Epilogue
Abbott
February, Four months later
The team event was Theo's idea, a combined charity auction and family skate at the practice facility. The building was bright and full of people. Players, families, staff—the controlled chaos of a professional hockey organization pretending to be casual.
I stood near the boards of the practice rink and watched Jamie work the room.
He effortlessly moved between groups, one hand on a donor's shoulder, a laugh with Volkov's girlfriend, a moment with Mikkola where the rookie's whole posture relaxed because Hayes had said the exact right thing.
Jamie caught my eye across the room, his expression warm. He gave me a private smile, meant only for me—visible only to someone who had spent years learning to read Jamie Hayes's face.
He crossed the room and stopped beside me, his shoulder pressed against mine. We stood together, the way we had in a hundred parking lots and locker rooms and hotel rooms—except now it was different.
"Good party," I said.
"It's a good team," Jamie said.
I handed him a drink. Our fingers touched on the glass a half-second longer than necessary.
Across the room, Bishop was near the training area.
Declan was there too, the physical therapist, working on some kind of charity demonstration with the training equipment.
Bishop walked over to ask about something, and Declan's steady hands, the hands of a person who touched athletes for a living, landed on Bishop's shoulder to demonstrate a stretch.
Bishop went still—not the casual stillness of a man waiting for a demonstration, but the rigid stillness of a deer in headlights. His attention scattered. He shifted his weight.
He held his breath.
Near the refreshment table, Coach Reeves was standing with a young man in his mid-twenties—his son, Ryan.
It was his first time at a team event. He was tall, not as tall as his father, but built the same way, with the same sharp eyes.
He had an easy smile that he must've gotten from his mother's side, and a directness that was all Reeves.
Eriksson approached them. He greeted Coach Reeves, then turned to Ryan and introduced himself. The Swedish veteran had been in this league long enough to be comfortable welcoming any newcomers. Ryan said something that made Eriksson laugh.
Theo was teaching a group of donors' kids to do Volkov's celly. Luca stood near the boards with Kieran, the two oldest friends on the team, watching the room with the satisfaction of men who had built something worth protecting.
Nico was at Kieran's side.
Morrison was near the entrance, talking to a staff member, when Callum Callahan walked in.
Theo's brother was in construction management.
He was a solid guy. He'd come for a game—he visited periodically, the brother who showed up when showing up mattered—and Theo had invited him to the event. Theo invited everyone to everything.
Morrison saw him. Callum saw Morrison. There was a moment that passed between them, two people who had no history but who, in the span of three seconds of eye contact, established the possibility of one. Callum looked away first.
Jamie's hand found the small of my back. Low and warm, the touch of a man who had spent his life with his hand on people's shoulders in public and reserved this intimacy for me alone.
"You're watching again," he said.
"I'm always watching."
"See anything interesting?"
I thought about Bishop's scattered attention and Morrison's three seconds of eye contact with a man he'd never met.
"Nothing that's ready yet," I said. "Just seeds."
He leaned into me, his body warm. The room hummed with the sound of a team that had held—not because it was easy, but because they'd decided it was worth it.
I had chosen it too.
Denver and the starter money could have been enough—they made sense on paper.
But I'd chosen the backup net because this team was my family.
I'd chosen the man beside me, whose hand was on my back and whose mug was on my shelf and whose laugh I could identify from any room on the planet.
"Come on," he said. "Let's go be part of it."
THE END
Want more Clay and Jamie?
The season isn't over.
Kieran Walsh texts at 6:52 AM with two words that change everything. You're starting. Nashville is in town. A playoff spot is on the line. And Jamie Hayes is curled up again Clay when the message comes in.