Epilogue
Bowen
Nine years later…
The hot July sun shimmered over the road and glared off the hood of my SUV as I drove toward the park. I grunted and adjusted my sunglasses.
Beside me, Parker shifted and glanced back at the kids. Her smile was soft and filled with the quiet contentment we’d enjoyed for years, ever since her father’s scandal had died down. Her hand rested lightly on my arm as a small gesture of reassurance—a reminder that we were all right, that everything we had dreamed of was right here with us.
In the back seat, three-year-old Lainey bubbled over with excitement, a nonstop stream of words and giggles that made me smile every time. She was a tiny replica of her mom, full of sunshine and uncontainable energy. Her feet kicked the back of my seat and I gritted my teeth as she chattered about how high she was going to swing. Yet every word, every giggle, reminded me just how lucky we were.
Beside her, seven-year-old Ethan was quieter, though no less excited in his own way. He tossed a foam hockey ball in the air and caught it with assured grace, his stick resting at his feet. His gaze was calm and thoughtful as he patiently listened to his sister. Pride surged in my chest at the little man in the making.
The same faded white sheet Parker and I had used for our first picnic lay folded on the seat between them, stained and worn, a little worse for wear after years of family picnics.
I grinned to myself, the action no longer foreign, a warm satisfaction settling deep in my gut. Things had changed so much since then. Smiles, laughter, conversation—they came easily to me. I remembered how different things had felt on our first picnic, how unsure I was of everything with Parker, and how many secrets she was holding back. But we had nothing left to hide, not from each other, not from anyone.
The lot was nearly overflowing when we arrived, a sea of familiar cars and SUVs already parked. I found one of the last spots and eased into it. I shut off the car, and the faint but unmistakable sound of laughter carried to us on the breeze, along with the chatter of kids and the murmur of conversation.
We piled out of the SUV and unloaded two chairs, two coolers, and the old, worn sheet. The buzz of voices grew louder as we drew closer, and warmth spread through my chest. Just ahead, a large banner flapped in the breeze, stretched between two tall trees, and proclaimed in bold letters: Stanley Cup Champs 10th Anniversary Reunion.
My gaze drifted to my finger, where my championship ring caught the light, its weight both familiar and profound. I let that sense of pride sink in: ten years had passed since that night, yet the thrill, the feeling of accomplishment, still lingered. That ring symbolized more than just a trophy; it was a reminder of the teamwork, the blood and sweat, the sacrifices we’d all made for that moment. And here we were, ten years later, sharing our lives, our families, still bound by that eventful year.
As soon as we reached the safety of the park, Ethan took off like a shot. He darted toward the field where a group of his friends had already started a field hockey game, their shouts floating across the grass.
“Walk!” I called after him and shook my head. How many times had he tripped and fallen?
I continued across the park and inhaled the scents of fresh-cut grass and the smoky aroma of grilling meat. I found a shady spot under an old oak tree, just like our first picnic. As I spread our sheet, a pang of nostalgia hit me in the solar plexus. That first picnic was the beginning of everything important to me.
Parker took Lainey’s hand, her fingers wrapping gently around our daughter’s smaller ones, and together they made their way toward the playground, where the squeals and laughter of kids mixed with the creak of swings.
Brynn pushed her son, Caleb, on the swing, her movements rhythmic. She’d made a name for herself over the years, and her home renovation show became a staple for fans across the country. But here she was a mom, pushing her son on the swing and chatting with Whitney.
Whitney’s latest bestseller had been optioned for a full-length movie. I glimpsed her son, Jonathan, his face set and determined as he scaled the climbing structure with little arms and legs. Whitney’s gaze flicked over to him, her expression softening as she kept one eye on her son while she chatted with Brynn. Sadly, Gramps had passed away two years ago, but he’d lived long enough to see his great-grandson named after him.
At the slide, Matt’s wife, Charlotte, an athletic trainer, guided their kids up the ladder. Nearby, Mia’s soft laughter drifted to me, and I caught sight of her crouched by the playhouse window as she peeked inside. Her two girls and Alec and Mackenzie’s young daughter poked their heads out of the wooden structure, giggling.
I scanned the park like I was on the ice, searching for an opening to shoot the puck. Everyone was there, every teammate who had made that Stanley Cup championship possible. Each family, each friend, each familiar face from that unforgettable season was right there, a reminder of how far we’d come.
The air was thick with the mouthwatering aroma of grilled meat as Beck expertly manned three barbecues, each filled with burgers and hot dogs. Smoke curled up from the sizzling meat. Beck looked every bit the part of a former player and current assistant coach for the Blazers, standing tall, his shoulders broad and confident as he flipped burger after burger. The sweat on his brow glistened under the sun, but he was in his element: focused, precise, but, as always, wearing his easygoing smile.
Beside him, Cade was laughing at something Beck had said, his hands just as busy flipping hot dogs. Cade hadn’t lost his player’s physique, still as fit as ever, though his backwards Detroit cap reminded everyone of the day he’d been traded five years ago. Now and then, Cade caught someone’s eye, pointed to the cap with a grin, and rolled his eyes at the jeers thrown his way. He spread his arms wide. “What can I say? It’s good luck!”
Matt, the current captain of the Blazers, stood by and shot the shit with Alec. Alec had retired at the end of the past season and would start as an assistant coach for the Sparks, the Blazers’ AHL team, during the upcoming season. Alec kept one eye on the field hockey game, occasionally calling encouragement to his son, Liam.
I hefted our coolers and made my way to the tables in the shade of the trees. Hope and Emily were already busy setting out trays of food and organizing platters and bowls with an efficiency born of years of managing chaotic team gatherings like this one. Hope’s daughter, Ariana, stood beside her, carefully balancing a stack of plastic cups, her small face scrunched in concentration. Hope shot her a proud smile as she took the cups, giving her daughter a quick, affectionate ruffle of her dark hair. Hope had built an impressive career for herself, representing some of the biggest names in sports, and yet, watching her there, you’d never know the weight her name carried in the industry.
And then there was Emily, whose career had soared to the position of Vice President of Sales for the Blazers. She opened a pack of paper plates and set them beside the plastic forks. We kept in close touch because Parker and I still volunteered at the cat shelter and brought the kids along with us. They’d learned from an early age to play gently with the cats and kittens, including Missy. At ten, she cuddled into my lap while I watched hockey.
A very pregnant Mackenzie, looking like she’d pop any minute, sat in a camp chair with her feet propped up. She shifted in her seat, and a deep sigh escaped her. She caught my eye and offered a tired smile, one hand waving lazily in greeting.
I set the cooler on the ground next to a bunch of others. “Homemade Greek pasta salad, enough for a hockey team.”
“Ooh!” Hope opened the lid and peered inside. “Looks amazing!”
“Tastes even better.” Parker and I had learned to cook over the years. “Thanks for setting everything up.”
“Our pleasure. We’ll eat soon.”
My stomach rumbled, as if on cue.
Hope laughed and shooed me away. “We’ll call you when we’re ready.”
I wandered over to the sidelines of the field hockey game. Derek’s oldest, Xavier, led the charge and showed off his moves to the younger ones, with his brother, Zander, and Beck’s son, Marc, trying to keep up.
Chase, who’d found his second calling as a color commentator, sat in a camping chair and spoke into his fist like it was a microphone. He jokingly narrated the kids’ chaotic game. His twins, Elijah and Eliza, rolled their eyes at their dad every time he made a dramatic call.
Luc, recently retired and about to start his role as player development coach for the Blazers, gave tips to any kid who would listen. His son, Hunter, showed real promise.
Hudson, assistant GM for the Blazers, was on the field acting as the referee, his daughter Lizzie in the line-up.
Alec’s son Liam, a fierce competitor, rounded out the two sides.
Avery and Derek, the scouting coordinator for the Blazers, cheered their sons. Since I was a pro scout, Derek was my boss. He nudged me with an elbow. “Think any of them will make it to the Blazers?” He grinned and nodded toward the next generation. It was surreal seeing all our kids together, these little pieces of us carrying on the tradition.
“Maybe a few,” I admitted. The kids had good genes, lots of encouragement, and plenty of opportunities in youth hockey. But I hoped they could grow up to be whatever they wanted to be in life. Though adept at sports, Ethan was also studious like his mother, who had just finished her ninth year of teaching.
Savory aromas wafted on the warm afternoon breeze as Beck called everyone over, his voice carrying across the picnic grounds. Kids tore themselves away from the hockey field, running toward the picnic tables with flushed cheeks and wild chatter. I joined the crowd as child-sized feet pounded the grass and parents strolled after them. The group from the playground came over more slowly, little legs holding them back.
Plates in hand, we lined up along the potluck buffet, where Hope and Emily had set out an impressive spread: hamburgers and hot dogs, bowls of various salads, platters of fresh fruit, and an array of fan-fucking-tastic desserts. Including the strawberry pies we’d brought from our favorite diner.
I grabbed two paper plates and loaded them with burgers, hot dogs, salads for me and carrot sticks and fruit for Ethan, and strawberry pie for both of us. I tucked drinks under my arm. Parker did the same for Lainey and her.
The kids sat at the picnic tables, chomping down on burgers and hot dogs with sticky, ketchup-streaked mouths and fingers. Eww. Glad Parker brought wipes. The parents circled around them and sat in folding chairs. They balanced their plates on laps, laughing and catching up in between bites.
Alec carefully assembled a plate for Mackenzie, but she only smiled wanly and placed the plate down on the grass beside her.
“Not hungry?” A line of worry creased his brow.
She just rubbed her stomach and shook her head.
He shrugged. “More for me, then.” He shoved a huge bite of burger in his face.
I leaned back in my chair, the warmth of the sun on my face, and listened to the hum of conversation around me. The sounds of laughter and the quiet murmur of old friends brought a sense of peace. Parker, as if sensing my mood, interrupted her conversation with Emily to reach over and squeeze my hand. She smiled at me, her face glowing in the afternoon light, and for a moment it hit me all over again—just how lucky I was to have her, to be surrounded by the people who’d become more like family than friends.
Beck stood with Ariana perched on his shoulders. “Hey, moth—ers and fathers.”
A chuckle ran through the crowd.
“When we won that championship, we didn’t just win a trophy. We gained a family. And standing here now, looking at all of you, at all of our kids…I know we built something that goes beyond the rink. We built something permanent. We’ve been there for each other over the years, and I can’t wait to see what these little ones grow into.” He lifted Ariana a little higher, getting a giggle from the girl. “Because if they’re anything like us, the future looks pretty da—darn good.”
A cheer went up as he finished, and everyone raised a toast—or, in my case, an empty juice box from Lainey, who had shown up asking for another. We all stood, soaking in the moment of camaraderie, of a shared experience.
As plates emptied and the laughter and conversation died down, the older kids tossed their plates into the trash to pick up a game of soccer. Adults cleaned up the picnic area, Brynn led a few of the younger kids on a nature walk, and parents settled toddlers on blankets for naps. After making sure Parker and a sleepy Lainey had what they needed, I joined the soccer game with a few other parents, mothers and fathers alike.
I was gently passing the ball to Marc when a shout rose from the picnic area. “Alec!”
Alec halted mid-field, his head snapping toward the call.
“Mackenzie’s in labor!” In a lower voice that still somehow carried, Hope said, “And this baby’s coming fast.”
Alec streaked off the field to Mackenzie, who was groaning and clutching her belly. Remembering Parker’s labor, I could imagine the excitement and fear racing through Alec.
Liam’s lower lip wobbled, and tears sprang to his eyes. “Mom!” He ran after his dad, and I followed with long strides. Liam stood outside the gathered circle of adults, trying to see, and whimpered.
“Hey, buddy. Your mom’ll be okay.” I took his hand. “But let’s see if we can get you a little closer so she can tell you that.” I made our excuses and pushed through the crowd.
Mackenzie caught sight of him. “Liam,” she said through gritted teeth. “Come and give Mom a hug.”
He carefully wrapped his arms around her neck and sniffled.
“Auntie Avery is going to take care of you and Sofie while Daddy and I go to the hospital. Your baby brother will be here soon,” she said and then grimaced and bit back a groan.
Avery held little Sofie on her hip while Derek and Alec discussed the logistics of car and booster seats. Alec helped Mackenzie out of her chair and led her away as if she was breakable, leaving a forlorn Liam behind.
Hope kneeled in front of the boy and squeezed his arms. “Should we get out the water balloons now?”
His face lit up, Mom forgotten. “Yeah!”
“On it,” Beck said, and the hot afternoon dissolved into the chaos of a water balloon toss, soaking kids and parents.
Later, as Parker and I packed up the old sheet, she brushed her hand over the stained, worn fabric, soft under her fingers. “Think it’ll survive another ten years?”
“Guess we’ll find out.” I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. We lingered, watching the others saying their goodbyes, sharing promises to get together soon, to keep this bond alive. And as we drove away, Ethan and Lainey sleeping in the back seat, I couldn’t shake the feeling that, no matter what, we’d always come back to this: the team, the family, the legacy.