Epilogue #2
We moved together in the silence of the room. It wasn't about friction; it was about connection. Every thrust was a reaffirmation of the vows we had spoken three years ago on a cliffside in Italy.
I promise to be your anchor.
I promise to be your chaos.
I buried my face in her neck, inhaling her scent.
"I love you," I grated out. "God, Angela. I love you."
"I love you too," she breathed, her nails digging into my shoulders. "Elijah... please."
I knew what she wanted.
We had stopped using protection six months ago. We hadn't really talked about it—not explicitly. It was just a natural progression. A silent agreement that we were ready for the next step.
The "Breeding Kink" that had been a fantasy in college was now a reality.
"I’m going to fill you up," I growled, increasing the pace. "I’m going to leave everything inside you."
"Yes," she sobbed. "Do it. Give it to me."
The climax hit me hard. I drove into her, deep and unyielding, and poured myself into her. I held her tight, feeling her own release shudder through her body, feeling the way she clamped down on me, trying to keep me there.
We collapsed together, hearts pounding in unison.
I rolled to the side, pulling the duvet over us. I tucked her head under my chin, my arm draped possessively over her waist.
This was it. This was the victory.
Not the trophies on the mantle. This. The quiet. The warmth. The knowledge that no matter how cold the world got, I would never freeze again.
Angela
I waited until his breathing slowed, until I knew he was drifting into that happy, post-coital haze.
"Elijah?"
"Hmm?" He tightened his arm around me.
"I have a present for you."
He opened one eye. "It’s not my birthday."
"It’s a 'Congratulations on the MVP' present. And a 'Congratulations on being a good husband' present."
"I like presents."
I reached into the drawer of the nightstand. My hand closed around the small, rectangular box I had hidden there this morning.
I pulled it out and handed it to him.
He took it. He sat up slightly, propping himself against the headboard. The sheet fell to his waist. He looked at the box. It was a white gift box with a silver ribbon.
"What is it?" he asked. "Watch? Cufflinks?"
"Just open it."
He untied the ribbon with his large fingers. He lifted the lid.
Inside was a tiny pair of baby shoes. Specifically, tiny, knitted hockey skates. Black and red.
And underneath them, a positive pregnancy test.
Elijah went still.
He stared at the box. He didn't move. He didn't breathe.
"Elijah?" I whispered, suddenly nervous. "Say something."
He slowly picked up one of the tiny skates. He held it in the palm of his hand. It looked microscopic against his scarred skin.
"Is this..." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "Is this real?"
"I took the test this morning," I said, tears pricking my eyes. "Before the show. That’s why I was so emotional during the curtain call. I was looking at you and thinking... you’re going to be a dad."
He looked at me. His blue eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of shock and pure, blinding wonder.
"A dad," he repeated.
"Yeah. A dad. The kind who teaches them to skate. And build snowmen. And who doesn't care about legacies or bank accounts."
He dropped the skate. He reached for me.
He pulled me into his lap, burying his face in my stomach. He kissed my skin, right over my womb.
"A baby," he murmured against me. "Our baby."
I ran my fingers through his hair. "Are you happy?"
He looked up. There were tears in his eyes—actual tears from the Iceman.
"Happy doesn't cover it," he said roughly. "I’m... I’m terrified. And I’m the happiest man alive."
He rested his hand on my stomach, his palm covering the entire space.
"I promise," he whispered to the tiny life inside me. "I promise I will never be like him. I will never let you feel cold. I will never let you feel alone. You are going to be so loved."
I covered his hand with mine.
"We’re going to be okay," I said.
"We’re going to be perfect," he corrected.
He kissed me. It was soft, sweet, and filled with a new kind of promise.
"So," he said, pulling back and wiping his eyes. "If it’s a boy... Jax?"
"Absolutely not," I laughed. "Jax is the godfather. That’s enough damage."
"Fair. If it’s a girl?"
"Giselle?" I suggested.
He smiled. "I like it. But maybe... maybe Hope."
"Hope Vance," I tested it. "It sounds... optimistic."
"Optimism is a good strategy," he said.
He turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. But it wasn't dark, really. The city lights glowed outside, and the warmth between us was enough to light a thousand fires.
He pulled me down into the pillows, curling his body around mine, his hand still resting protectively on my stomach.
"Go to sleep, Mama," he whispered.
"Goodnight, Papa," I whispered back.
I closed my eyes.
Seven years ago, I walked into a penthouse with a debt and a fear of the cold.
Tonight, I fell asleep in the arms of the man who burned the world down to keep me warm.
The contract was fulfilled. The debt was paid.
And the love?
The love was infinite.