Epilogue
AUSTIN
I check my pocket again.
Ring’s still there.
That makes five times in the last ten minutes in case anyone’s counting.
It’s currently humming like a grenade in my suit pocket. A sparkly, terrifying, life-altering grenade.
I’m pacing the living room while my girl takes an entire lifetime to get ready.
“Babe,” I yell toward the bedroom, dragging a hand through my hair. “How long are you gonna take? We’re gonna be late, and I swear to God if I miss the crab cakes?—”
“Then you’ll survive,” Maisie calls back.
“You look hot in anything,” I tell her. “Or nothing. Especially nothing.”
Kevin—our rescue dog—lifts his head from his little blanket cave and glares at me.
“You could at least pretend to be supportive,” I mutter.
He groans and rolls back over.
I rip my eyes away, glancing toward the bedroom door that’s still shut. Maisie’s been in there for fucking forever. Getting ready. For dinner. For a normal night out. That’s what she thinks this is. But she has no idea what she’s stepping into.
This is torture. Not just waiting on her—I mean, yeah, that too—but sitting here with this box in my pocket like I’m not two inches away from combusting.
I pat my pocket once, then twice, then drag my hand down my face and groan like a man on the brink.
Because I am on the brink.
Of proposing. Of combusting. Of texting the guys again even though Cole told me he’d block me if I did.
I grab my phone off the coffee table and open the group chat.
Me:
how long does it take for a girl to put on eyeliner? I’m gonna puke.
Cole:
And they say romance is dead.
Ryan:
You don’t need to worry. She’s going to say yes.
Logan:
And then realize she’s stuck with you forever. Poor girl.
Nathan:
She’s the best thing that ever happened to you. Don’t screw it up.
Cole:
Too late.
Ryan:
You’re fine. Breathe and drink some water.
Cole:
And don’t cry. Jesus Christ.
Me:
I’m not crying, but like… hypothetically if I did. It’s fine right?
Nathan:
Yes.
Cole:
No.
Logan:
I’m crying for you rn and it hasn’t even happened yet.
I lock my phone and let it fall on the couch beside me.
I glance at the time. We’re officially thirteen minutes behind schedule. And still no sign of my girl.
“Freckles,” I call out toward the bedroom, “I swear to god, if I get any hotter in this blazer, I’m gonna die in it and haunt this apartment forever.”
She just laughs from the other side of the door. Little shit. My lips tip up into a smirk anyway.
A little over five years ago, I flunked anatomy, got kicked off the team, and met her.
I thought she hated me. And maybe she did, a little, but everything changed between us in a short amount of time.
I think about the first time I kissed her.
The first time she said I love you. The first time she called this place home.
I used to think love was a weakness, fragile… scary. I was so terrified of opening up to another person that way. But then Maisie looked at me, and everything in my chest cracked open.
I don’t have words for the way she changed me. I just know that every cell in my body bends toward her.
I breathe for her.
I skate for her.
I exist for her.
And now I want forever. I want her name next to mine. I want to call her my wife and see her wear this ring and never, ever take it off.
The bedroom door clicks open.
“Sorry, sorry,” she calls. “I couldn’t find my?—”
I look up. And my heart stops.
“Holy fuck ,” I whisper.
Maisie pauses in the doorway, cheeks pink, lips curled in a shy smile. She’s wearing a dark red dress that hugs her curves and dips at the collarbone, soft satin that flows when she walks, and she has her hair pinned up, with a few loose strands falling around her face.
“You say that every time,” she teases, smoothing her dress as she steps into the room.
“Because you take my breath away every time,” I say, already standing, closing the distance between us in three quick strides.
I stand there for a minute. Just… looking. Like it’s the first time and the hundredth time all at once.
She lifts her gaze to meet mine. “Why are you looking at me like that? Should I be worried?”
Fuck. Play it cool, Austin . I let out a laugh, shaking my head. “Nah. Just admiring my girl.”
I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her in, kissing the side of her neck.
“We’re gonna miss your reservation,” she says, her voice a little raspy.
“I’ll rebook. Priorities.” I lean down and press my mouth to hers. “You’re my priority.”
She melts into my arms the second my lips meet hers, and my hands slide down to her hips. How long will it take to take this dress off her?
“Mmm,” she murmurs against my lips. “Is this part of the plan?”
“Every plan involves kissing you,” I say, my lips brushing her cheek. “Even the retirement one.”
She loops her arms around my neck, pulling me close.
I swear she knows something. She might not know about the hole that’s burning in my pocket, but she’s aware of something.
Especially since I practically demanded Aurora and Isabella take Maisie out to get her nails done for tonight. I wanted my girl to be prepared.
“How was practice?” she asks, a little skeptical.
“Good,” I reply with a shrug. “Coach yelled at me for trying to chirp the new guy, but… come on. It’s tradition.”
I still can’t believe I get to play for The New York Storm with Ryan. Being on the same team as him felt like a pipe dream when we graduated, and yet here we are.
I’m on a nationally ranked team, and I live in a beautiful house with the love of my goddamn life, who owns her own bookstore café.
She’s still looking at me and I can’t breathe. My eyes lock onto hers, remembering the first time I ever saw them and how they took my breath away.
“I’m so fucking happy I knocked you in the head all those years ago,” I say, blowing out a breath.
She laughs, her eyes crinkling and her cheeks going pink, and I swear, if I wasn’t already planning to propose tonight, I’d drop to one knee right now .
But not yet.
Not until I’ve said something halfway coherent. Not until I’ve told her that I want to be her person forever—through training seasons and off seasons, good days and hell days, and every single day until I’m old and grumpy.
I can’t wait to see wrinkles around those blue eyes, to come home to her every single night and kiss those pretty pink lips. To have kids with her, to argue with her, to have make up sex with her. I want it all. Every single part of it. With her.
Maisie grabs her clutch and turns toward the door. “You ready to go?”
I check my pocket one last time.
Ring’s still there.
God, I hope I don’t mess this up.
I exhale. “Yeah,” I say, slipping my fingers through hers. “Let’s go.”
She thinks we’re heading to some fancy dinner with white tablecloths and overpriced crab cakes.
Instead, I’m taking her back to the rink. The same one where I met her, where I skated with her, where everything between us really started.
Ryan set up the champagne and Isabella made me rehearse what I was gonna say so I didn’t sound like an idiot.
Nathan got me the keys—perks of having a dad who runs the team—and Logan gave me a pep talk about making it romantic but not too cheesy.
Aurora helped string fairy lights across the boards and Cole set up a camera so we’ll have the whole thing recorded—every stumble, every kiss, every second of me making the best play of my life.
When we walk out onto that ice tonight, it’ll be just her and me.
And when the music plays, and she realizes what’s happening, I’ll drop to one knee in the middle of center ice and ask the only question that’s ever really mattered.
And if all goes right, I’ll skate off that rink tonight with a fiancée.
No pressure.
The End