I'm laughing—loud, breathless, disbelieving—as more of the boys pile onto us.
We're a dogpile of sweat, joy, and absolute chaos.
The Stanley Cup flood music hits. Confetti cannons go off.
And when I stand, chest heaving and vision blurring from tears I'll deny later, I look for her— my wife.
My light.
My whole damn universe.
Caroline is on her feet, screaming like she might give birth right there. One hand on her pregnant belly, the other waving wildly at me. Her grin is so big it practically reaches the moon.
I raise my stick to her, tapping the blade over my heart before pointing straight at her. Then I mouth it:
I love you.
She shouts it back, huge grin stretching across her face, tears and pride shining everywhere.
And for a moment — for a second that feels eternal — everything in my life aligns into one perfect, staggering truth:
I won the biggest game of my life...
and the biggest love of my life is right there watching.
EPILOGUE TWO
CAROLINE
One Month Later…
Iwake up slowly, the way cats in cartoons do — stretching my arms above my head, pointing my toes, letting out a long, unflattering groan-yawn combination.
Mmm. Cozy. Warm. Peaceful.
I blink at the digital clock on the nightstand.
9:30 a.m.
I smile and stretch again.
My head snaps back to the clock. It's 9:30 a.m.
OH MY GOD!
I bolt upright so fast my spine probably left my body.
"I overslept—shit—oh my God—"
I fling the blankets off like they personally wronged me and sprint out of the bedroom, heart slamming against my ribs.
My son.
My poor baby.
He's probably starving.
And soaked.
