Epilogue （One）
EPILOGUE (ONE)
Aviva
T he arena was packed.
Fans—students, professors, and random townies—sat closely together, cheering for the Kings as they skated across the ice and took on their opponents. They were tied two to two, it was the final period, and as I sat between Tovah and Asher, my eyes were locked on Jack. I wanted this win for him. I wanted it so badly, I’d steal the title for him if it made him happy.
As if Asher heard my thoughts, he snorted. “He’s not going to play better because you’re beaming love rays at him.”
It had taken a lot to get my brother to come to the Frozen Four championship game. Even when I’d told him the truth—or some version of it, he was still hesitant. Coach Jensen’s death—and the truth about what he did coming to light—had helped Asher a bit, but it was his new, better therapist that had pushed him to come to the game .
He was finally getting back on the ice again, thank god. Not yet, not with the Kings. But Jack had convinced him
I looked at my brother: his dark eyes, his big frame, the way his hands clenched as he watched his former teammates move across the ice. There was longing and pain on his face.
“You know,” I said, “There’s no reason to be embarrassed. The team knows what happened, and they support you.”
They did. The videos had been found, and even though no one had seen them, their existence was enough to turn the remaining players over to Asher’s side. Judah, for his part, had joked “I guess Gen Xers and Boomers still don’t understand how technology works.”
Jack hadn’t laughed. He’d squeezed my hand instead, and I’d squeezed his back. I knew losing the coach—and the pretend version of him he showed the world—was hard on him. A lot of things were hard on Jack now. He had nightmares sometimes, waking up and gripping me tightly.
I couldn’t find you, he’d say. I ran and ran through the fire, and I couldn’t find you. Couldn’t get there fast enough.
And I’d hush him, comfort him, with my body when he needed it, with my voice when he didn’t, until he finally fell back to sleep. I’d expected to have nightmares, but I didn’t. And neither of us dreamed about the coach. I should’ve been worried, how little guilt we both felt over his death, but then, I knew there was something dark and wrong about me—if there wasn’t, I wouldn’t be marrying Jack.
Asher glanced at the huge, shining rock on my hand. “I know your fiance pulled strings to get me back on the team?—”
“He didn’t pull strings,” I argued .
“—But I’m just not ready. I will be, I promise. But I’m not.”
We watched as the opposing team’s goalie froze the puck.
“That’s illegal right?”
“Delay of game,” Asher murmured. “They’re getting desperate.”
An official blew a whistle, calling it.
Jack took advantage of the break to skate over to us where we sat in the stands above the team’s bench.
“Asher,” he called.
“Jack,” Asher said back.
After Jack had apologized for not believing him—and Asher had gotten over his anger—they’d formed something of a friendship. They weren’t close, but they were getting there. Asher refused to speak to Dave, which Dave seemed to accept.
For now.
Jack turned to me.
“Princess, you ready? Because I’m going to win this one for you.”
I grinned at him, happy.
“I know you are.”
“You look good in my jersey.”
“I know I do,” I teased.
Behind me, Marcus coughed. “Get a room, you two.”
Beside him, Micah chuckled. “I’m sure they will. After the game.”
Jack ignored them, but I knew he was glad his brothers were here. I was glad they were finally mending their relationships.
“God, do you have to make jokes like that?” Asher complained. “She’s my sister. It’s disgusting,” he said, turning to me. “You’re disgusting.”
I giggled, punching him in the shoulder.
The horn sounded and the game started back up, and we were busy watching Jack and his team move across the ice like they shared one brain. Jack stole the puck from the other team’s defensemen, passing it to Isaac, who ragged the puck and then passed it back to Jack.
The defensemen must have exchanged a look, because they ganged up on Jack and slammed him against the boards.
I was up on my feet, yelling. But Jack had already shoved both defensemen off him, regaining control of the puck. He deked to the left, and the defense fell for it. Then, as the crowd watched in enraptured silence, Jack executed a snap shot—a combination of a wrist shot and slapshot.
The puck flew straight into the net, past the goalie.
The horn sounded.
I stood there frozen.
They’d won.
The Kings had won the championship.
And Jack had scored the last point that got them there.
Then I was yelling in joy, as the crowd cheered and absolute bedlam ensued. I ran down the steps toward the ice, and Jack was there, lifting me into his arms and skating around with me in circles.
“You did it,” I said, kissing him.
“I did it,” he replied, kissing me back. I expected him to look shellshocked, but instead he looked smug. “We did it, actually. But then I knew we would. How could I not, when I have you?”
“You’re cheesy as fuck,” I told him .
He sobered. “None of this matters, Aviva, without you. You know that, right?”
I kissed him again. “I do.”
“Good,” he said, skating me back to where his team was celebrating. “Let’s go home so I can fuck your pretty little pussy until you beg me to stop. How does that sound, princess?”
It sounded pretty perfect to me.