Page 199 of Slap Shot
“I’m not doing anything,” I say innocently. “I’m making you food.”
“You’re bossy.”
“I have to be when you’re being stubborn.” I pull the chicken apart and cut the meat into small pieces. “Do you want to talk about it? Or should we talk about something else?”
A soft laugh escapes him. “That’s what my mom would always ask after a loss.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. As for tonight… I’m disappointed. We had the chance to take the series lead, but now we’re going to be fighting for our lives. I should’ve been more aware of my surroundings. I should’ve tracked the puck better, and I should’ve moved left, like my instincts told me, instead of switching to the right.”
I nod and pretend like I understand what these words mean. “And Liam could’ve stopped the two goals the Owls had in the second period,” I say, and the ghost of another laugh falls out of him. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. You… you’re doing exactly what my mom would do with me after a loss.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. I have a habit of blaming myself when things go wrong, and she’d always pull out a piece of paper. She’d go through minute by minute and tell me all the other mistakes that happened during the game—the ones I didn’t make—and remind me I might’ve messed up, but I didn’t do it alone.”
I’m going to spend the rest of my life disappointed I’ll never get the chance to meet Sarah Hayes. If I could spend just thirty seconds with her, I’d tell her how good of a job she did as a parent. How strong and self-aware her son is without being cocky or overbearing.
I’d tell her how he loves everything in his life with his whole heart, and he holds himself accountable when the situation calls for it. I’d let her know he’s emotionally mature. Breathtakingly beautiful. Passionate and proud, humble and gracious in moments of defeat.
I set the knife down. I wipe my hands on my apron and walk to him. My fingers curl under his chin, and I tilt his head back until we’re looking at each other.
“I’m so proud of you,” I say. “That doesn’t change when you win or lose, either. I’m always going to be proud of you, Hudson. And so is Lucy. She even made you a card.”
“She did?” He perks up, and I tap the folded note to the left of his elbow. He opens it up, huffing when he finds a stick figure and the words GO HUDSON GO written across the top of the paper. “She’s a goddamn artist, isn’t she?”
“I like that you’re not wearing any clothes, but you do have on skates,” I point out.
“I love you.” He sighs again and rests his forehead against mine. “Thank you for the pep talk and telling me to get my head out of my ass.”
“I never said that.”
“No, but I heard the undertones.” He gives me his first real smile of the night, and all is right in the world. “I’ll be okay. When things like this happen, I forget who I am besides a hockey player, and it makes me think I don’t have anything else going for me. Like my livelihood is tied to wins and losses. Which, yeah, winning is nice. It keeps me here in DC and the paychecks coming in, but tomorrow I’ll remember it’s not the end all be all.”
“It’s funny you say that.” I nudge his hands out of the way and sit in his lap. “You see yourself as a hockey player. That’s, like, fifth on the list of ways I’d describe you.”
“What would be one through four?” he asks with a hint of amusement.
“A loving best friend. A gentle romantic partner. A teammate.” I take a second to collect my thoughts. “A father figure,” I add softly, and he wraps his arms around me. “The people who love you—me. Lucy. Maverick and the boys. Your dad. Your mom—we see you as so much more.”
“What did I do to deserve you?”
“You mean besides being the best guy in the universe?”
“Hush.” He rests his chin on my shoulder. “I’ve waited a long time for this, Maddie.”
“What? To have someone sit in your lap? Your Instagram DMs tell me you could’ve had this whenever you wanted.”
“I meant you. I didn’t know if my heart could take losing my mom. There were so many days where I pretended I was okay. Where I’d smile and laugh at practice with the guys then come home and cry myself to sleep because I was so fucking sad. I haven’t been sad since meeting you, though. You’ve… you’ve poured love into the cracks I’ve tried so hard to fill myself, and I think I’m finally whole again.”
“Maybe you weren’t ever broken,” I whisper. “Maybe you just needed someone who could help put the pieces back together. And I’m glad I could be the one to do it.”
“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “For loving me. For lifting me up when I’m feeling down. This game won’t matter in twenty years, but you will.”
“I don’t know anything about sports, but this could be a turning point for you. You can gather all the emotions you’re feeling and turn into a beast on the ice. Is that a thing?” I ask.
