Epilogue
TUCKER
The locker room echoes with silence.
I lean back against the tile wall after my shower, soaking it all up. I’m the last one here after endless media interviews as the new face of family-focused professional athletes.
The playoff win tonight was brutal—overtime, three fights, and Grentley got absolutely lit up in the third period. I had to step in when one of their forwards went after him, which meant five minutes in the box and a hell of a lot of pent-up aggression that I couldn't fully release on the ice.
My knuckles are bruised. My shoulder aches where I took a hit into the boards. And I've never felt more alive.
Last season, I would've gone out with the guys after a game like this. Hit a bar, let some puck bunny buy me drinks, stumbled home at 3 a.m. smelling like regret and cheap perfume.
Now? I'm standing in an empty locker room at ten-thirty on a Saturday night, waiting.
Because Sloane texted something cryptic during the second intermission about our two-month-old babies going to an after-party with the Stag Family Daycare and Sloane bringing me something special.
I've been half-hard since I read it.
The locker room door creaks open, and my head snaps up.
Sloane slips inside, wearing a long green coat and boots that click against the concrete floor.
Her hair is in braids since that’s easier to care for with the babies, and she's got that look on her face—the one that says she's nervous and excited and trying to play it cool.
"Hey," she says, stopping a few feet away. Her cheeks are flushed. From the cold near the ice or from what she's thinking, I can't tell.
"Hey, yourself." I push off the wall, acutely aware that I'm wearing nothing but a towel. "You know players' significant others aren't technically allowed in here, right?"
"You gonna report me?" She grins. "Or you want to see what I brought you?"
I close the distance between us in two strides. "Just seeing you is amazing."
"Mmm. Impressive." Her eyes drag down my chest, lingering on the droplets of water still clinging to my skin.
My hands find her waist, and I pull her against me, not caring that I'm getting her coat wet. "Where are Shula and Aurora?"
"With your mom and dad." She loops her arms around my neck. "Wearing their tiny noise-canceling headphones and being absolutely spoiled."
I laugh, picturing it. "And they're good? You're good leaving them?"
"Tucker." She cups my face. "I fed them before I left. They're asleep. I got cleared for all physical activity at my appointment today. We have maybe ninety minutes before I turn into a pumpkin and my breasts start leaking."
"Jesus Christ, Sloane." I groan, well beyond half hard now. "You can't just say shit like that."
"Why not?" Her smile turns wicked. "You're the one who kept telling me how much you loved my body while I was pregnant. How you couldn't wait to—"
I kiss her. Hard. Because if she keeps talking, I'm going to lose what little control I have left.
She melts into me, making this small sound in the back of her throat that I've been dreaming about for months. Her hands slide into my wet hair, and she kisses me back like she's starving, like she's been waiting just as long as I have.
"Shower," I manage against her mouth. "Now."
"Bossy."
"Sloane." I frame her face with both hands, forcing myself to slow down. "Are you for real ready for this? Because once we start—"
"I'm sure." Her green eyes are bright with desire and trust. "Dr. Patel said everything healed perfectly. I'm ready, Tucker. I've been ready."
That's all I need.
I strip her coat off, then her sweater, my hands shaking slightly as I work the clasp of her bra. She's different now—fuller, softer in places—and absolutely fucking perfect. I trace the faint stretch marks on her hips with my thumbs.
"I earned these," she whispers.
"I know." I kiss one. Then another. "You're incredible."
She tugs at my towel, and it drops. We're both naked in the middle of the Fury locker room, and I've never felt more exposed or more certain of anything in my life.
I flick the shower back on, and steam billows out from behind the partition. I guide her under the spray, bracing one hand against the tile wall while the hot water cascades over both of us.
"This is insane," she laughs, tilting her head back. "We're going to get caught."
"Building's empty." I run my hands down her sides, relearning every curve. "And even if someone walks in, I don't give a fuck."
"Spoken like a man who's been celibate for months."
"One hundred seventy-nine days." I catch her earlobe between my teeth. "I haven't touched you like this in so long."
She shivers. "I remember. You were so careful with me."
"Because you were carrying our daughters." I slide my hand between her thighs, feeling her heat. "But right now, I just want to be with my girl."
"Then be with me."
I lift her, pressing her back against the tile wall, and she wraps her legs around my waist. The position is familiar but also new—we're both different people than we were last summer. I'm a father now. She's a mother. We're partners, co-parents, lovers.
But in this moment, we're just Tucker and Sloane.
I enter her slowly, giving her time to adjust, and the sound she makes—relief and pleasure and perfect rightness—nearly undoes me.
"Okay?" I manage.
"More than okay." She rocks against me. "Move, Tucker. Please."
So I do. And it's frantic and loving and desperate all at once. Water streams over us, and she's clutching my shoulders, leaving marks I'll see tomorrow in the mirror and wear like badges of honor. I tell her how much I've missed this, missed her, how fucking perfect she feels.
I dip a hand between us, finding the hard pearl of her clit, and she comes apart in my arms, biting down on my shoulder to muffle her cries, and I follow seconds later with her name on my lips.
We stay like that for a long moment—hearts pounding, breathing hard, connected in every way that matters.
"I love you," I say into her wet hair.
"I love you too."
I set her down carefully, and we finish actually showering, trading soap and soft touches. She mentions how excited my dad was to fill his minivan with car seats again–two for our babies, one for Gunnar’s, and a booster for Pete’s daughter.
Sloane wraps a towel around herself. "Have you talked to him about … everything? He hasn't been to Sunday dinners."
"No idea. He won't return my calls." I pull on my jeans, frowning. "It's not like him. Pete's always been solid, you know? The responsible one. But lately he's just... gone."
"Maybe he's overwhelmed by your big-ass family." She grins. Sloane is coming around to the Stag way of loving.
But Pete’s emotional distance bothers me. He was there for me when I needed his help professionally. He didn't judge, didn't lecture—just showed up. I want to do the same for him, but I can't help someone who won't let me in.
Sloane must read the concern on my face because she crosses to me, fully dressed now, and takes my hand. "He'll reach out when he's ready. That's what you did, remember? You came to me when you were ready to change."
She's right. I finish getting dressed and pull her close one more time.
"Marry me," I say.
She blinks. "What?"
"Marry me, Sloane." I brush her still-damp hair back from her face. "You’re it for me. I want you to be my wife. I want Shula and Aurora to have married parents. I want—"
"Tucker." She presses her fingers to my lips. "I'll think about it."
"You'll... think about it?"
"Mmhmm." Her eyes dance with mischief. "Give me a week or two. Let me really consider whether I want to legally bind myself to a man who thinks it’s okay to have shower sex in a locker room."
"Sloane—"
"Also, if we're doing this, you're going to have to ask me properly." She taps my chest. "Ring, bent knee, the works. I deserve a good proposal story to tell our daughters."
I stare at her. Then I start laughing. "You're serious."
"Completely. Also, I'm saying yes." She rises on her toes to kiss me. "Obviously, I'm saying yes. But you're going to have to work for it a little. I have standards now."
"You're killing me."
"I know." She grabs her coat. "Come on. We have thirty minutes left before my boobs explode."
We leave the locker room together, and I'm already planning the perfect proposal in my head. Something with the twins. Something that shows Sloane exactly how much she means to me.
As we walk through the empty arena corridors, her hand in mine, I think about how completely my life has transformed. Last summer, I was a reckless kid playing hockey and fucking around. Now I'm a father, a partner, a man with actual plans for the future.
And I wouldn't change a single thing.
Thank you so much for reading Tucker and Sloane’s story!