Conrad skates over first. “Sheesh. I guess absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
Derek follows, shaking his head. “Thirty days and you climb into the stands. Could’ve just texted her, Kane.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I’m grinning so hard my face hurts.
“Fair point.” Derek claps me on the shoulder. “Welcome back, buddy.”
Coach Jacobsen is waiting at the bench, arms crossed, trying to look stern. “Kane. My office. Tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“But good game.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Best I’ve seen you play all season.”
Conrad appears at my elbow. “You good?”
“Yeah.” I’m still grinning. Can’t stop. “I’m really good.”
We skate toward the tunnel. My teammates are still ribbing me, still laughing, still making jokes about climbing into stands and midnight and glitter.
I don’t care.
For the first time in my entire life, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Not performing. Not pretending. Not hiding behind charm or control or fear.
Just being.
And in about thirty minutes, I’ll be at Ironclad Desserts with the woman I love, eating cookies and drinking terrible coffee and figuring out how to build a life together.
No contracts. No performances. No rules.
Just us.
Finally.
Epilogue
CHLOE
Three hours ago, I was a reasonably anonymous (outside the hockey world) event planner with a failing business and a broken heart. Now I’m “Glitter Jersey Girl,” and there are already memes.
I checked Instagram while waiting for Brody at Ironclad. Someone created a GIF of me waving my GO BIG 7 sign with the caption: “When you’re extra but he’s worth it.” It has 47,000 likes.
I showed it to Brody as he slid into the booth. He almost smacked his face on the table, doubling over in laughter.
“You’re never living this down,” he said, wiping his eyes.
“Neither are you. Someone made a clip of you climbing over the boards with the Mission: Impossible theme song.”
“How many views?”
“Two million.”
“Bam. That’s how it’s done.”
And now we’re at Ironclad Desserts—the place where this whole ridiculous, beautiful, complicated mess sort of started.
Or restarted.
