Epilogue
RAPHAEL — ONE YEAR LATER
The rink was louder than any boardroom I’ve ever walked into.
I sat on the hard bleachers beside Alex. The crowd was packed, energy buzzing like something alive, music thumping between whistles.
I should hate this. A year ago, I would have.
Now I found myself scanning the track like it matters.
Because she’s out there. Belle moved with confidence now. Strong. Fast. Fully healed. The brace was long gone.
Her derby name is painted across her jersey. Belle Ringer. Her body moved like it belonged to her again. And every time she skated past, I felt it, that pull she has had on me since the day she walked into my house.
“She’s about to take that jammer out,” Alex says beside me, casual like this is normal.
“She is,” I replied.
And then she did. It was a clean hit. Beautiful.
The crowd erupted.
I didn't cheer loudly. That’s not who I am. But it doesn’t stop me from being filled with pride as I watch her.
“She’s good,” Alex adds.
“She’s the best.”
He smirked slightly.
“You’re gone for her.”
I don’t bother denying it. “Completely.”
The whistle blew, and the play reset. Belle glanced toward the stands, just briefly. Her eyes found mine, and she smiled.
The bout ended in a blur of noise and celebration. The Grimm Reapers took the win, and Belle was swept up in teammates' laughter, that loud, unapologetic joy that first drew me into her world.
I waited, because she always finds her way back to me.
“Did you see that hit?” she asked, already halfway into my space.
“I did.”
“Be honest.”
“It was efficient.”
She laughs, shoving lightly at my chest. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m aware.”
She leaned to kiss me quickly. The team whistles behind her. Someone yells something inappropriate.
Alex mutters, “I’m leaving before this gets worse,” and disappears into the crowd.
Belle grins against my mouth.
“Good call.”
I take her hand. “Come.”
“Bossy.”
“Always.”
The drive home is quiet.
Comfortable.
Her hand rests on my thigh, fingers tracing absent patterns like she always does when she’s unwinding.
The house greets us with soft light and stillness.
Geoffrey has long since retired for the evening.
Her father is asleep upstairs, safe, cared for, exactly where he belongs.
This is the life we built together. It was not something I purchased or controlled. It was something we chose every day.
She disappears briefly to shower, and when she returns, her hair is damp, skin flushed from the heat, wearing one of my shirts that falls just low enough to distract me completely.
She catches the look and smirks. “Don’t start.”
“I have not yet begun.”
“Raph—”
I close the distance between us. Slowly this time. Deliberately. My hand finds her waist, pulling her in just enough to feel her breath catch.
“You skated well tonight,” I murmured against her lips.
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“I am aware.”
She laughs softly, but it fades as I kiss her.
Her hands slid up my chest, fingers curling into my shirt as she leaned into me fully.
There is no hesitation. No imbalance. Just us.
“You’re still ridiculous, you know that?” she murmured.
“And you are still here.”
“Yeah,” she said softly. “I am.”
I lift her easily, and she wraps around me like she always does, like she trusts me to hold her.
Because now she does.
“I love you,” she whispers.
“I know.”
I press a kiss to her temple, then her mouth again.
“And I love you.”
A year ago, those words would have felt like a risk.
Now they feel like the simple truth. Like a foundation. Like the only thing that ever really mattered.
And as I carry her upstairs, her laughter is soft against my ear.
I know with absolute certainty that I did not lose her.
I chose her.
And she chose me, right back.