Chapter 18
Peter
The walk to the park was excruciating.
Not because it was far. Not because I was wearing a tuxedo and Italian leather shoes that were currently being ruined by New York City sidewalk grit.
It was excruciating because of the silence.
Bee walked beside me, her eyes fixed straight ahead, holding Kevin’s leash with a grip that turned her knuckles white. She hadn't said a word since I agreed to carry the poop bag.
I glanced at her profile. She looked... harder. The softness I remembered—the girl who blushed at romance novels, the girl who knitted sweaters for defensemen—was shielded behind a wall of titanium.
I had built that wall. Brick by brick. Lie by lie.
We reached Riverside Park. It was darker here, quieter. The Hudson River flowed silently to our left, black and oily under the moonlight.
"He likes the grass near the tree," she said finally, pointing to an ancient oak.
"Got it," I said.
Kevin sniffed the tree. He circled it three times. He looked at me, looked at the tree, and finally decided it was worthy.
I did my duty. I bagged the evidence. It was a humbling experience for a First Round Draft Pick, but honestly? It felt appropriate. I was cleaning up shit. It was a metaphor for my life.
We walked to a bench facing the river.
"Sit," she said.
We sat. There was a foot of space between us. It felt like a canyon.
"Talk," she commanded. "You said you had explanations. I’m listening. But Peter? If you lie to me—even a little bit—I will unleash Kevin on you. And he has surprisingly strong jaws."
Kevin wagged his tail at the mention of his name and drooled on my shoe.
"No lies," I promised. "Never again."
I took a deep breath. The night air smelled of river water and cut grass.
"My dad," I started. "You know he’s an addict. You know he has debt."
"Everyone knows," she said coldly. "It was on TMZ."
"The debt wasn't just to casinos," I said. "It was to... loan sharks. The kind of people who don't send collection notices. They send guys with baseball bats."
She stiffened slightly but didn't look at me.
"He owed two hundred thousand dollars," I continued. "He couldn't pay it. And I wouldn't pay it. I cut him off. Remember?"
"I remember. I was proud of you."
The words stung. Was. Past tense.
"When I cut him off, he got desperate. He... he told them about you."
She turned her head slowly. Her eyes were wide behind her glasses.
"He told them that the GM’s daughter was my girlfriend. He told them you were important to me. He told them you were leverage."
"Oh my god," she whispered.
"They threatened him," I said. "And then they threatened me. They said if I didn't pay the debt immediately, they would come after you. To send a message."
I looked at my hands. They were shaking.
"I didn't have the money, Bee. I was a college student. My trust fund was tied up. I couldn't pay them until the draft bonus came in. That was months away."
"So you broke up with me?" she asked. "To protect me?"
"I had to make you a non-target," I said. "If we were together, you were in danger. If I dumped you... if I made it public, if I made it look like I hated you... they would leave you alone. You were no longer leverage. You were just an ex."
"You could have told me," she said, her voice rising. "We could have gone to the police! We could have gone to my dad!"
"Your dad was part of it," I said.
"What?"
"O’Shea knew about the debt. He paid for my dad’s rehab to keep him quiet.
And he used the debt against me too. He said if I didn't break up with you, he would leak the photos Miller took.
He would ruin my draft stock. And if I didn't get drafted...
I couldn't pay the sharks. And if I couldn't pay the sharks... they would hurt you."
I turned to her, desperate for her to understand.
"It was a trap, Bee. A perfect, inescapable trap. If I stayed with you, I lost my career, and you got hurt. If I left you, I saved my career, I paid the debt, and you stayed safe."
"So you chose the career," she said bitterly.
"I chose you!" I shouted, startling Kevin. "I chose your safety! I chose your life over my happiness! Do you think I wanted to send that text? Do you think I wanted to call you a transaction? I threw up after I sent it. I spent three days staring at the ceiling wishing I was dead."
She stared at me. Her chest was heaving.
"You took away my choice," she whispered. "You decided for me. You treated me like... like a child. Like I couldn't handle the truth."
"I treated you like the most precious thing I had," I said, my voice cracking. "And I couldn't risk it. I couldn't gamble with you, Bee. I’m a goalie. I stop shots. I don't let them through."
Tears were streaming down her face now. She didn't wipe them away.
"And now?" she asked. "The debt?"
"Paid," I said. "The day I got the signing bonus. They’re gone. My dad is sober. The threat is gone."
"And us?"
"Us," I repeated. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the compass again.
"I came here tonight because I’m free," I said. "And because I’m miserable. I have the money. I have the fame. I have the apartment. And I hate every second of it because you aren't there."
I slid off the bench. I knelt on the grass in my tuxedo pants. Right next to Kevin.
"I love you, Belinda O’Shea," I said. "I loved you in the dorm room. I loved you on the roof. I loved you when I was breaking your heart. And I love you now."
I held out the necklace.
"I know I broke it," I said. "I know I shattered the trust. But I’m asking for a chance to fix it. Not a guarantee. Just... a tryout. Let me show you. Let me prove it."
She looked down at me. She looked at the compass.
She didn't take it.
"Stand up, Peter," she said softly.
I stood up. My knees were wet with dew (and possibly dog slobber).
"You think a grand gesture fixes this?" she asked. "You think showing up in a tuxedo and telling me you saved my life makes everything okay?"
"No," I said. "I think it’s a start."
She shook her head. "You hurt me, Peter. You made me feel worthless. You made me question my own value. That doesn't just go away because the bad guys are gone."
"I know," I said. "Tell me what to do. I’ll do anything."
She looked at the river. She took a deep breath.
"You want a tryout?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Okay," she said. "But the rules have changed."
"Name them."
"Rule One," she said, turning to face me. "No more secrets. Ever. If you buy a pack of gum, I want to know about it. If your dad calls, I want to know. If you’re scared, you tell me."
"Done," I said instantly.
"Rule Two," she continued. "No more protecting me. I’m not a damsel. I’m a grown woman with a Master’s degree and a giant dog. We are partners. Equal partners. We make decisions together."
"Agreed. Partners."
"Rule Three," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "You have to win Kevin over. If the dog doesn't like you, you’re out."
I looked down at Kevin. He was currently chewing on his leash.
"I can buy him steak," I offered.
"Bribery is acceptable," she allowed.
"Is that it?" I asked.
"No," she said. "Rule Four."
She stepped closer. She reached out and took the compass from my hand. Her fingers brushed mine. The spark was still there. Hotter than ever.
"Rule Four," she whispered. "You have to kiss me. Right now. And you have to make me believe it wasn't a lie."
I didn't hesitate.
I pulled her into my arms. I buried my hands in her short hair.
I kissed her.
I poured everything into it. The fear. The regret. The loneliness of the last three months. The hope.
I kissed her like she was the air and I was drowning.
She stiffened for a second, then melted. Her arms went around my neck. She kissed me back with a fierceness that matched my own.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a collision. A reclamation.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathless.
She rested her forehead against my chest. I could feel her tears soaking into my shirt.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. I believe you."
I held her tight. I closed my eyes.
"Thank you," I breathed. "Thank you."
Kevin barked. He was bored. He wanted to go home.
"Come on," Bee said, pulling back and wiping her face. "Let’s go home. You look ridiculous in that tux."
"I feel ridiculous," I admitted.
"Good. Humility suits you."
We walked back to her apartment.
It wasn't a loft. It was a brownstone walk-up. The stairs were narrow.
But when she opened the door... it was home.
It smelled like her. Books. Vanilla. Dog.
"It’s small," she apologized.
"It’s perfect," I said.
She unclipped Kevin’s leash. He immediately jumped onto the couch.
"He’s not allowed on the couch," she sighed. "But he doesn't listen."
"He’s a rebel," I said.
I took off my jacket. I loosened my tie.
Bee stood in the middle of the room, watching me. She looked exhausted. But she looked... present.
"So," she said. "You’re a Ranger."
"I am."
"And you have a loft."
"I do. It has a dishwasher."
She smiled. A small, tentative smile.
"I miss dishwashers."
"Move in with me," I blurted out.
She froze. "What?"
"Move in with me," I repeated. "Today. Tonight. Pack a bag. Bring the dog. I hate the loft. It’s empty. It needs you. It needs yarn. It needs... chaos."
"Peter, we just got back together five minutes ago."
"I know," I said. "And I wasted three months without you. I don't want to waste another second. I want to wake up with you. I want to argue about what to watch on TV. I want to see you knit scarves for the Rangers defensemen."
She laughed. "I don't think they’d wear them."
"They would if I told them to."
I walked over to her. I took her hands.
"Please," I said. "Be my roommate. Be my partner. Be my North."
She looked at me. She looked around her tiny apartment. Then she looked at Kevin, who was snoring on the couch.
"It’s a big step," she said.
"We’ve already jumped off a cliff," I said. "This is just landing."
She squeezed my hands.
"Okay," she whispered. "But Kevin gets the good spot on the couch."
"Deal."
I kissed her again. Softly this time. A promise kept.
"I’ll help you pack," I said.
"Now?"
"Now. I have a car waiting."
We packed her bags. It didn't take long. She didn't have much. Just clothes, books, and yarn.
We loaded the car. Kevin took up the entire back seat of the Uber SUV.
We drove downtown.
When we walked into the loft, she stopped.
"Wow," she said, looking at the view of the river. "You weren't kidding. It’s... grey."
"Thorne hired a designer," I apologized. "We can paint it. We can burn the furniture. I don't care."
"We can add color," she said, walking over to the window. "And plants. Lots of plants."
She turned to look at me.
"Welcome home, Peter," she said.
"Welcome home, Bee."
I walked over to her. I wrapped my arms around her waist from behind, looking out at the city lights.
I was still a goalie. I still had to stop the pucks. The pressure would still be there.
But I wasn't alone in the crease anymore.
And for the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of the ice cracking.
Because I knew how to swim. And I wasn't swimming alone.
Three Years Later
The crowd at Madison Square Garden was deafening.
VOL-KOV! VOL-KOV! VOL-KOV!
It was Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals. Rangers vs. Blackhawks.
We won. 2-0. Shutout.
I threw my mask in the air. The team swarmed me. I was buried under a pile of blue jerseys, sweat, and pure, unadulterated joy.
I shook hands. I hugged my teammates. I accepted the Conn Smythe Trophy for MVP.
But I was looking for one thing.
I skated to the glass.
She was there.
Bee.
She was wearing a Rangers jersey—my jersey—that was visibly customized. The sleeves were knitted. Blue and red yarn, cabled pattern. It was ridiculous. It was perfect.
She was holding a baby.
A little boy, six months old, wearing tiny noise-canceling headphones and a onesie that said DADDY SAVES.
Next to her stood my father. Nikolai. He was crying. He was sober. He was holding a sign that said PROUD.
I looked at Bee. She was crying too. She pressed her hand to the glass.
I pressed my glove to the glass on the other side.
I mouthed the words. I love you.
She mouthed them back. I love you.
I lifted the Stanley Cup. It was heavy. It was glorious.
But as I skated a lap around the ice, holding the trophy high, I knew the truth.
This was just silver. This was just metal.
The real prize was waiting for me in the tunnel.
The girl. The baby. The dog (who was definitely waiting at home with a steak).
The North.
I skated off the ice.
I walked down the tunnel.
Bee was waiting. She handed the baby to my dad and ran to me.
I caught her. I lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around my waist, kissing me despite the sweat and the beard and the exhaustion.
"You did it," she sobbed. "You did it, Pyotr."
"We did it," I corrected.
I set her down. I kissed her forehead.
"Let’s go home," I said.
"Home," she agreed.
We walked out of the arena, hand in hand.
The ice was behind us.
The future was ahead.
And it was wide open.