shook his head.
“Nah. That’s all you, man.” Dave cleared his throat and raised his voice. “It’s every damn one of you in this room. I am so in awe of all of you, of us, and so damn proud to be your capta
in.”
Thank fuck they threw out more deafening cheers and drowned him out because he was too choked up to say more. Coach hopped off the bench and threw his arm around his shoulders. “Glad you didn’t go anywhere,” he said so only Dave could hear.
Dave swiped at his eyes. “Yeah, me too.” It was all worth it.
“All right,” Coach yelled. “Enough speeches from me. Party on! You’ve earned it!”
And party they did.
Later that night, after a rowdy team dinner, Dave was still on a high as Ellie drove them home. Jesus! Would his feet ever touch the ground again? His face hurt from smiling so much. At every red light, he leaned over and kissed her. He had no idea what time it was when she pulled into the driveway beside the house they’d bought months before, but the whole damn block had turned out, and another party was under way. Lots of familiar faces: neighbors, teammates and their wives, Finn and Sonoma, Dave’s and Sonoma’s moms, Felipe and his family, Ellie’s family.
It was a warm June night, and grills were going, coolers of beer and every other drink imaginable filling the cul-de-sac along with tables loaded with food. Music thumped around them, and sugared-up kids tore through yards. People congratulated him, and he got lost in the noise and the crowd.
When he went looking for Ellie, he found her in their front yard, sitting in a lawn chair beside Sonoma, surrounded by Casper, Benny, and their new dog, Rico. Sonoma stood and patted him on the chest. “Sit with your girl.”
He slid into Sonoma’s chair and offered Ellie his beer, which she declined with a “No, thanks.”
He chuckled. “You’re off DD duty for tonight. You can party too. Do you want me to grab you some wine?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m good.”
He suddenly noticed her face was drawn and pale. A few alarm bells went off inside him. “You tired? What time is it? Do you need to go to bed?”
She smiled her special smile at him. “Yes, I’m tired, it’s around 3:30 a.m., and not a chance I’m going to bed. Not on a memorable night like this.”
He leaned over and nuzzled her neck. God, she smelled good. “No? What if I need to go to bed?”
“To bed or to sleep?”
He fiddled with the strap of her sundress. “Oh, I’m not sleeping for at least another twenty-four hours.”
She giggled and gave his playoff beard a tug. “Maybe we can take this off now?”
“I thought you liked the way it tickles your—”
Someone shrieked behind them. A teammate’s wife, being thrown over his shoulder and taken for a jog around the cul-de-sac. Which gave Dave a great idea.
“What do you say we duck into our bedroom for an hour so you can congratulate me the right way?” He waggled his eyebrows.
Her small hand pressed against his heart. “People might miss you.”
He traced her jawline before covering her hand with his. “Nah. They’ll never notice.”
“But you’re the captain of the team.”
“Captaincies come and go.” He shrugged.
“Meaning what? You won’t be team captain next season?”
“Probably will be, assuming the boys still want me, but I’ll need to earn it.”
“I’m sure you will. And if you don’t, well, you’re about to become the captain of a new squad. A permanent one.”
He cocked his head. “Huh?”
“You’ve been too consumed by playoffs to notice, but it’s not only tonight I’ve stayed away from alcohol. I’ve been doing it for the last several weeks.”
Though he was buzzed, he felt the full impact of the jolt that went through him. “El? What are you trying to tell me?”
“That maybe we should move the wedding up a little sooner?”
He dropped his beer can, and his impossibly wide smile grew wider. “Shit! Ellie! Seriously? Are you pregnant?” They’d gotten a little careless lately. Okay, a lot careless, considering the rhythm method wasn’t exactly foolproof to begin with.
Tears filling her eyes, she nodded. “Is that okay?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he yelled. “Jesus, it’s more than okay! C’mere, sweetheart.” He pulled her out of her chair and into his lap, where he kissed her and locked her in a bear hug. “Oh shit! I shouldn’t do that.”
She laughed. “I’m not a piece of glass, and keep your voice down! I’m not ready to announce it to the world yet.”
“When are we … when …” Suddenly overcome by emotions on a night already overripe with them, he couldn’t make his tongue work. He stared into her glossy blue eyes and felt tears welling in his own again. “Aw Jesus, El. I love you so damn much.” The tears spilled over, and suddenly they were forehead-to-forehead, crying and grinning together. “We’re going to be parents,” he whispered.
“We’re going to be parents,” she repeated. “In mid-February. Not great timing for the hockey calendar.”
“I don’t care about the hockey calendar, El. All I care about is right here”—he cradled her cheek, then moved his hand to her flat belly—“and here. You and the baby are my whole world. That’s all I want. Ever. It doesn’t get any better than this.”
He pulled her to his chest, tucking her close. She nestled against him, and he wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her silky hair. “When my career’s over, let’s buy a nice spread where our ten kids can run around.”
“Ten?” she coughed.
He chuckled. “Okay. Nine. And we’ll hold box socials and square dances.”
She looked up at him. “Except for the nine kids, that sounds perfect.”
“Yeah, it does.”
Less than a year ago, his life had been a cesspool. He could hardly fathom the man he’d been back then. This man right here, the whole one cuddling the love of his life … who carried his child. Their child. This was the man he had always wanted to be. Would always be. For her, for their new family.
His family to love, to cherish, to protect. Forever.
The End
Thank you so much for reading Defending the Reaper! If you enjoyed Dave and Ellie’s story, please take a few moments to leave a review on Amazon, BookBub, or GoodReads. You will make me oh-so-happy.
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Acknowledgments
To Cryssa, a wonderful author, ARC reader, and friend who first planted the seed for giving the Grim Reaper a story of his own. He thanks you, as do I.
To the country and western music aficionados among my readers who so generously helped me with the playlist.
To Jodi, for once again helping me suss out these crazy characters and what they get up to.
To Stephanie, for your artistry and your endless stream of great ideas.
To Jenny Q, my editor and cover designer. I’m running out of ways to say thank you!
To HippoCampus Publishing (aka Persnickety), for your astute catches, as always, and for keeping my inconsistencies from being consistent. I’m so glad you’re versed in Yoda-speak.
And always, to my husband, Tim, my own Rock of Gibraltar. It’s been one hell of a year, and I’m so glad you were there to hold me up when I couldn’t do it myself.
Also by this Author
The Playmakers Series
Book One - Taming Beckett
Book Two - Third Man In
Book Three - Gauging the Player
Book Four - The Winning Score
Book Six - No Touch Zone
Book Seven - Twisted Wrister
Historical Fiction
(Book 1 of 2) The Heart of a Hussar
(Book 2 of 2) A Hussar's Promise
About the Author
Since childhood, all sorts of stories and characters have lived in G.K. Brady’s imagination, elbowing one another for attention, so she’s thrilled (as are they) to be giving them their voice on the written page.
An award-winning writer of contemporary romance, she loves telling tales of the less-than-perfect hero or heroine who transforms with each turn of a page.
G.K. is a wife and the proud mom of three grown sons. She also writes historical fiction under the pen name Griffin Brady. She currently resides in Colorado with her very patient husband.
