“You’re not even watching them.” She grins.
I glance up, then back to her. “I like this view better.”
She shakes her head, but looks pleased. Her gaze flicks to the stars, then returns to me. “It’s still going to be hard sometimes.” Her voice is small, thin in the open air.
“All things worth having are.”
She nods.
I twist a strand of her hair around my finger. “I’ll follow you whenever I can. And you’ll always come home.”
“There are going to be nights when we’re on opposite sides of the country. Maybe even different sides of the world…” She trails off.
I pull her closer.
“Did you know everyone on Earth is looking at the same sky?” She furrows her brows, and I add, “Doesn’t matter how far apart we are. We’ll always be under the same stars.”
She’s quiet for a moment, her eyes on mine in the dark.
“And as long as that’s true, we’ll be okay,” I murmur.
I kiss her temple. When I ease back, she’s smiling, the one she only gives to me.
It gets wider. “So, unless I become an astronaut?”
“Then I guess I’d be moving to Mars.”
EPILOGUE
Good luck
There’snothing like the energy of a home crowd at a playoff game, and this being the last one in the battle for the Cup has the volume turned up a few clicks higher. Florida won it last year, and now they’re back to defend their title. No pressure.
I’ve made it to every game. I’d already worked with Kendra to clear my schedule before Miles even asked if I could. I kissed him and told him it was already done.
I know what it feels like to get the thing you’ve worked your whole life for. Watching him get closer and closer to it is somehow even more satisfying.
Bodies collide into the plexiglass in front of us, none of them Miles, but I still scoot to the edge of my seat. Mia’s leg bounces at my side, and Hannah grips the armrest on my other.
It’s the start of the third period, and the Saints are up by one, but I’ve watched enough hockey this past year to know how fast things can change. I don’t let myself trust the lead until the final horn. Miles’s refusal to jinx anything has clearly rubbed off on me.
The first fifteen minutes of the third are tight, both teams trading possession, neither willing to give an inch. Every time the puck gets near Ilya’s crease, I grip Mia’s arm, and every time it clears I let go and take a breath.
Then, with just under five minutes left on the clock, Dominic gets the puck at the blue line, fakes a shot, and slides it across to Ryan. He cuts hard toward the net, then sends it back to Easton at the last second in one of those plays that looks too clean to be real.
I stand as the puck leaves Easton’s stick?—
It’s in. The building loses its mind, along with me, Hannah, and Mia, who are jumping up and down, arms tangled together, barely keeping each other upright.
A man whistles through his fingers behind us, loud enough to cut through the cheers filling the arena.
“That’s fucking right!” Mia screams. Hannah laughs, or at least I think she does from the tilt of her head and the grin on her face, but I don’t hear it.
We’re up by two now, but I don’t sit back down.
The other team pushes hard, pulling every trick they have, but the Saints hold. Ilya is a wall. Every shot that gets through, he smothers. He doesn’t even give them a chance at a rebound.
With four minutes left, Florida pulls their goalie and sends out the extra attacker. Every loose puck becomes a scramble, every hit comes harder, every clear from our zone an answer to my muttered pleas to whoever’s listening.
