Chapter 35
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
MILES
We stumble through the front door close to two in the morning, still buzzing with the kind of pure, wild adrenaline that only comes from winning the Stanley Cup.
Miranda is still wearing my number sixteen jersey—my name stretched across her back, the hem brushing her thighs—and she looks like every dream I’ve ever had.
Her hair is wild from dancing at the Fire Station, her cheeks flushed, her smile loose and unguarded.
I swear I’ll never get over the sight of her like this.
It’s intoxicating.
We’re both laughing as the door clicks shut behind us, our hands intertwined, the echo of celebration still clinging to our clothes.
As fun as the celebration tonight was, I love being here, in our home together. It’s quickly become my favorite place on earth.
The truth is, this house never felt like home until she moved in.
Tonight, the high of winning is unreal. It’s a rush you can’t bottle, can’t recreate, can’t explain unless you’ve lived it. But even that rush isn’t as powerful as the feeling I get when Miranda looks at me with so much love in her eyes.
We toe off our shoes, and Miranda immediately tugs on my hand. “I have a surprise for you,” she says, her eyes sparkling.
“Oh yeah?” I tease, letting her pull me into the kitchen.
“Yes.” She bounces slightly on her toes, still buzzed from the night. “I, um… I got this earlier today. You know… in anticipation.”
She opens the refrigerator and pulls out a tall, elegant bottle of champagne. The label is vintage, embossed gold, clearly something expensive.
“It’s from the year you were born,” she announces proudly. “Supposedly a very good year.” She winks.
I laugh, heart swelling. “Wow. Nice. I didn’t expect this.”
She retrieves two crystal flutes from the cabinet, and I grab the bottle, twisting the foil. The cork pops with a loud crack, launching straight into the ceiling with a soft thud.
“It almost took out the light,” she says between giggles.
“Would’ve been a good story,” I reply.
I pour the champagne, bubbles fizzing up like fireworks. I hand her a glass and raise mine.
“To us,” I say.
“To us,” she echoes, her voice sweet and certain.
We clink and sip. The crisp and cold champagne cuts straight through whatever lingering alcohol fog we carried home from the Fire Station.
Miranda leads us into the living room, where we settle on the plush rug in front of the couch, our backs resting against the cushions.
“Okay,” she says, turning toward me with eager eyes. “Tell me everything. Every moment. I want the full play-by-play. How you felt, what you saw, what was running through your mind… all of it.”
I chuckle, stretching out my legs. “All right. But it’ll take a while.”
“I have time.”
I start from the beginning, telling her about the warm-up, the locker room energy, and the way Coach paced. She leans into me, hanging onto every word, her smile softening as I describe the moment the buzzer sounded—when everything inside me exploded into pure joy.
“When Max scored that final goal,” I say, shaking my head with awe, “I swear, the sound in that arena could’ve cracked the foundation.”
“I believe it. It was intense,” she whispers.
“My favorite part was looking up to the VIP box to see you,” I say.
She chuckles. “No, it wasn’t. Seeing that you’ve been working your whole life for the moment, winning was probably the highlight.”
“Okay, yes. Winning the Stanley Cup was the pinnacle, but seeing you cheering me on was a close second.”
“I’ll give you that.”
Her head rests against my shoulder, and we fall into a comfortable silence as we sip champagne.
The living room glows from a soft table lamp. Miranda hums softly, then lifts her head. “Can I tell you something?”
“Anything,” I answer instantly.
She looks thoughtful, reflective. “Tonight was… surreal, obviously. It is an experience I’ll hold close to my heart for the rest of my life.
But, besides the game, something else dawned on me.
I felt so whole and happy in that VIP box because I was a part of it.
As much as Anna has included me in every aspect of her career, I never felt like I belonged.
Tonight, though, I felt like I was with my people, my family.
Everyone in that VIP box loves a Crane hockey player, and more than that, they love each other…
and me.” Her fingers trace idle patterns over my thigh.
“I’ve never had that. Being among a group of people and feeling like I truly belonged.
” Her voice cracks slightly, and the ache inside my chest is immediate.
I turn to her fully, taking her hand in mine. “You do belong, and you are loved.”
She swallows hard. “I didn’t know it was possible to have a life like this.
” The emotion in her voice nearly knocks me over.
“I always felt like I was standing outside of things, watching other people build futures and families and happiness. I wanted it, but I also felt like I wasn’t allowed to have it—I didn’t deserve it. ”
“Sunshine,” I whisper, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You are my favorite person in this world. You deserve everything.”
She blinks rapidly, then releases a shaky laugh. “Sometimes, I still can’t believe this is my life. It’s too good, and I have a hard time trusting it.”
I press a kiss to her temple. “Believe it. It’s you and me and this crazy beautiful life forever.”
Our foreheads press together, and for a long moment, we just breathe each other in. The room is quiet, soft, glowing. It feels like the world has shrunk to just the two of us.
Miranda playfully nudges my shoulder. “Okay, continue your story. I want the post-game details.”
I laugh and keep going—telling her about the locker room celebration, the champagne showers, the yelling, the speeches.
As the warm quiet stretches between us, Miranda tracing small circles along the back of my hand, a thought sparks in my mind.
“Oh,” I say suddenly. “Did you ever hear back from the rec center today?”
Her head pops up, eyes widening like she completely forgot she hadn’t told me yet. “Yes! Oh my gosh—yes, I did.”
She sets her champagne down and sits up straighter, bouncing with an excitement that lights up every inch of her face. Her hair spills over her shoulders, cheeks flushed with joy.
“What happened?” I ask, already smiling because I know whatever she’s about to tell me is going to be good.
“I got the job.”
A rush of pride floods me.
Over the past couple of weeks, watching her fall in love with basketball again has been one of the greatest gifts. She joined a women’s rec league and absolutely loves it. She noticed a flyer on the rec bulletin board seeking a girls’ youth basketball coach, so she applied.
“I knew you would. Those girls are so lucky to have you as their coach.”
I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight, laughter spilling out of me from the sheer joy vibrating through her body.
I murmur into her hair, “I’m so damn proud of you. You’re going to change those girls’ lives.”
“I hope so,” she whispers. “Even just a little. Youth sports are so important for helping kids not only have fun and be active but also build confidence, teamwork, and life skills. It’s an equalizer, you know?
No matter the life that each girl comes from, they’re out on the court working toward a common goal.
There’s just something about it that’s really special. ”
“You will make a difference,” I promise. “You have that way about you.”
She laughs, swatting my chest lightly. “You’re biased.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But I’m also right.”
She sighs, dreamy and content. “I start next week.”
“That’s so great.”
She grins. “I really think so.”
I lean in and kiss her, slow and soft, tasting champagne and joy and the beginning of something beautiful.
Seeing her reclaim a lost part of herself, and then use it to lift the next generation? It hits me somewhere deep.
I kiss her slow, deep, unhurried—because tonight isn’t about urgency. It’s about savoring. About loving. About ending this perfect night, the only way it should end—together.
We eventually crawl into bed, limbs tangled, hearts full.
As Miranda drifts to sleep in my arms, her fingers curled into my chest, I’m overcome with adoration for her.
This woman is so damn special.
I think back to that very first spark—the moment I knew she was different, the moment something in me shifted.
If life had only given me one moment with her, one flash of connection, one kiss, one breath where she looked at me with affection…
I would’ve considered myself one of the luckiest men alive.
One moment could have carried me for a lifetime.
But a forever with her?
Yeah.
Forever is much, much better.