Epilogue
. . .
Two months later:
“You’re doing this today, Tomcat.” I look at myself in the mirror, my jaw as clean as it’s ever been. The diamond I bought for Ivy has been burning a hole in my pocket for a week now, whether that’s my jeans or my backpack, where it currently rests.
Since it’s the Olympics this year, the NHL is taking a nineteen-day break for most of the month of February, and we have our last game tonight.
I’ve been thanking the hockey gods that it was a home game, because Ivy leaves for Milan in the morning, and I don’t want her to go without an engagement ring.
My pulse bangs against my ribs, but I turn away from the mirror in the locker room and meet the eyes of Dax.
“You’re ready,” he says, holding up the glinting diamond ring. The rest of the starting lineup—Jett, Zane, Jude, and Nate—join him, and together, the five of them look at me.
I swallow hard. “I’m ready,” I say, and I glance toward the doors leading out of the locker room, where the WAGs will be waiting to wish us good luck in this, the last game before a break. Wives and girlfriends.
My girlfriend, who I want to make my fiancée.
I’m going to the Olympics, but not as a hockey player. I’ll follow Ivy later this week, and I’m traveling with Nate, who was rostered on Team USA. He’s an excellent defenseman, and it’s only when he raises his eyebrows that I realize I’m still standing there.
“Let’s go,” he says, and he leads the rest of the starting players to the door. Coach Kessler will be ready to start his pre-game lecture in probably five minutes, and I shake my hands to try to soothe my nerves.
“Come on, Sniper,” Jett says. “This’ll only take a minute, and she’s going to say yes.”
Ivy is going to say yes, and I remind myself of that over and over as I follow everyone outside. Dax holds Charlie in his arms, whispering something to her. She nods, her eyes wide, and my word. Is he just telling her the plan now?
Of course he is.
I glance over to Jett and Hadley, also so-sickeningly-in-love, while Zane leans down and touches his lips to Wren’s. Jude and Nate encircle the group, and Nate hugs his mother and father before they leave.
That just leaves Ivy for me, and I grin as I approach. “Hey, Kitten.”
“You ready for this?” she reaches up and slides her hands up the front of my jersey. I already have the fight strap attached to my pants, but her touch feels like she can burn the cloth right from my body.
“Yes.” I swallow again, sure she doesn’t know how loaded her question is.
She rarely does, and while I’ve confessed a lot of things to Ivy, I’ve never told her how much I love her barbed tongue, the way she throws her wit at me, how I started falling in love with her from the first word she spoke to me.
Your ice?
Such fire, such disbelief, such passion.
Mm, yes, I love the passion Ivy carries in her body.
Dax clears his throat, and I flick a look over to him. “I mean, I’m almost ready.” I extend my hand toward Dax, who passes me the ring while Charlie draws Ivy back to her side.
“What is—?”
I drop to both knees right there in the hallway outside the locker room and hold up a pretty, square-cut diamond. At least I hope Ivy thinks it’s pretty.
“Finn.” She sucks in a breath and covers her mouth. I love the way her dark eyes glint and twinkle and sparkle like stars, and my love for who she is, what she believes in, what she wants, roars through me.
“I know it’s only been a few months,” I say.
“But I believe in love at first sight, and I believe in us, and I promised to share my dreams with you. You’re my biggest, greatest dream, and we can be engaged for as long as you want.
I just want the world to know that I love you.
I want this diamond to be part of your Short Program and your Free Skate in Milan. Will you marry me?”
She stares at me, then glances at the diamond like that will be the determining factor in her answer. This has happened really fast, but when I think of the list of things I want, Ivy is right at the top.
She’s second and third and fourth too.
I still have my starting position with the Bobcats, but I’d give it all up, give my spot to Xavier right now, if it means I can have Ivy.
“Yes,” she says. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” She squeals, a smile blooms on her face, and she bounces on the balls of her feet as I slide the ring onto her finger. My teammates cheer and whoop, applauding with their big hands, as Ivy throws herself into my arms and matches her mouth to mine.
So much love streams through me, especially when she pulls away to say, “I love you, Tomcat.”
“I love you too, Kitten.”
“What’s going on here?” Coach Kessler’s voice cuts through the celebration in the hallway. “Why isn’t my starting lineup in the locker room, ready to go?”
“Let’s go, guys,” Zane says, and I jump to my feet, as I still need to skate up. But now that I don’t have this question and that ring weighing me down, I have a feeling my game is about to get a whole lot more focused.
I skate at full speed toward the Blue Ridge Buffalo who’s dared to challenge me now that the puck has crossed the blue line. I entered the offensive zone only a hair’s breadth behind it, and I am not letting this guy bang me around again.
It’s been two and a half periods of him semi-beating me up, and I’m over it.
We’re up two-to-one, but I want to get us to three and let the next lineup come in for a few minutes.
I haven’t scored yet, and I need to in order to keep my stat of scoring in every game since I took my mini-sabbatical to go to Japan to cheer on Ivy.
The opposing defenseman is bigger than me, but that only means I’m faster. I think of Ivy and how complimentary of my footwork she’s always been. In hockey, we don’t call it “footwork,” but elite skating, or flow.
Sniper flows through my mind, and I remind myself that I still have my position, I’m still a great player, and I’m living my dream.
The crowd’s roar swells in my ears, but I’m locked on the Buffalo defenseman trying to pin me along the boards. I throw a quick shoulder fake and use a tight turn to shake him. My edges bite into the ice, and I slip past him like smoke through a keyhole.
Jude threads me a crisp pass right on the tape. I cradle it, keeping my blade soft so the puck doesn’t bounce away. My eyes flick up—the goalie’s hugging the near post, stick low, blocker ready.
I fake the wrister, slide the puck to my backhand, and wheel toward the crease.
The Buffalo defenseman’s stick swipes empty air as I toe-drag around him, protecting the puck with my body.
My stride never breaks. This is what flow feels like—when everything else falls away and there’s only the game, only the moment, only the perfect confluence of skill and heart.
I cut hard to the goalie’s glove side, drop my weight into a crossover, and load my right leg. He shifts with me, reading shot!
I can hear plenty of people screaming it, but all sound becomes nothing as I sell the move, then slide the puck backhand across my body and rip it forehand, high glove side.
The crowd’s volume lifts as…
The clang of puck kissing iron before it hits mesh sends pure electricity through my veins.
Bar down.
Goal! I scream in my head.
The goal horn sounds, the red light flares, and the barn erupts like a symphony of pure joy. I pump my fist toward the rafters as my goal song blasts through the arena.
Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame, darlin’ you give love, a bad name.
The guitar riff comes in strong as the crowd finishes chanting the lyrics, and my offensive teammates swarm me at the boards, gloves smacking my helmet as the other Bobcats slap their sticks on the ice.
The scoreboard clicks to 3–1, and as the announcers voice reverberates through Bobcat Arena, the fan section going positively feral with their homemade signs that read “Fear the Bobcat!” and “Finn for the Win!”
As the opening stanza of the song ends and goes into the lower bass part, the crowd starts chanting, “You got sni-iped!” with two claps afterward.
You got sni-iped! (clap clap), and I pump my stick in time with their claps to spur them on, then keep going so I don’t get a penalty, even if I’m celebrating with my own team and fans.
I can’t stop grinning as I skate back to our side of the ice, and I run my stick along the glass in front of where Ivy’s sitting with the other WAGs. Our eyes meet, and she’s on her feet, hands beating together, eyes shining with love.
And just like that, I’m not thinking about the Olympics, or the break, or even the stat sheet.
I’m thinking about how I’m skating off this ice a winner—in more ways than one.
Ahh! I hope you’ve enjoyed Finn and Ivy! Please leave a review for them here.
Read the next book in the series, CHECKING ALL HER NOTES, by April K. Murdock. And be sure to check out all of my instalove sports short read romcoms right here!