Epilogue
DANNY
ONE YEAR LATER
The banquet hall is packed with donors, community leaders, and local media, all here to celebrate Play It Forward’s expansion into a full youth sports foundation.
I stand near the back in a suit I bought specifically for this event, watching Noah work the room like he was born to do it.
He’s in his element. Shaking hands, telling stories about the kids the foundation serves, explaining the new programs they’re launching.
Director of Strategic Partnerships and Community Engagement—that’s his official title now.
Basically, he connects organizations that want to give back with communities that need support.
It’s perfect for him. It takes all the skills he had as a PR director and uses them for something that actually matters instead of managing damage control for millionaire athletes.
Sam Hartley’s on stage giving a speech about the foundation’s growth, thanking donors, and introducing board members. Noah’s name gets called and he heads up to say a few words.
I watch him take the microphone. A rush of pride fills me. He’s confident and composed, so different from the man who sat across from me at that coffee shop seven months ago, broken and unsure.
We’ve both changed since then.
“Thank you all for being here tonight,” Noah says. “When I first came to Play It Forward, I was looking for a job. What I found was a purpose. This foundation changes lives…not through PR spin or carefully crafted messaging, but through real action. Real support. Real community.”
He talks about the programs. The kids. The impact. He’s so good at this. Always has been.
But now he believes what he’s saying. And people can tell.
When he finishes, the applause is genuine. He steps off stage and immediately gets pulled into conversations with donors who want to write checks.
I hang back and let him work. This is his night. I’m just here to support.
“Masterson.”
I turn. Sam Hartley appears next to me with a champagne flute in his hand.
“Hey, Sam. This is a hell of an event.”
“Thanks. Noah put most of it together. The guy’s a machine when he’s motivated. But you already know that.” He glances at the stage.
“You know how much he loves it. He turned down three job offers to stay.”
Sam’s eyebrows lift. “Really?”
“Yep. Better pay, bigger titles. But he wanted to keep working with your organization. He said this work matters more.”
“Well, we’re really lucky to have him.” Sam takes a sip of his drink. “How’s the season going?”
“Good. Really good. We’re five and oh to start. Best record in the division.”
“So the redemption arc is complete?”
I almost laugh. “Something like that.”
It’s true though. Last season ended in disaster. We missed the playoffs by three games.
But this season’s different. We’re clicking, playing like a team that remembers what winning feels like.
And I’m playing the best hockey of my career.
Turns out being happy off the ice helps on it. Who knew?
“You two doing okay?” Sam asks. “With everything?”
“Yeah. We’re good.”
“Good. Because that coffee shop video could have gone either way.”
The other video. Right.
The day Noah and I reconciled, someone filmed us kissing in the parking lot and posted it online. Within hours, it was everywhere.
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We could have denied it. Could have released another statement. Could have hidden.
Instead, Noah posted a photo of us on Instagram with a simple caption: Yes, we’re together. Yes, we’re happy. And yes, we’re asking for privacy while we figure out our future. Thank you for your understanding.
No spin. No damage control. Just truth.
The response was mixed. Some people were supportive. Some weren’t. The league concluded their investigation and found no evidence of preferential treatment during probation, so they closed the case. Marshall issued a statement supporting us. My dad did too.
And we moved forward.
It wasn’t perfect. There were rough patches. Arguments about how public to be, when to be seen together, how to handle media questions.
But we made it work.
Because this time, we both chose to fight for it.
Noah finishes his conversation and makes his way over to me.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey yourself. Good speech.”
“Thanks. I’m exhausted. Can we leave soon?”
“It’s your event.”
“I know. But I’ve talked to everyone I need to talk to and my face hurts from smiling.”
I laugh. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
We say our goodbyes to Sam, thank the organizers, and slip out a side exit.
In the parking lot, Noah loosens his tie and leans against my truck.
“That went well,” he says.
“It did. You’re good at this.”
“Better than I was at corporate PR.”
“It’s because you actually care about it.”
“Yeah.” He looks at me. “Thanks for coming tonight. I know banquets aren’t your thing.”
“No, but you’re my thing. Besides, I like watching you work a room. You’re kind of hot when you’re being all professional.”
He grins. “Kind of?”
“Very hot. Extremely hot. Dangerously hot.”
“Good to know.” He pulls me close and kisses me.
We don’t hide anymore.
It’s terrifying and liberating at the same time.
The next night, I spot Noah in the stands before puck drop.
He’s sitting with my dad in the family section, and they’re both wearing Raptors gear. He catches my eye and smiles.
One year ago, he couldn’t even look at me during games. He was too careful. Too controlled.
Now he’s here wearing my number.
The anthem plays. The crowd roars. The lights dim for our home opener.
It’s a new season. A fresh start.
The puck drops.
I win the draw and drive hard to the net. I shoot and the puck sails cleanly into the crease.
Seventeen seconds in, and we’re up by one.
The arena explodes.
I look up at the stands and find Noah on his feet, grinning and waving his arms in the air.
This. This is what I fought for.
The game’s fast. Dallas is good, but we’re better. Carter scores in the second period. Jack adds another goal in the third.
With two minutes left, we’re up three to two. Dallas pulls their goalie. I’m on the ice for defensive coverage. I charge through to break up their rush and send the puck to Tate. He chips it ahead.
I’m already moving toward their empty net, racing their defenseman for the loose puck.
I get there first and tap it into the empty net.
The final buzzer roars.
Four to two. Game over.
My teammates mob me on the ice and it feels fucking awesome. Like I’m really back.
After we clear the ice and head back to the locker room, I shower and change. Noah waits for me by the family exit.
“Nice game,” he says.
“Nice? I scored two goals.”
“Don’t let it go to your head, hotshot.”
I take his hand. “Ready?”
“Yeah. Where to?”
“Anywhere. As long as it’s with you.”
We walk to the parking deck, and I think about everything it took to get here.
The suspension. The scandal. The breakup. The fight to get back.
Every mistake. Every risk. Every choice to fight instead of giving up.
It all led here.
To this moment. To us.
And I wouldn’t change a single thing.
THE END