Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)(100)

Something about admitting it out loud, about really accepting it, has lifted a weight from Jasper. He’s still quiet and introspective but now he smiles.

Under the cover of dark, we crawl out onto the roof of our little house in Chestnut Springs and talk about life. Fears. Plans. Babies. We talk about everything because we always have.

“What you smiling about, Sloane?” Harvey nudges me, obviously watching me while I zone out and stare at the grizzly bear logo painted at center ice.

“I’m just . . .” I shrug, regarding the buzzing arena. “Happy. Even if they lose tonight. Everything feels . . .”

“You’re both settled. Figured out what counts in life. It’s the people. Not the things. Not the acclaim. The people.”

“Yeah. Speaking of people. My mom still driving you insane?” She’s been living at the house for six months now, and she and Harvey bicker like an old married couple. I really can’t make heads or tails of it.

I’m not sure I want to.

“That woman,” he mutters. “It’s like after years of keeping her opinions to herself, she’s just blurting them all out left, right, and center. It’s an opinion surplus sale in that house. Buy one, get ten.”

I snort a laugh before the row of people heading our way catches my attention. Beau, home safe but still walking gingerly, leads the charge. He’s followed by Rhett and Summer and Violet who made the trip back just to take in this game.

A few seats down Cade has his new baby girl, Emma, strapped to his chest in a carrier. He’s all proud papa, eyes more on that little bundle than on the game. It does weird things to my ovaries watching him.

Willa is her usual playful self, sitting beside Luke trying to show him how to toss popcorn up in the air and catch it with his mouth.

It just keeps hitting them both in the face.

No matter what, seeing everyone here to cheer Jasper on warms my heart. He needs this. Deserves this.

We’re not up in the box. We’ve taken over almost an entire row of the stadium behind home net. Filled it with Eatons. Filled it with family.

Maybe not the family he was born into but the one that wanted him the most. The one that will do anything for him.

A buzzer sounds as Violet shoves a beer out in front of me and takes her seat. “Here. Drink it.”

“I can’t—”

She shimmies the plastic cup, making it dangerously close to spilling over. “You will. It’s Buddyz Best. You love this shit.”

I smirk down at the golden lager. It’s true that I love this beer. But not because it tastes good. It’s because I remember drinking it the night Jasper broke me out of that farce of a wedding. I remember drinking a pitcher of it while Jasper leaned over my back and taught me how to play pool.

The dog on the label makes me smile, and the memories it drums up make it taste fucking delicious.

I take a deep swig, and my nerves settle as I watch my man skate onto the ice from the bench. He glances up in our direction, and Beau waves the giant poster board sign he and Rhett made in his direction.

I watched them make it. Like the children they are, they giggled while sprinkling sparkles over the glue they used to spell out the words.

It reads: Jasper Gervais is my #1 stud!

Jasper tugs his helmet on, probably rolling his eyes from behind the cage.

Rhett yells, “Marry me, Jasper!” right as Summer elbows him in the ribs. It wouldn’t be an Eaton family outing without some type of insane shenanigans from the boys.

But once the timer starts, everyone settles into a tense silence. I should watch the game, but I spend huge stretches of time staring at Jasper in the net.

His incredible focus. The way he carries his body. The speed of his reflexes. He’s not just good at hockey, he’s a generational talent. He gives me chills.

And if I’m being totally honest, it riles me the hell up that he’s so superior. I’m so attracted to that part of him. His passion and tireless commitment to being so good at his sport.

I admire that about him. We connect on that level. When we need to train, there are no hard feelings or whining about time spent apart. We both pursue our passions, and we’re both better at what we do for having the other’s support.

The crowd gets loud as the opposing team burns down the ice toward Jasper’s net. He squares off to face the attackers. Just by standing in the net, he blocks so many of their opportunities to score because of his height advantage.

Number 29 passes, and Number 17 winds up taking a hard, fast shot.

Not fast enough though. Jasper’s gloved hand moves out in a blur and pockets the puck, making it look easy. I’m panting when he hands it back to the referee.

One hand on my chest, I take another sip of my beer and realize that I’ve nervously drained the entire thing.

The puck drops and the clock keeps winding down. They’re tied at one a piece. Jasper has played his heart out tonight.

I want this so badly for him. The big win. The crowning achievement. God, my body aches with how badly I want this for him.

Thirty seconds remain and the crowd grows quiet. Overtime isn’t a loss but isn’t a win either. It means more time. More chances. More room for tired mistakes.

I can feel the anticipation. The entire arena is thick with it. You could cut it with a knife. Each second is like a drumbeat that reverberates through the stands.