To help settle her nerves, he had explained with a quick wink.
Shannon reached up to adjust the Banners ballcap on her head then settled into her perch against the boards, watching as the play moved toward them.
As it moved closer to the net.
Two guys from Pittsburgh were passing the puck between them, getting closer and closer even though Ilya Semenov and Parker Gibson were right there, trying to stop them. They shot the puck, missed, moved in for the rebound and missed again. Shannon held her breath, leaning forward as she watched Gauthier make yet another save. Instead of covering the puck and killing the play, he whipped it to the side, toward Caleb. It hit the blade of his stick, bounced over, and slid toward the boards. Caleb spun around, pure poetic motion on ice, and passed the puck behind him.
The pass was intercepted by someone from Pittsburgh, who charged toward the net—
And barreled straight into Gauthier just as he'd been dropping into a butterfly position. Bodies collided, loud grunts echoing in the cold air as the net slid free. The officials were already there, pulling bodies apart, separating players before a brawl could start.
But Gauthier just lay there, not moving except for the hands grabbing his upper thigh.
The bottom of Shannon's stomach dropped open and an icy blast of dread rushed in, numbing her as she looked on. The Banners' trainer hurried out to the ice, slipping and sliding before finally reaching the goalie. Minutes stretched around them, each passing one pulling tighter on Shannon's nerves.
Get up. Get up. Get up.
But the goalie still wasn't moving. Two more people from the Banners' bench made their way out to the ice. They were talking but Shannon couldn't hear. They were too far away. It didn't matter, she wouldn't have been able to hear even if they had been right next to her, shouting. The blood was pounding through her veins, the noise escalating until it was nothing more than the loud beat of a bass drum filling her ears.
Someone tapped on her shoulder, hard, making her think the tapping had been going on for a while. She swallowed, nearly choking on the gum, then turned to meet Coach Donovan's gaze.
"Get ready. You're going in." He nodded at something behind Shannon and she looked over her shoulder, trying not groan out loud when she saw Corbin Gauthier being helped back to the bench.
Oh shit. Holy fuck. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, shit.
This couldn't be happening.
This was happening.
She pushed the ballcap from her head, turned to reach for her helmet—and saw at least a dozen sets of eyes staring at her from the bench. Surprise. Disbelief. Disappointment. Encouragement. So many different emotions. Too many. She couldn't look, couldn't let them get to her. If she did, she'd collapse before she could make it past center ice.
She closed her eyes, breathed in, held it for a count of five. Then she dropped the helmet on her head and secured it, grabbed her stick, and started for the ice. A hand grabbed her arm and she turned around, surprised to see Coach Donovan leaning so close to her.
Surprised at the quiet encouragement in his eyes.
"I had other options for EBUG tonight but you were the best one. Just remember that."
Shannon nodded—at least, she tried to—then stepped onto the ice and skated toward the net. There would be no chance to warm up, no chance to settle in and get her legs under her. No chance to clear her head and get into her zone. This was it.
Six minutes and twelve seconds left to go in the game. And the faceoff would be right in front of her.
Talk about pressure.
She choked back a nervous laugh and got into position, ignoring the increasing noise level around her. She had to ignore it, couldn't get caught up in wondering if the crowd was cheering—or jeering.
Breathe.
Focus.
This was no different than any other game. No different than any other time she had played goalie for the last seventeen years. She could do this.
She had to do this.
Caleb slid up to her, his green eyes focused on hers from behind his mask.
"You okay?"
Shannon exhaled, forced a smile to her face. "Yeah. I think."
"You got this."
"Abso-fucking-lutely I have this."
"I know you do. And we've got your back." Caleb grinned then tipped his head toward her, tapping her helmet with his before skating off. Then, one by one, the other players did the same. Ilya and Parker. Marc Sanford. Even Shane Masters. All tapping their helmets against hers, all giving her words of encouragement.
And then the puck dropped and the game exploded into action. Shannon held her breath, trying to find the puck, trying to follow the game but holy fuck it was fast. Faster than she expected.
And shit, she needed to breathe. Breathe, dammit. Focus.
Shane cleared the puck and play moved away from her, giving her a chance to draw breath. What the fuck was her problem? She was fucking freaking out for no reason. She couldn't afford to do that. Couldn't afford to let the Banners down.
To let her team down.
Yes. Her team. For the next five minutes and eighteen seconds, the Banners were her team.
And she abso-fucking-lutely would not let them down.
The minutes seemed to drag on, though she knew that wasn't the case. There hadn't even been a line change yet, though she suspected one was coming soon. Maybe now—
No, not now, because dammit, Pittsburgh had the puck again and they were heading her way.
Shannon narrowed her eyes, focused on the puck hurtling toward her and nothing but the puck. Knees bent, arms relaxed, not moving, just watching. Watching...
The guy—she wasn't sure who it was, hadn't been paying attention—shot the puck, hard and fast, aiming top shelf. And oh please, was he trying to take it easy on her? Not even.
She snagged the puck midair, bringing her arm across her body and tossing it to the opposite side, right to Marc Sanford. And she couldn't help it, she was smiling. She knew she was smiling and figured that was probably bad form but what the hell.
She'd just made her first save in the big leagues.
Now if the Banners would actually score that insurance goal. Two would be better. Please let them score. But no, Pittsburgh's goalie blocked each shot, sending it back into play. How many minutes? How much longer before a line change? The guys had to be getting tired, she could see it on the strained lines of their faces, in the way their skates dug even harder into the ice, propelling them forward because shit, Pittsburgh was going to try to score again.
She blocked the shot again, then the rebound, then one more. She almost pulled it into her chest to stop the play. Almost—until she saw Caleb hovering near center ice, his stick at the ready, his gaze on hers.
And nobody else around him.
He tapped the stick against the ice, just once. She didn't stop to think, didn't hold her breath, didn't question the enormity of the risk she was taking. It would either work—
Or it wouldn't.
She dropped the puck right in front of her, saw a flash of white and gold and black dart toward her, like he couldn't believe she was actually giving him this sweet chance to score. And she wasn't, not even close. She gripped her stick and hit the puck, sending it flying straight toward Caleb just as something heavy bumped into her. She staggered, caught herself at the last minute, then turned to look into a pair of soft brown eyes.
And damn if the guy wasn't grinning.
"Ballsy move."
Then he took off, racing toward the other end of the ice, trying to catch Caleb. But it was too late because Caleb was already shooting the puck, fast and low, right past Pittsburgh's goalie.
And yes! Finally! The red light flashed, the horn blaring as close to twenty thousand people jumped to their feet.
Three-to-one. The Banners had that insurance goal. Now all Shannon had to do was keep blocking shots, keep Pittsburgh from scoring. For another...she glanced up, wondering how much time was left in the game. Two min
utes and forty seconds.
Dread filled her. More than two minutes? And she'd be facing six players now instead of five, because she had no doubt that Pittsburgh would pull their goalie to give them an extra man.
She could do this. She had to do this.
She looked back at the clock, tried to tell herself that the last two minutes and forty seconds would fly by. Then she did a double-take because her name was flashing on the giant screen, just below Caleb's.
Holy shit, they were crediting her with the assist on Caleb's goal. No fucking way.
She looked around, finally hearing the cheers and applause, noticed people were actually looking at her. Shannon nodded before she could stop herself, realized she probably shouldn't have done that, then dropped back into position.
Breathe. Focus.
Again and again, her eyes following the puck, blocking each shot every time Pittsburgh made their way into the zone. Thankfully, it wasn't as often as she first feared because the Banners were playing aggressive hockey now, keeping the puck away from her, forcing Pittsburgh's goalie to stay in his net and even scoring that second insurance goal.
And then, finally—finally—the loud blare of a horn split the air, signaling the end of the game. Shannon sucked in a deep breath and leaned against the net, muttering a small prayer of thanks.
She'd done it. Her legs were shaking, her stomach was still in knots, and sweat poured from her, covering her from head to toe—but she'd done it.
Except it wasn't over yet because a tidal wave of blue and white was moving toward her then whoa, holy shit, she was sucked into the middle of it. Hands knocked her on the back, the shoulders. Heads butted against hers, helmets knocking together in congratulations. And then she was falling, buried under a sea of bodies and worried she might actually be crushed because holy hell, they were heavy.
The sea parted and someone was helping her to her feet. Steadying her. Supporting her. She adjusted her helmet, stumbled a little when her eyes met Caleb's. He opened his mouth, ready to say something, but was pushed to the side as more bodies came toward her.
The players from Pittsburgh. One by one, they skated toward her, stopping long enough to either tap her in the leg with their sticks or tap their helmet against hers. Congratulating her.
Her.
Then they were gone and it was just a few of the Banners and her. She tugged the helmet from her head and ran her fingers through her sweaty hair, sighing in relief. Caleb was still standing next to her, his helmet cradled in the crook of one arm. And he was watching her with that crooked grin, the one that made her weak in the knees.
She dropped her hand and slid back an inch, suddenly self-conscious. "What?"
Caleb slid closer, his smile growing as he snaked an arm around her waist to keep her from skating away. "Awesome game, Wiley."
"Yeah? You think so?"
"Definitely. And that was a beautiful play. How did you even know to look for me?"
"I didn't. It was just instinct." Shannon leaned closer, her own smile growing a little wider. "Because I am that good."
"Yeah, you definitely are."
Then he leaned forward, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that left no doubt about how he felt.
Nearly twenty thousand fans watched from the stands, cheering them on.
Epilogue
Three Years Later
Shannon sat against the boards in her corner of the player's bench, watching the action come to a stop with the shrill blow of a whistle. She bit back a smile as a Caleb started arguing with one of the officials. It didn't matter, Caleb was being sent to the sin bin for the blatant slash against Colorado's goalie.
She had to force herself not to chuckle—Coach Donovan would tear her a new one if he caught her. Not to mention that it wouldn't look good if any of the cameras happened to be focused on her while she was laughing.
It still took more effort than it should have to keep the chuckle from breaking free. She couldn't help it, not when her husband had a really bad tendency to get pissed off whenever a goalie blocked his shot.
She should know: he still did it to her every once in a while. In practice. When they were simply playing around on the ice for fun.
And during the annual charity game between the Banners and the Blades.
So much had happened these last three years. The Blades were still around. In fact, the league had gained enough in popularity that they had expanded to eight teams instead of the original four. The money had gotten a little better—but not good enough that any of them actually made a living from playing.
Most of the original Blades were still with the team, too, though the dynamics had changed just a bit. Taylor and Chuckie were married now, with a little girl who wasn't quite two-years old. It wouldn't be long before the little squirt was on the ice, learning everything she needed to know from her mom and all her aunts.
Shannon was the permanent EBUG for the Banners now, had been since that fluke of a game three years ago. She was sitting on the bench tonight because Corbin Gauthier left during the first period—apparently his wife had gone into labor unexpectantly so Shannon had been pulled into action for the rest of the game. Not that she expected to actually play—she'd only made it on the ice that one time. But at least she had her very own Banners jersey now: WILEY, number seventy-three.
Would she ever have a permanent position with the Banners? Not as EBUG, but as an actual paid player? Would there ever be a real contract with the Banners—or with any other team? She had hoped. Had thought that maybe, just maybe, things would have changed these last three years.
But not yet.
That didn't mean she stopped hoping. And if not for her, then maybe in plenty of time for Taylor's daughter.
Was it enough? Not really, but it was more than she had hoped for when she first started playing hockey all those years ago. When her best friend had turned on her and told her girls couldn't play; when he told her she scared all the boys.
Her gaze darted across the ice, stopped to rest on Caleb. And damn if he wasn't looking at her—she could feel the heat in his gaze, feel the love. The pride.
She wondered where Russell was now. If he still played hockey, or if he even followed the sport. She hoped he did. She hoped he could see her out here now, see all of them, and know how wrong he was.
And if she ever accidentally ran into him again, she'd look him straight in the eye and laugh in his face and tell him how wrong he'd been.
Maybe some boys were scared of her. Intimidated and threated.
But there was one man who believed in her. Who didn't run scared. Who loved her for who she was.
And that was abso-fucking-lutely the best feeling in the world.
###
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https://www.si.com/nhl/2016/06/27/manon-rheaume-where-are-they-now
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GAME MISCONDUCT
The Baltimore Banners Book 11
Corbin Gauthier never expected to play with the Baltimore Banners again, not when he’d been traded away in the league expansion eight years ago. Yet here he was, three teams and a lifetime later, back where he started as the hockey team’s goalie. And back to the one woman he’s never been able to forget—the one woman who is completely off-limits.
Lori Evans isn’t the same young girl she’d been all those years ago when she first met the shy goalie. She’s older now, more mature and confident, with her feet planted firmly on the ground. Or so she thinks until Corbin shows back up. He’s not the same young man she’s dreamt of all these years: a little harder, more jaded, more cynical…and more tempting than ever. And he’s just as off-limits as before, maybe even more since her uncle is now the head coach for the Baltimore Banners.
At least, he’s supposed to be off-limits. Lori has other ideas—and she knows exactly what she wants and isn’t afraid to go after it. All she has to do is convince the straight-laced goalie that some things are worth drawing a penalty for—even if it means risking a chance of getting ejected from the biggest game of all.
Turn the page for a preview of GAME MISCONDUCT, the newest title in the bestselling Baltimore Banners series, now available.
The memory hit him from out of nowhere, the pain as sharp and biting as taking a puck to the throat. He struggled to draw breath, raised his hand and clawed at the flesh of his neck as a dozen fragmented curses fell from his lips.
The woman standing several feet away blinked then slowly, carefully, raised her sculpted brows. In amusement? In silent question? He didn't know, didn't care, not when he was in danger of passing out from lack of oxygen.
Playing Hard_A Chesapeake Blades Hockey Romance Page 21