Epilogue
MORGAN & AIDAN
MORGAN
Almost Six Months Later
“I’m happy to hold her for a bit,” I tell Marissa, as I watch the Walshes’ youngest daughter squirm in the baby carrier strapped to her mom’s chest.
“She’s always fussy around this time of night,” Marissa says. “I don’t want you to have to deal with that.”
“You deserve a break, and I don’t mind.”
We’re almost into the third period in Game 5 of the Stanley Cup Final.
If we win this one, we'll bring the Cup to Boston and raise another banner in the rafters. Winning tonight, at home, against the same team that bested us last season, would be such a sweet victory. And after Luke’s shutouts in Game 2 and in Game 4, last night, there’s an energy on the bench and in the stands—like we’re all realizing how momentous that is after the way we lost in Game 7 last season.
We’re the same team, but better, this year.
The WAG in me can’t help but think that the biggest difference is Aidan’s return to the ice.
He’s become such a leader on the team, and even asked Coach Wilcott to keep him on the second line so that our first two lines were equally strong—something I don’t think his pride would have allowed for in previous seasons.
“Are you sure?” The look of relief that crosses her face is at odds with her question.
“I’m positive. And your girls are playing with Audrey and Lauren’s kids,” I say, glancing over toward one corner of the suite where all the kids, including Liam’s son Jack, are being entertained by someone’s nanny. “You should sit and enjoy a moment of peace before the third period starts.”
Marissa’s eyes fill with tears as she unstraps the baby carrier.
These past few months have been an emotional roller coaster for the Walshes, who had to deliver their baby girl at thirty-four weeks because the IUD was getting too close to her bladder.
Luckily, both the baby and her mama were fine.
But with four little girls at home now, Marissa is as exhausted as you’d expect.
I take the baby and, holding her to my chest, bounce lightly from side to side.
“You’re a natural,” Audrey says as she and Eva approach us.
“I got a lot of practice when Lauren’s twins were babies,” I tell her, eyeing the cocktail in her hand.
“This is for you,” she says with a laugh as she rubs her free hand over her large belly and sets the drink on the ledge that runs in front of the seats facing the ice.
Audrey and Drew told us they were pregnant again at the New Year’s Eve dinner Aidan planned with his teammates.
The pregnancy put their wedding on hold indefinitely, but Drew was so eager to have another baby with Audrey and get to experience the birth since he missed Graham’s.
It’s been adorable watching his excitement and the way he’s doted on Audrey through the whole process.
“Thanks. How are you feeling?”
“Huge”—she huffs out a laugh—“and uncomfortable.”
“The last month is always the worst,” Marissa says.
“At least we timed this right with Jules and Colt’s wedding,” Audrey says. “I can’t imagine if we’d gotten pregnant a month later and I’d been like this”—her hand slips over the curve of her belly—“for the wedding.”
I know that the idea of being in Jules’s wedding a month after giving birth has been stressful for Audrey. But Jules, being Jules, decided her bridesmaids should wear “whatever black dress you’re most comfortable in.”
“You’re going to be beautiful and radiant,” I say. “Plus, you’re going to have a great rack, so pick a low-cut dress to drive Drew wild.”
“Speaking from experience?” she teases as she glances at my chest. I’m wearing a scoop-neck top under the WAG playoff jacket we’re all sporting this year, and it’s revealing quite a lot of cleavage, which currently has a sleeping baby resting on it.
“God, don’t let Renaud see you holding a baby,” Eva teases. “He’ll probably impregnate you on the spot.”
I just laugh, because she’s not wrong. Aidan’s become a bit obsessed with the idea of me having his child. I know he can’t wait to take that step, but it feels like there are a few other relationship milestones to hit before then. “Let’s let him propose first.”
It’s no secret that it’s going to happen. He’s been talking about it since we first told our friends and family we were together, almost six months ago.
His teammates jokingly refer to me as his wife, and a few weeks ago, when Max introduced us to his new girlfriend—who thankfully looks nothing like Aidan’s mom nor mine—he called me his “future daughter-in-law.”
“I’m sorry,” Lauren’s voice comes from behind me, “but what is this about Morgan getting pregnant?”
I look over my shoulder to see Lauren and Paige standing there with plates of food in hand, and can’t help glancing behind them to check on Liam. He seems very at home in this suite talking to the three oldest Hartmann brothers.
Audrey moves over so Lauren and Paige can join our little circle. We’re missing a few of our friends. Jules decided that since this is possibly Colt’s last game, she wanted to watch the game closer to the ice with AJ and Frank Hartmann, and Zach’s girlfriend, Ashleigh, is also with them.
“I’m not pregnant,” I say. “Eva’s teasing me about Aidan having baby fever.”
Paige laughs. “That man looks at you like you’re a fucking goddess who he wants to have his babies.”
I can’t hold in my smile. And as I look around the suite, full of our family and friends, I’m overcome once again with how lucky I am to be at this place in my life now.
There are so many moments, personally and professionally, where I felt like a failure having to start over from scratch—moving to Park City instead of Austin with my college boyfriend after he broke up with me, moving back to Boston with Lauren after her husband died, starting my own company when Petra no longer needed me to work for her.
But each of those moments, each time I had to start over and reinvent myself, made me stronger and brought me one step closer to Aidan.
Ironically, even if I never speak to her again, I’ll always be grateful that Mom’s brief marriage to Max allowed all of this to happen for me.
Because if Aidan and I had never been two strangers in a bar during a tropical storm, if we hadn’t shared that weekend together before life threw a bunch more obstacles in our way, who knows if we’d be here, together, today.
And here, surrounded by friends who are family, and in love with the man of my dreams, is the only place I ever want to be. Because no matter how tonight ends, no matter how this series ends, we’ll all be okay because we have each other.
AIDAN
“Fuck, yeah!” McCabe yells as he skates toward the bench after Colt stops yet another puck.
We entered the third period up 3-1, and a win tonight will secure what we couldn’t last year—a Stanley Cup victory.
As I hop the boards for our line shift, I focus on nothing but this moment and what I can do to help make a win possible.
Nothing in my entire hockey career has ever felt as inevitable as us winning the Cup feels.
We’ve earned it . . . every hard-fought victory throughout a grueling season ended with us having the best record not only in our division or conference, but in the whole league.
St. Louis making it to the Final this year was a fluke, and it shows.
We’ve dominated the series so far, and their one win was a lucky buzzer shot before we would have headed into overtime.
Us winning tonight and bringing the Cup to Boston feels right.
And if there’s anything I’ve learned over this past season, it’s to lean in to what feels right.
Fighting against that with Morgan almost cost me my own happiness, but I learned my lesson quickly.
Which is why, when I saw how much stronger our team was with me on the second line, I asked Coach to keep it that way.
I move up the outskirts of the ice, knowing that Zach’s got the puck behind me and will be waiting to send it to me as soon as I cross the blue line.
I hear it when he breaks through their lines, and spin as he sends the puck soaring right ahead of the blade of my stick so I can take off on a breakaway.
It’s a textbook-perfect play, one we’ve practiced hundreds of times, and as I fly up the ice, eyes focused on the goal, I tune out the roar of the crowd.
It’s just me and St. Louis’s goalie. I watch him commit to his butterfly position, and I’m able to deke twice before I send the puck over his blocker. The swoosh of the net and sound of the goal horn bring my attention back to the home crowd going wild in the stands.
I skate back to the bench, high-fiving my teammates along the row before I hop the boards.
As I take my seat, I glance at the scoreboard.
Three minutes left, and we’re up 4-1. While it’s not unheard of for a team to come back in the last few minutes, that three-goal lead feels damn near insurmountable.
I can tell it by how tired St. Louis seems, like they’ve already given their all and there’s nothing left in their tanks.
Which is why McCabe’s able to skate circles around them, and his goal has the entire arena erupting and throwing their hats onto the ice.
It’s not his first hat trick this season, but it is his first in the playoffs.
5-1 with less than two minutes left, and as our third line takes the ice for the face-off, I see Colt signal to Wilcott. What the fuck is happening?
We call a timeout, and the six players skate back to the bench.
“What’s wrong?” Coach asks Colt.
“Nothing’s wrong. I want Hartmann to come in.”
“Why?” half the team asks at the same time.
Colt looks at Hartmann. “You deserve to be in the crease for the last game of the series and have it be a win.”