I lean into him, feeling his arm tighten around me, anchoring me to this moment, to him.
To us.
“Good,” I whisper against his lips. “Because I’m never letting you go either.”
Epilogue
Dylan
Eleven Months Later
“First annual Williamston Friendsgiving,” Blaze announces, raising his glass from his spot by the window. “Who would’ve thought?”
“Certainly not me,” I admit, clapping him on the shoulder as I pass. “But here we are.”
My living room barely resembles the bachelor pad it once was. The walls that once displayed only hockey memorabilia—my jerseys, signed pucks, team photos—now share space with framed pictures of Cheyenne and me ... plus the Thanksgiving decorations she insisted would “warm the place up.”
I look around at the fall-colored streamers, along with the few strategically placed pumpkins and the banner that readsHappy Friendsgivingin Cheyenne’s perfect handwriting.
She was right, of course.
My teammates are scattered throughout the space with their wives and girlfriends, creating little pockets of conversation and laughter.
Paul and Genna are cuddled up on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder as they talk with Addy. It still takes me a moment sometimes, seeing my teammate with my sister, but the way they look at each other makes any lingering big-brother protectiveness fade away. They’re good together—anyone can see that.
Cam and Nila stand by the fireplace, deep in conversation. Cam’s usual grumpy demeanor softens around his wife, his hand resting on the small of her back as she animatedly describes something that has him actually smiling. Miracle of miracles.
Kade moves between the kitchen and the living room, helping his twelve-year-old stepson Colton sample every appetizer on the table. The kid has Kade’s serious expression as he deliberates over each bite with the concentration of a food critic. Ella watches them both with obvious affection, shaking her head when Kade sneaks Colton an extra cookie.
My eyes find Cheyenne in the kitchen, arranging another tray of appetizers. She’s wearing a burgundy sweater that makes her skin glow. Her dark hair falls in waves around her shoulders.She must sense me watching her, because she looks up. The coy smile she gives me makes my heart skip a beat, even after nearly a year together.
I make my way to her, weaving between teammates and friends. “Need any help?” I ask, sliding an arm around her waist and dropping a kiss on her temple.
“Just bringing out the last of the appetizers before we set up for dinner,” she says, leaning into me. “The sweet potato casserole needs another five minutes.”
“It smells amazing in here.” I steal a deviled egg from the tray she’s arranging, earning myself a playful swat.
“Those are for our guests, hockey star,” she scolds, but her eyes are bright with amusement. “Just because you scored the winning goal last night doesn’t mean you get special treatment.”
“No?” I raise an eyebrow, moving closer. “What about because I’m dashingly handsome? Or because I peeled all the hard-boiled eggs before the guests arrived?”
She pretends to consider this, tapping a finger against her lips. “Hmm, that might earn you one deviled egg. But just one.”
“I’ll take it.” I grin, popping the stolen snack into my mouth. “Worth it.”
With the final tray of appetizers ready, we move back into the living room together, falling easily into the rhythm we’ve developed over months of navigating social gatherings as a couple. She leads the way, greeting everyone with that warm smile that made me fall for her in the first place.
The room fills with laughter. Looking around at the faces of my teammates who have become family, I’m struck by how much has changed in a year. Last Thanksgiving, I was still the team’s resident playboy, too afraid of real connection to admit how I felt about the woman who’d been right in front of me for years. Now, she fits so perfectly against my side, in my home, and in my life that it’s hard to remember a time when we weren’t together.
The timer in the kitchen beeps, and Cheyenne slips away to check on the sweet potato casserole. I watch her go, still amazed that this is real—that she’s mine.
“What are you thinking about?” Kade prompts, following my gaze to the kitchen where Cheyenne is pulling the casserole from the oven.
“Everything,” I admit. “How different things are from last year. How right it all feels.”
“Being happy looks good on you, man.” Kade grins.
“Thanks,” I say, meaning it. “It feels good.”
