Twenty-Five
June
Asher
I was on my feet with the rest of the crowd. Thirty-two seconds left on the clock in a game that could determine the Stanley Cup winner. The score was tied at three, but Portland had the advantage of a well-timed—for them—power play.
Five Portland players on the ice, compared to the four Rockets.
Over the months, I learned a lot about hockey. Between the Prescott parents, spending time with Avery, and then coming down literally every other week, I knew the ins and outs of hockey nearly as well as Porter did.
Just don’t trust me on the ice with a stick and puck. I’d probably pull all sorts of fouls.
If I could stay up on my skates.
I knew that the four men on ice right now—Porter, Nico, their captain Ant, and another player named Ricky Stein—were the Rockets’ top penalty kill group, meaning that while they were at the man disadvantage, they were a strong group of players and usually able to keep the puck from getting near Armie in goal.
And right now, in an arena filled with Portland fans, those four men needed to be on their A-game.
I stood in the crowd with Porter’s entire family surrounding me. We were near Portland’s goal, the Rockets’ attack zone, making it even more nerve-wracking to know that the next few seconds, important seconds, were being played on the other side of ice. We stood in the middle bowl, near the wall.
Ryleigh and Noah were to my right. To my left stood Avery and CJ—whose on and off relationship was currently on—McKenna and Parker, with Ella jumping on the seat in the next row. She wore a Rockets jersey with the Prescott name proudly on her back, a black and gray tutu over silver leggings completing the ensemble.
Also in the row in front with Ella, were Caleb and Sydney, and their brood—five-year-old Brandon and three-year-old Brody, who also wore jerseys, although Brody’s was an Enforcers one, and their little red-headed sister, two-year-old Brielle, stood against the wall, bouncing happily. Her outfit was similar to Ella’s. In a carrier to her chest, Sydney held six-month-old Brooks.
God, I loved that baby.
Shoot, I loved that family.
It wasn’t very often I spent time with Porter’s oldest brother’s family, with them living full-time on the East Coast, but the few times I did spend with them—Christmas, summer vacations, and the like—they were just as open and welcoming as the rest of the Prescott clan.
That wasn’t even touching the bond that little Bri had with her Uncle Porter.
This week had been a South Carolina week for me, but even if it hadn’t been, I would have been following this series, being wherever the team was. Ryleigh closed up the studio and everyone made travel plans, with the exception of Caleb and Jonny. They had remained on the East Coast. The Enforcers lost in the previous series, to Portland. It would have been an interesting night if this series was an Enforcers-Rockets battle.
There wasn’t a game in this series that was being missed by the Prescotts. It was, after all, Porter’s first Stanley Cup appearance.
I wondered if he realized how proud his family was of him. I felt tears burn behind my eyes at the thought.
Shit, I was proud of him.
Yesterday morning, I kissed Porter awake, then goodbye—to which he groaned and scolded me for not waking him up a little bit sooner—and the Prescott clan picked me up to head to the airport. We landed in Portland and were met by Jonny. Caleb and Sydney were at the hotel getting their kids settled, the same hotel that the Rockets were going to be staying in.
The Rockets made it to Portland a few hours after we did, having practiced back home first. Then, with Porter along, we went to dinner, where Brielle would only sit on Porter’s lap.
He was really damn good with her.
And she loved him to pieces.
“Po-der!” she yelled now, still jumping up and down in her bright pink sneakers.
Behind me, Jonny put his hands on my shoulders and squeezed. He leaned forward to talk in my ear. “How about the atmosphere?”
I grinned over my shoulder at the only blond brother. He may be lighter in the hair and eye color department, but there was no mistaking he was a Prescott boy. The brothers all looked incredibly similar.
I didn’t know his wife Jenna that well. She was never at any of the get-togethers, so it didn’t really surprise me that she wasn’t here today. From what I gathered, she tended to be selfish if it wasn’t about her. Which really confused me, because Jonny was one of the nicest guys I had ever met.
“It’s fun,” I said, still smiling. “I’m nervous.”
“Your boy is too,” Jonny grinned, nodding his chin out toward where the play was being set up. Porter was in a bent stance but he was bouncing with energy.
“He should be,” Myke cut in from beside Jonny. “Portland is known to go six-on-four.”
“We’ll be fine,” Noah said, adding his two cents. “Their PK is the strongest in the league. Portland pulling their goalie at this point is not smart, but I agree with Myke. They’re going to pull Popov.”
I frowned, looking back at the ice. “Why? They have the man advantage already.”
“Because Charleston has the best PK, like Dad said,” Jonny explained. “If they pull Popov and have a sixth forward, they feel they have a stronger chance of tying the game, sending it into overtime. They win in overtime, Portland still has a chance to win the Cup. Players start to get tired at game six.”
It was game five and I could already see that. The penalty that had the Rockets down a man was a dumb mistake on our part.
“Here they go,” Jonny said, standing but keeping his hands on my shoulders, squeezing gently still.
I clasped my hands together in front of my mouth. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” I mumbled into my hands, my eyes fixed on where the play was going to happen.
The puck dropped and, as was expected, Portland had control over it. No sooner than they ensured it was in their possession, Popov was indeed pulled, a sixth man joining the ranks.
Porter and Nico were set up near the net, while Ant and Stein were in position to try and steal the puck. Around and around, the puck was slapped, making the play look very much like a game of monkey-in-the-middle.
With each second that passed, my heart pounded harder and harder. The arena was loud with Portland fans, cheering for their guys while taunting ours.
Pass, stop, pass. Over and over, around the outside with the occasional pass down the middle, but Nico and Porter kept Armstrong well protected.
One of Portland’s forwards took a risk with fifteen seconds left on the clock.
“They have to play it,” I heard Noah mumble at my side.
The Portland player shot at Nico, at where I’m guessing he thought was a hole. The puck bounced off Nico’s skate but before Portland could rebound it, Porter had it.
And he was racing toward the neutral zone, puck in tow.
“Oh, my God.” The words fell from my mouth and I stood a little bit straighter, rocking up to my tiptoes. Jonny’s hands tightened on my shoulders.
Porter pushed past Portland, racing, racing, racing…
“Ohmigod, ohmigod,” I chanted.
It was a breakaway. He had complete possession and no one was around.
“Shoot!” was yelled from the bench, loud enough to hear all the way over by us on the other side.
And with a strong slapshot, he did.
The red light went off just as the buzzer sounded.
Porter
“Fuck yeah!” I tossed my gloves and dropped my stick, hardly moments before Nico crashed into me, bringing me to the ground.
“Fuck yeah, buddy! You fucking did it!”
The next, shit, however many minutes of my life were a fucking blur.
Celebration. Laughing. High fives and back slaps.
Handshakes with Portland, the presentation of Sir Stanley’s Cup—the very Cup that my dad’s name was on, my brothers’ names were on, and now? My name was joining them.
Each member of the team hoisting up the cup and skating with it.
This wasn’t the first time I’d kissed the cup, but damn, it was the best one yet.
Interviews, pictures, more interviews.
I was in the middle of one, the Championship hat on my head, when I saw my entire fucking family step on to the ice. I grinned while I was talking, my eyes searching for the one person I wanted to celebrate with.
And there she was.
I stumbled over my words, but the interviewer—not Mel, she was one of the first I talked to, and that was short and sweet—probably thought it was from the adrenaline from the win. And it was.
But it was her, too.
“And now your name is joining so many other greats, including your family.”
I nodded, grinning, as I kept my eye on my family drawing near. “Yeah. It’s exciting.”
“Congrats on the game-winning, series-winning, goal.”
“Thank you,” I said, thoroughly cutting the interview off, before skating to my family.
I wanted to scoop Asher up like I did the cup, but I had other people to say hello to first.
The first arms I crashed into were Dad’s.
“I’m so proud of you, Ports,” he said, his arms squeezing around me tight. He lifted me off the ground in his excitement and I couldn’t help but laugh.
Next was Mom, and I lifted her in my hug.
My brothers gave good-natured ribs. Older brother shenanigans.
“I’d like to remind you who was dressed for this game,” I joked with them.
“It’s only because I wasn’t in goal our last game,” Jonny answered back, punching me in the stomach.
“I, for one, am glad to be done with the playoff beard,” Caleb added, rubbing his currently smooth jaw. My playoff beard wasn’t as bushy as some of the other guys’ were, but it was enough for me to be ready to take it off, too.
I hugged my sisters and Sydney, gave noogies to my nephews, and lifted both Ella and little Bri in my arms, spinning in a quick circle with them. Ella threw her arms out, laughing, while Brielle held tight to the neckline of my jersey, giggling madly. I gave each girl back to her parents before moving toward Asher.
She always stood just on the outside.
But I knew that she knew what she meant to my family.
She was one of us and was included in everything.
But I, for one, couldn’t wait until everyone else was gone.
I slid to a stop in front of her and she smiled so fucking wide up at me. “I was so nervous,” she admitted, before reaching out to grab the front pads of my breezers—pants to everyone who wasn’t from Wisconsin or Minnesota.
“Fuck, so was I,” I laughed, wrapping my arms around her shoulders for a tight hug. I leaned down—way down, because in my skates and her in flats, she was truly a short shit—and whispered in her ear, “After the celebrations, I plan on celebrating with you.” I rubbed my bearded chin over her neck, knowing it would send a shiver and laugh through her.
Sure enough, her laugh vibrated through me and I took her lips with mine. My kissing her was no match for her giggles though, because she laughed through it. If I wasn’t so confident in my skills, I would have taken it personally, but as it was?
I was pretty damn excited, too.
***
The hotel room was still raging, champagne and beer making the rounds, as my teammates and their families lingered. The whole night, Asher was plastered to my side—my doing, not hers. I wanted to experience this entire night with her right there with me.
Caleb and Syd left to go to their room shortly after the celebration began. The boys had wanted to join in on the fun, but it was already late by the time it started. Parker and Ken left a little after that; Ella was tired and as badly as she tried to keep her eyes open, she kept passing out in Ken’s arms.
Beside the fact that both McKenna and Parker had dark hair and Ella’s was white-blonde, you would never be able to guess that Ken wasn’t the girl’s mother. Ella loved her like she was, and McKenna did the same.
Soon, the only person left from my family was the brunette at my side and I wanted her out of her clothes.
“You ready to go up?” I asked her during a break in conversation.
She turned her face up to me, her smile still on her face, but it was definitely tired. It had been a long day and while the adrenaline was still soaring for me, I was sure it was starting to wean off for her.
“I can go up and you can stay and hang out.” She rubbed her hand over my stomach. After this Championship shirt was washed, I wanted her wearing it as her sleep shirt.
I put my hand on top of hers and threaded my fingers through them before lifting her hand to my mouth. “Uh-uh. I’m going with you.”
“What if I told you I was too tired?” she asked, a teasing glint in her eye. She knew exactly what I wanted to do up in our room.
Well, her room. Technically Nico and I were rooming together. Supposed to be.
“I can be quick.”
Her smile widened. “Oh. I know.”
My brows dropped at her tease. “Excuse me?” I teased right back.
She turned to stand in front of me, sliding her hands along my lower back. I had long since changed into jeans with my new Champ shirt. “You’re so hyped up right now, it will probably be over before it starts.”
“I can’t help that I love when you’re on top.” I started slipping the L word in our conversations a few months ago, but she never called me on it.
Missionary still wasn’t happening in our bed, but that was okay because any and every other position? Been there, done that, enjoyed the hell out of it, too.
I leaned into her ear, my next words not needing to be overheard. “When you roll your body and your tits press out. Or when they bounce in my face. I just want to suck on them, getting you off, too.”
I saw the blush rise on her face and kissed a heated cheek before pulling back, loving how bright her eyes were. I would never tire of the crazy colors and depth.
“C’mon. Let’s say goodnight and head up. I’m going to need a few hours with you.” I reached behind me so I could unwrap her arms, holding her hand in mine as we walked around to say our goodbyes. We left the suite where the party would likely play out for a few more hours, four a.m. at the latest, and entered the quiet hall.
“I’m so tired,” Asher whispered around a yawn as we neared the elevator.
“Why are you whispering?”
“Because it’s one in the morning. People are sleeping.”
“You won’t be sleeping for at least an hour,” I predicted smugly.
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
I chuckled and let go of her hand, putting my arm around her neck instead and holding her close. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. We stepped into the empty mirrored box and I pressed the floor number.
When the doors slid to a close, I leaned into a corner and, with my legs spread wide, pulled her into me. “You wearing a bra under that shirt, Asher?”
We were nearly eye to eye and I watched closely as her pupils widened ever so slightly.
I put my hands on her sides and rubbed them over her hips before traveling down the swell of her ass, my fingers digging in possessively with both index fingers purposely close to the promised land.
She wore black skinny jeans that ended just above her ankle, but on top, she wore one of those flowy tank tops she’d taken a liking to. She’d paired the silver top with a black sweater, so I couldn’t be too sure, but I really thought—
“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’ with a sassy grin on her face.
“Fuck me,” I groaned, my hands automatically moving from their hold of her ass, up the back of her shirt—and my hands only met bare skin. “Shit, Asher.”
She smiled and pressed a kiss to my collarbone, but it wasn’t that move that had me all sorts of ready for the door to either open, or for the elevator to get stuck for a few hours.
No, it was the move where she trailed her finger up my growing shaft, the denim no match for the sensitivity. I could feel her finger to my fucking core.
“Ash.” Her name was low and drawn out, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to try and ward off the need to come in my pants.
I felt as she grabbed the top of my jeans—much like she did my breezers earlier—and while she didn’t reach in my pants, with the angle of my cock and her fingers, I just knew what her goal was.
“Don’t,” I warned.
She smiled up at me, her grip on my jeans sliding out. “I thought you said you were going to make this last?”
“Not if your fingers are being naughty.” I could grab her wrist, but I was a glutton for punishment. Still sliding, I knew she was going to reach the head of my cock in three, two…
My cock twitched hard when her finger brushed the top. I was up and ready, begging to be freed from the confines of denim.
“I don’t think you’re lasting tonight.”
I was certainly going to fucking try.