Jake
We won.
We goddamn won.
The Galveston Fury were the Stanley Cup champions and no one—no one—could change that.
After months of hard work we had done the impossible and climbed that leader board to take out the top position, and I couldn’t be prouder of this team if I tried.
No one thought we could do it.
Well, maybe one person. And she wasn’t here.
As I sat there in my sweats after my shower, Kit’s words echoed in my head. It was wrong that Mackenzie wasn’t here; after all, she was the reason I was here in the first place. She had predicted all of this. She had believed in me, believed in matching me with the Fury and knew we could get to the playoffs.
Damnit.
I stood up and put my hockey bag back in my locker.
I might not like her a lot right now, but I wasn’t going to let Mackenzie miss out on celebrating our Stanley Cup win after she had believed in us when no one else had.
I ran into Casanova and Cowboy walking into the locker rooms.
“Hey, buddy, you ready to celebrate mopping the floor with your old Ice Cat buddies?” Cowboy asked with an excited post-game high.
There was only one thing that was more important to me than mopping that ice up with Ayton Salazar’s face. And that was making sure Mackenzie got to celebrate me doing it.
“I was born ready,” I replied.
Casanova stopped me. “Then where you going? The locker room is this way.”
“I know, I just have to do something first.”
Both my teammates looked alarmed.
“Wait? You’re leaving?” Casanova asked.
Cowboy frowned. “Dude, the party is just about to begin!”
“I won’t be long.”
“What’s so important that you’re going to run out on your team?” Casanova asked, and then stopped himself. “Mackenzie.”
Cowboy looked at me like I was insane. “Dude, you’re leaving us to go and get a chick?”
“She should be here,” I said, ready to defend my decision. But I didn’t have to because my two teammates didn’t seem to need much convincing.
“Yes, she should be.” They both agreed.
“Here.” Casanova shoved his motorcycle keys into my palm and his helmet into my chest. “It’s insanity out there. You’ll never get back unless you ride.”
I grinned. “Thanks.”
He feigned annoyance. “Yeah, yeah. You scratch it, you buy it.”
Outside, the traffic was ridiculous but it was easy to maneuver through the gridlock of cars on Casanova’s Ducati, and within ten minutes I was away from the post-game traffic jams and on my way to Mackenzie’s apartment.
I had no idea what I was going to say to her. No idea how I was going to feel seeing her when she opened that front door. No idea how I was going to stand next to her and not want to touch her or kiss her. What I did know was that I was going to suck it up, stop being such a pussy and do the right thing.
Bounding up the stairs to her apartment, post-game nerves frizzed and zipped through me, colliding with a sudden anxiousness to see her. But I ignored them and hammered on her door. When she didn’t answer, I hammered again.
“Come on, Z, answer the door.”
Still nothing.
“I know you’re home.”
Again nothing.
I dropped my forehead to the door.
“Come on, Z,” I said quietly. “Please open up.”
Call me crazy, but I knew she was home because I could feel her presence on the other side of the door, and now I was determined to see her so I wasn’t about to be deterred by her attempt to ignore me. I flattened my palm against the green timber door.
“Just give me two minutes and then I’ll go,” I murmured.
The sound of the chain sliding across the lock filled me with renewed hope. But when Mackenzie opened the door, I realized she’d been putting the chain on and not taking it off, meaning she could only open the door so far.
“What do you want, Jake?” Her sad eyes wouldn’t look at me.
“Just give me a couple of minutes.”
“Why aren’t you celebrating with your team?”
“Because you’re not and you should be.”
For the first time since opening the door, she looked at me and I could see she had been crying.
Alarm flared in my chest. “Z, what’s wrong?”
“You should go,” she said and started to close the door but I wedged my foot against it.
“Let me in.”
“I said no, Jake. Go away.”
“Not until I talk to you.”
She looked up at me pleadingly. “Please . . . just go.” Light sparkled in her beautiful eyes but something about her seemed off. “We’ll talk later.”
Rejection tugged at my stomach. I frowned and bit back my hurt. “You’ve been begging to talk to me and now that I’m here you’re turning me away?”
“We’ll talk later.” Her eyes found mine. “Go celebrate beating those pesky Philly Penguins.”
“Z—”
“Goodbye, Jake.”
When the door closed I remained rooted to the spot. Then feeling dismissed, I turned and walked away.
* * *