EPILOGUE
KEIRA
Six Months Later
Inever understood hockey.
The rules, the penalties, the copious amount of gear, and the nonstop spitting. The players do it constantly. It's especially noticeable sitting this close to them.
What is it about this game that North Americans love? Is it because I'm from the UK and we prefer football? To be honest, I've never been much into sports, and I'm so glad Tristan doesn't watch it either.
But I will admit, sitting in the family box at a Slashers game, watching Dominik body-check an opponent into the boards so hard the glass shakes…is kind of entertaining.
"That's my husband! Destroy him, baby. Dominate!" Zoe screams.
The crowd roars. The opposing player crumples. Dom skates away without a backward glance, and somewhere in the mayhem, he glances up at our box and smiles.
At Zoe.
"Mommy, did you see? Did you see Uncle Dom hit that guy?" Hale is so giddy he's practically bouncing besideme, decked out head to toe in New York Slashers gear. Jersey with LEWIS 17 on the back.
Dom's orders. We all had to show up wearing his number. Apparently, he punished Zoe once when she showed up to one of these wearing someone else's number on her back. Although, based on how red her face turned when Dom told us that, I'm assuming she quite enjoyed her punishment.
"I saw, baby." I ruffle his hair. "Pretty cool, huh?"
"So cool. I want to do that when I grow up."
From my other side, Tristan leans in. "You want to hit people for a living? That's my boy."
Hale beams up at him with an expression that still makes me melt every time I see it. Pure, unguarded adoration.
"Can we get more popcorn, Daddy?"
He says it so naturally now. Three months ago, he said it more like a question than a statement. Now it falls from Hale's lips so easily.
Tristan's eyes meet mine over our son's head, and I see the same wonder I feel reflected back at me.
"Anything you want, buddy." He stands, holding out his hand. "Let's go raid the snack bar. I think they have those soft pretzels you like."
"With cheese?"
"Is there any other way?"
They disappear into the box's private concession area, Hale's small hand wrapped securely in Tristan's, chattering about the game and Dom's hit and whether hockey players are allowed to punch people.
I watch them go with a lump in my throat.
It's been six months since I walked out of the warehouse in Newark and into a life I never thought I'd have.
Some days it still doesn't feel real. Some days it feels impossible to accept.
It hasn't been perfect or easy, but I'm working through it, andTristan has been so understanding and supportive throughout all of it.
"You're doing that thing again." Cat drops into the seat Tristan vacated, offering me a glass of wine. "The staring-at-them-like-they-might-disappear thing."
"I don't do that."
"You absolutely do." She clinks her glass against mine. "It's sweet. Nauseating, but sweet."
