“And the best husband of the year award goes to—” Ryan does a drumroll against her thighs. “Mr. Hockey Boy himself, Jackson Wilson!”
“I don’t know if I like the sound of that.”
“Why? I think it’s a cute nickname.”
“I was referring to my last name. Maybe I’ll take a page out of Bennett’s book and take your last name.”
My eyes widen. “Are you serious? I love your name.”
Jax takes my hand in his and brings it to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of it before running his thumb over my wedding ring. “Yeah, but you’ve built your entire career around yours. We’re a family, we should have the same last name.”
“If you’re serious, why don’t we just hyphenate our last names? We could do Wilson-Gray,” I suggest, still unable to detect if he’s fucking with me or not.
“How about you ring this bell and then we discuss our last names after we celebrate?” he counters, a soft smile he reserves just for me lighting up his face. My stomach swoops, and I’ve learned by now that I couldn’t stop the songbirds from taking flight even if I tried.
Stepping forward, I don’t hesitate at all as I grab the rope hanging from the bell. Pride, relief, and hope combine to spur me on as I ring it with all my might. As chimes echo off thewalls of the hallway, I’m unable to keep the tears from streaming down my cheeks. The only sound I hear over the ringing is my husband’s cheering.
Looking back over my shoulder, I shoot him a watery smile before turning and crashing into him. With his arms wrapped around me, I feel safe and secure and, above all, optimistic.
Jackson has been my rock through this journey and getting to share this moment together means the world to me. I take his face in my hands and give him a far more chaste kiss than I’d like, hoping that it conveys all of my gratitude and love for what he’s done for me.
“Ready to go home, baby?”
I pull back to look into those sea glass eyes that have held me captive since the very beginning. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”
“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”
I once thought not all stories have their happily ever after, and while there has been beauty in the breakdown, I’m looking forward to what our future holds with Jackson by my side.
Not every love story is eternal but I damn sure pray ours is.
Jackson
Six Months Later
Two more minutes stand between our team and winning game seven of the Stanley Cup finals.
Two shifts before we find out if we’ll hoist the cup over our heads or suffer one of the most devastating losses in sports imaginable.
Sweat drips down my face as I fight to catch my breath on the bench after another strenuous shift.
Playoffs are an entirely different beast in comparison to regular season. It’s almost as if we’re playing two entirely different games.
The intensity. The physicality. The pressure. The desperation.
Exhaustion beyond what your mind can comprehend while pushing your body to the very brink of deterioration.
The purest form of adrenaline pumps through my blood as I glance up at the jumbotron to see there’s just under a minute left.
If we keep our one goal lead for one more minute—
Before I can finish that thought, Coach calls for our line to hit the ice for the defensive zone faceoff. The line before us iced the puck to clear the zone, and now my line—me, Carson, and Griffin—will have to give it our all to be sure we come out on top.
Before I line up at the hashmarks, I look up at the time remaining on the clock: fifty-two seconds.
Tapping Calvetti’s goalie pads with my stick, I give him a nod before getting into position.
I’d love nothing more than to kick Boston’s asses.
