"I won't."
Connor's jaw tightens like he wants to say more. Then he just shakes his head and walks past us toward the exit. Emma squeezes Lucy's shoulder as she follows.
"He'll come around. Give him time."
Then we're alone in the corridor. Lucy looks up at me with so much love in her eyes it makes my chest ache.
"You really did it."
"I told you I would."
"I know. But hearing it and seeing it are different things." She leans into me. "What happens now?"
"Now we go home. Have dinner with your family. Try not to let Connor glare me to death." I kiss her forehead. "And tomorrow we figure out the rest."
"That simple?"
"That simple."
We walk out of the rink hand in hand. The parking lot is full of people heading to their cars. Several of them wave. A few stop to congratulate me on the game. One older woman I recognizefrom the bookshop hugs Lucy and tells her she always knew we'd be perfect together.
Small towns. Can't keep a secret to save your life.
But as I open the car door for Lucy and she slides in with that smile still on her face, I realize I don't want to keep secrets anymore. Don't want to hide what she means to me or pretend this is anything less than the most important thing in my life.
Tomorrow I'll deal with the fallout. The media. The questions. The attention.
Tonight I just want to be with her.
We drive home through snow-dusted streets. The sun is setting. The sky is purple and orange and impossibly beautiful. Lucy reaches over and takes my hand.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For today. For the game. For everything."
"That's what you do for people you love."
She squeezes my fingers. "I love you too."
Simple words. But they change everything.
Lucy
The penthouse apartment overlooks Boston's glittering skyline, and I can't stop fidgeting with my ugly Christmas sweater. Ryder's hand finds mine, steady and warm, and I realize my palms are damp despite the warmth inside.
"You okay?" he asks.
I nod, but my throat feels tight. Yesterday at the charity game, he told the world about us. Kissed me in that corridor with reporters watching. Made it official. But tonight feels different. Tonight I'm meeting his teammates, his hockey family, the people who've known him for years. And he's been nervous all day, checking his phone, adjusting his sweater, acting like he has something planned.
"There's Cade," Ryder says, nodding toward the bar. "Come on."
My fingers tighten around his. "Ready?"
"Born ready." But his thumb strokes across my knuckles, and I know he's as nervous as I am.
We weave through the crowd of players and their partners. The apartment belongs to one of the veteran defensemen, all floor-to-ceiling windows and modern furniture. Someone's set up a champagne tower. Music pulses from hidden speakers. People cluster in groups, laughing and drinking, and I recognize faces from Ryder's Instagram, from sports highlights I've watched with Connor.
