Chapter 39
Reese
The buzzer screams, and I scream right along with it, jumping up so fast I nearly drop Rebel. The arena fucking explodes as Ramsey's game-winning shot slides past the goalie like it was fucking destined to be there. My heart's beating so fast I swear it might actually burst through my chest.
"Holy shit!" I yell, bouncing my niece on my hip while she coos. "Did you see that, baby girl? Did you see what Uncle Mini-Me just did?"
Rebel shrieks, pointing her chubby hand toward the ice where Ramsey is being mobbed by his teammates.
The crowd around us is losing their collective minds, bodies pressed together as everyone jumps and screams. Penn's voice booms above everyone else's, his fist pumping the air as he yells something that's definitely not appropriate for his daughter's ears.
But fuck it—this is Ramsey's last college game ever, and he just went out like a goddamn legend.
"That's my fucking MINI-MEEEEEE. It’s fucking Blackwood BABYYYYYYY!" Penn roars, grabbing Jeremiah next to him in a headlock that's half-hug, half-stranglehold.
I can't stop smiling, can't tear my eyes away from Ramsey as his teammates tackle him to the ice. His helmet goes flying off, revealing that wild dark hair I love running my fingers through. Even from here, I can see the fierce grin splitting his face.
"That's your man," Reagan leans over, her lips close to my ear so I can hear her over the noise. "I'm so happy for you, baby sis. This is all I've ever wanted for you."
I turn to look at my sister, surprised to see tears in her eyes. "What?"
She squeezes my arm, smiling so wide her dimples are showing. "To see you this happy. To see you with someone who would literally die for you."
My stomach does a weird flip at her words, thinking about Oli's body being fed into whatever industrial nightmare Weston used to make her disappear. But then I look back at Ramsey—my Ramsey—and all I feel is this overwhelming wave of fucking love.
"I never thought I'd have this," I admit.
Reagan laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "You two are perfect for each other—both a little unhinged in all the best ways. But just for the record I’m still not sorry I threatened him and it took a couple of years for you two to get together."
I roll my eyes but can't help grinning. "Says the woman who stayed married into the Blackwood family willingly."
"And look how well that turned out," she says, glancing at Penn who's now got his shirt off, swinging it around his head like he's at a strip club instead of a hockey game.
"I love him so fucking much," I whisper back, unable to tear my eyes away from him.
On the ice, Ramsey's scanning the crowd, turning in circles until his eyes lock with mine. Even from this distance, I can feel the intensity of his stare, the heat of it washing over me. He points directly at me, then taps his chest right over his heart.
"Oh my god, I'm gonna fucking cry," I mutter, my voice thick with emotion.
A blonde woman in a tight pencil skirt shoves a microphone in his face, her teeth blindingly white as she smiles for the camera.
We can’t hear what they are saying, but no doubt it will be playing on every local station soon.
His mouth moves, answering her questions, but his eyes—those intense blue eyes—stay locked on mine. Not wavering for a single second. The heat in that stare makes my skin prickle with awareness, like he's already touching me.
It's like I'm the only person in this entire fucking arena. His teammates slap his back, ruffle his sweaty hair, but he doesn't even blink.
Coach Kingston steps up, trying to get Ramsey's attention for the team huddle, but Ramsey just nods without looking away from me. I shift Rebel to my other hip, feeling the familiar heat pool between my thighs.
"Here, give me my baby," Reagan says, reaching for Rebel. "You're gonna need both hands free when he gets to you."
I laugh, handing over my niece. "You're not wrong."
The crowd's starting to thin now, people filing toward the exits, but Ramsey stays rooted to his spot on the ice. I start making my way down toward the barrier, Penn's voice booming behind me as he brags to anyone who'll listen about his fucking mini-me.
Even when Copeland says something to him, his eyes never leave mine. Not for a second. It's like he's afraid I'll disappear if he looks away.
He skates toward me, his movements fluid and graceful despite being exhausted from the game. He gestures toward the locker room with his chin, then mouths, "Gotta change."
I nod, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.
Then he mouths three more words. "I love you."
My heart does that stupid flutter thing it always does when he says those words. I mouth back, "Love you too," and he finally breaks into that rare, full smile that transforms his entire face.
"Hurry up," I call out, loud enough for him to hear.
He skates off, and me and the rest of the crazy ass people I call family gather up the kids and head to meet Ramsey outside of the locker room.
Thirty minutes later, we're walking into Charlie's, the campus restaurant that's basically a second home to any SCU athlete.
The place is packed with fans and students celebrating the big win, and a cheer goes up when we walk in.
Ramsey's arm is slung possessively around my shoulders, his body pressed against mine like he can't stand even an inch of space between us.
"IT’S RAMSEY BLACKWOOD SEASON, BABYYYYY!" some drunk guy shouts from across the room, raising his beer.
"Jesus Christ," Ramsey mutters against my ear. "Can we just eat and get out of here?"
I elbow him playfully in the ribs. "Be nice. They're celebrating you, hockey star."
He grunts, pulling me tighter against him as we weave through the crowd toward the big corner booth that Penn somehow already commandeered. The twins are climbing all over Jeremiah, who looks equal parts annoyed and amused as Ransom tries to shove a french fry up his nose.
"Uncle Miah's gonna murder your kids," I tell Reagan as we slide into the booth.
She shrugs, bouncing Rebel on her knee. "They're Penn's DNA. They're basically feral, anyway."
Penn grins, pride written all over his face. "Damn straight. Little menaces, just like their daddy."
Ramsey's hand finds my thigh under the table, his fingers tracing circles through my jeans. The touch is innocent enough, but the heat in his eyes when I look up at him is anything but.
"Behave," I whisper, though my body's already responding, my nipples hardening beneath my Blackwood jersey.
His lips curve into that wicked half-smile that makes my pussy clench. "Never."
The waitress comes over, her eyes widening when she recognizes Ramsey. "Oh my god, you were amazing tonight!" she gushes, completely ignoring the rest of us.
"Thanks," he says flatly, not even looking at her. His eyes stay locked on me, his hand still drawing maddening patterns on my thigh.
We order a ridiculous amount of food—burgers, wings, nachos, the works—and Penn demands a round of beers for the adults.
"To Mini-Me!" he toasts when the drinks arrive. "The greatest fucking hockey player this school has ever seen!"
Everyone clinks glasses, and I'm about to take a sip when the TVs mounted around the restaurant suddenly switch to the local sports channel. The volume gets cranked up, and there's Ramsey on screen, still in his gear, sweat-soaked hair falling into his eyes as he speaks to the blonde reporter.
Someone shouts, and the restaurant goes quiet as everyone turns to watch.
"Ramsey Blackwood, what an incredible final game," the reporter is saying, her smile wide and with far too many teeth.
"So, Ramsey," the reporter continues, practically batting her eyelashes at him, "what's next for you? The NHL's been scouting you all season—we've seen representatives from at least three teams in the stands tonight. Are you planning to go pro?"
The whole restaurant leans forward collectively, everyone holding their breath. I feel a weird tightness in my chest, realizing we haven't actually talked about this in concrete terms. I know he's had offers—serious ones—but he's been weirdly vague about his plans.
On screen, Ramsey runs a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, looking slightly annoyed. "What's next is dinner with my girl and my family," he says bluntly. "Then graduation in a few weeks."
The reporter's perfect smile falters slightly. "And after graduation? The draft is—"
"No," Ramsey cuts her off, his voice firm. "I won't be going pro. At least not right now."
The restaurant erupts in shocked murmurs.
On screen, the reporter looks as surprised as everyone else. "That's…unexpected," she stammers. "May I ask why? You're considered one of the top prospects in—"
"Because my everything has one more year of college left," Ramsey says, his eyes finding the camera, and I swear he's looking right at me through the screen. "And if anyone thinks I'm not utterly obsessed with her, they haven't been paying attention."
My heart stops. I feel everyone's eyes swing to me, but I can't look away from his face on the TV.
"I won't spend a night away from her," he continues, his voice dropping lower, more intense. "Ever."
The restaurant explodes with reactions—some "awws," some wolf whistles, and at least one "that's fucking psychotic, bro!" from the drunk guy at the bar.
I feel my face burning, but there's also this ridiculous flutter in my chest, like my heart's trying to beat its way out through my ribs.
On screen, the reporter's recovered enough to ask, "So you're saying you're prioritizing your relationship over your career?"
Ramsey's eyes narrow slightly. "I'm saying I'm prioritizing what matters, and that’s her. It’s only ever her. And my nephews and nieces."
Back in the restaurant, I turn to the real Ramsey beside me, my heart hammering against my ribs. "You didn't tell me—"
He cuts me off with a kiss so fierce it steals my breath, his hand sliding up to cup my face. When he pulls back, his eyes are burning with an intensity that makes me weak.
Ramsey's jaw tightens as he turns to glare at his cousins who are snickering.
"Don't fucking start with me. I don't see any of you leaving your wives for a night, so I don't wanna hear shit about fuck.
Now can we please fucking eat and hand me my niece?
I'd like to have both my favorite girls who are wearing my number with me. "
My heart practically melts at the way he says it—possessive and proud all at once. The fact that I'm wearing his jersey, that Rebel's tiny Blackwood onesie matches mine—it clearly does something to him.
Penn snorts, reaching over to scoop Rebel up from Reagan's lap. "Wait, don't you be fucking stealing my daughter. She's mine; I made her. She's got my genes and already shows promise to rival her brothers."
"You're disgusting," I laugh, watching as Penn cradles Rebel protectively against his chest.
"Just stating facts," Penn says with a shrug. "This little princess is gonna rule the world someday. Aren't you, little hellfire?" He coos at Rebel, who responds by trying to grab his nose.
"She's wearing my fucking number," Ramsey argues, pointing at the tiny Blackwood jersey Reagan dressed Rebel in. "That means she's mine for the night."
"In your dreams," Penn scoffs. "You can make your own fucking baby to dress in your jersey."
My cheeks burn hot at his words, but we both ignore it.
Reagan catches my expression and smirks knowingly. "Oh my god, you two are ridiculous." She shakes her head. "She can sit with Uncle Mini-Me, but only because he's the big hockey star tonight."
Penn grudgingly passes Rebel across the table, and Ramsey's entire demeanor softens as he settles her on his lap. It's fucking devastating, watching his big hands cradle her tiny body so carefully, seeing the way his face transforms when she reaches up to pat his cheek.
"Look at you," I tease, leaning against his shoulder. "Big bad hockey player turned into absolute mush."
"Only for my girls," he says, kissing the top of Rebel's head before turning to brush his lips against my temple.
The waitress returns with our food, her eyes lingering on Ramsey a bit too long for my liking. I slide my hand up to his neck, my fingers pressing into the skin there like my own brand of ownership.
"Thanks," I say pointedly, "that’ll be all Lexay."
The table erupts in howls of laughter, and I even hear someone hiss, "Ooo kitten has claws."
You damn fucking right I do. I already killed one dumb bitch over this man, and I’d do it again.
Without doubt.
Without remorse.
Because in the end it’s him and I.