Joelle Morrow has her focus set on the future. As an up-and-coming lingerie designer, she's overcome multiple setbacks on the road to achieving her dream of opening her own boutique but has yet to be knocked down, leaving her no time to think about...
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"What are you doing up here?" Aimee asked, wide-eyed.
Hearing the confusion in her voice, a group of us turned to see Jack stroll into the suite. The room was packed with friends and family who'd come out to support the team before they made their playoff run, but there was no mistaking him. Jack stood tall and polished, dressed in a navy suit as he eased his way through the hordes of people to the spot a group of us had managed to snag right at the glass.
"I'm no expert," Cameron added, lifting a brow as he gestured towards the rink below, "but shouldn't you be down on the ice?"
From where we sat, we had a bird's-eye view as the light show began and the players rushed out—Jack supposedly one of them.
"Don't worry, I was a healthy scratch. Coach benched a few of us tonight as a precaution," Jack explained, easing the hint of worry that'd crept into Aimee's features as he leaned in for a quick kiss. Pulling back, he wrapped his arms her and turned my way. "But your man got bumped to the starting line because of it."
Henry—who, unfortunately, had decided to fly out and watch the game with us—mumbled a triumphant string of words under his breath as Isla gasped with surprise and Cameron grinned.
Meanwhile, pride swelled in the center of my chest. "Seriously?" I asked, swiveling my gaze back towards the ice.
Sure enough, I immediately caught sight of Seb, in line with the rest of the starters, his helmet off and hair loose as the music died down and the national anthem began. This, I knew, was the chance he'd been waiting for since he'd joined the Knights, and when the last notes of The Star-Spangled Banner filled the arena, anticipation prickled my skin. Applause broke out for the singer, though I was too concentrated on the return of the announcer's voice to join in.
Feeding on the energy of the crowd, he thanked everyone for coming out tonight, as well as supporting the team during the whole of the season before leading into the line-up. "Tonight, starting in net, we have number thirty, Ryan Nyberg!" I brought my hands together, joining in with the fans below. The defensemen were announced, and while I didn't know either of them, I continued to cheer. "At left-wing, number forty-six, Elias Orlov! At right-wing, number twenty-two, Sebastian Brookes!"
I barely acknowledged Wellsley's name, which came next, because I—along with Isla, Cameron, and Aimee—was too busy pushing my lungs to the limit as I screamed in support. I didn't care about or acknowledge the looks of exasperation sent our way from the people in the suite focused more on schmoozing and socializing than the game. It was Seb's night, and I would cheer to my heart's content.
Before I knew it, the players had lined up in their positions, the puck was dropped, and the game begun.
Right off the bat, Wellsley won the face-off and the Knights gained possession, pushing Chicago back into their zone to defend. On the attack, Orlov looked for an open lane, but when it was clear there was none, he launched the puck across the back boards and Seb picked it up. He didn't hold onto it, however, passing it off quickly to Wellsley, who was racing through the defense. Chicago's goalie moved a few inches, readying himself for the anticipated shot, but with Seb sliding in on the other side of net, Wellsley saw the better option.
