Page 218 of Puck Me Back to Life

For a second my heart stops. Not in fear but in wonder. I close my eyes. A smile spreads across my face before I can stop it.

I kiss the top of his head. “I love you too.”

The words come easier than breathing.

Because they're true. Entirely and completely.

Kai smiles without opening his eyes. “I know.”

A quiet laugh escapes me. “Confident, aren't you?”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah, you should be.”

His breathing slows again. Within another minute he's asleep, warm and boneless against my chest.

I hold him a little closer. Not because I'm afraid he'll disappear.

Just because I can.

EPILOGUE

Kai

Opening Night feels different this year. Last season I walked into this building convinced I didn't belong here. Every shift felt like an exam I was destined to fail, and every roar from the crowd made me wonder whether it would turn into boos if I made one mistake. I spent so much energy waiting for everything to fall apart that I barely remember the hockey itself.

Now, as I tighten the laces on my skates, I realize something has changed.

The fear is still there. It just isn't driving anymore.

Sonia once told me that healing rarely announces itself. There isn't a dramatic morning where you wake up and suddenly feel whole again. Instead, she said I'd probably look back one day and realize that life had quietly become larger than my grief.

I hadn't believed her.

Then somewhere between therapy appointments, Sunday mornings making breakfast with Ash, long road trips, and nights spent curled up beside him with one of the dozens of classic novels he'd somehow convinced himself I didn't already own, she became right without me noticing.

I haven't hurt myself in over a year.

There are still difficult days. Anniversaries still sting. Sometimes William still appears in my dreams, and every now and then I wake with my heart racing before I remember where I am. Usually, before I can spiral, Ash pulls me closer without even waking up.

Somehow that always helps.

“Hayes.”

I glance up to find Ash walking toward my stall.

The captain's C stitched across his chest still looks strange to me, even after an entire season. Nobody in the organization had questioned Coach's decision when he announced it during training camp. Ash had been leading this team long before someone embroidered a letter onto his jersey.

He reaches me, looks me over once, then straightens the collar of my undershirt.

“You forgot.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

He brushes an imaginary piece of lint off my shoulder before leaning down to steal a quick kiss.