I laugh and catch my reflection in the mirror. My eyeliner issmudged. I have sweat-glossed skin, and there’s a halo of post-show chaos around my head—and still, I’ve never looked more like myself. I peel off my dress, swapping it for a slinky red mini dress that Shay practically threw at me before we left the hotel.
She whistles. “Hot. Some man is gonna faint.”
I roll my eyes, but my smile’s too big to hide. “Well, you’re hot. You might get lucky.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she says. “I’m okay the way things are.”
But in my heart, there’s a hole that’s never been filled. Tonight, I give myself a pass. I can be carefree and wild. I’ve earned a hall pass. I might have a one-night stand. I’m long overdue, and I’d love to be with someone even if it’s only for a night. We’re in Vegas, what could go wrong? Besides, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
Shay throws an arm around me as we swipe on lipstick in the mirror. “You did it,” she says, softer now. “You’re really doing it. You’re making your dreams come true. I’m so proud of you.”
I nod, my throat tight with something fierce and grateful. “I’m just getting started.”
But inside, I’m nervous that this might be it. What if I peaked, and I’m going to slide back into that double-wide? What if I wake up tomorrow and this turned out to be just a dream?
We link arms and push out into the hallway. Rose spots me instantly, and that grin spreads across her face like gasoline meeting a spark.
“Let’s burn the town down,” she says, dispelling my fears. I need a night off from worrying, second-guessing every song I sang, and thinking I’m not enough. Because tonight? The city’s ours.
Tonight, Wade is just a ghost on a barstool, a reminder of what I’m running from.
I’m still wearing my boots. I bought my favorite designer ones with the paycheck from my first gig last year. They’re vintage cowboy—distressed tan leather with stitching like flames licking up the sides. I’ve scuffed them just enough to sayI’ve danced til dawn in these,but they’re still polished sufficiently to catch the light. I slide them on and stand tall.
Country, but cool. Sweet, but savage. Like if Dolly had a dangerous streak.
Shay gives an approving nod. “You look like trouble wrapped in killer red.”
“Good,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “I’m in the mood to start some trouble.”
6
FINN
THE NIGHT WE DIDN’T SLEEP
OvertimeWinner—Itevokesexhaustion, adrenaline, relief, and joy all at once—the kind of night where nobody sleeps, and everything changes.
You’d think we’d pass out after popping champagne for two hours straight and being soaked in a locker room.
Nope.
We took quick showers and changed into jeans, shirts, and baseball hats that say: Stanley Cup Champs.
It would have been perfect if we had won at home, to the roar of our crowd. And hoisting the Cup in front of all of our fans.
But winning is winning. And we’re in Vegas, where anything and everything is a possibility.
We just won the Cup. And someone — probably Kal — yells, “Let’s get out of here!”
Besides, Lord Stanley deserves a night on the Strip. He’s been stowed away in the Vault long enough. It’s time to make more memories.
We pile into a party bus, our adrenaline surging, still half-dressed,and reeking of sweat and victory. Alexandre has the Cup next to him, like it’s a fragile heirloom. Blake tries to feed it chips. Victor’s already shirtless again, yelling out the window at strangers like we’re on parade.
First stop:The Mirage.
Security doesn’t even blink. We roll through the lobby like we own it — because tonight, we kinda do. Cameras flash. Guests cheer. A man in a suit offers to trade his Rolex for the privilege of holding the Cup for five seconds.
We let him. Then it’s into a sea of people for more drinks and debauchery.
