Chapter 30
Logan
Iwake to the rhythmic bouncing of the mattress and a small knee digging into my thigh. Tyler's giggling above me. The bedroom is filled with soft light filtering through the blinds, and when I turn my head, I catch Reese leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching us with a smile.
"Daddy! Wake up! It's pancake day!" Tyler bounces again, nearly landing on my stomach.
I groan dramatically and grab him mid-bounce, pulling him down beside me. "What time is it, T-Rex?" I mumble into his hair.
"Seven thirty-two," Reese says from the doorway. "I couldn't hold him off any more."
"Daddy, you promised pancakes," Tyler reminds us both, wriggling out of my grasp to resume his bouncing. "With chocolate chips AND blueberries."
"Did I?" I sit up, rubbing my eyes. "That doesn't sound like me. I'm more of a cereal guy."
Tyler's face crumples into an exaggerated pout. "You promised!"
"Well, I guess I better make good on my promise then."
After breakfast and a full day of play, I tuck Tyler into his bed—the guest room now transformed with dinosaur posters and a nightlight projecting stars across the ceiling.
"Daddy?" Tyler asks as I pull the covers up to his chin. "Are you scared about your game?"
The question catches me off guard. I sit on the edge of his bed, considering how to answer. "A little bit," I admit finally. "It's a big game. Important."
His eyes widen slightly at my honesty. "But you're the captain. And you're the strongest."
"Everyone gets scared sometimes, buddy." I smooth his hair back from his forehead. "Even captains. Even the strongest guys."
"I get scared of the dark sometimes," he confesses. "And monsters."
"I know. That's why we have the star light." I gesture to the nightlight.
He nods solemnly.
"But you know what helps me when I'm scared before a big game?" I ask.
"What?"
"I think about you and Reese watching me. Cheering for me." I tap the center of his chest gently. "It makes me brave."
His face lights up. "I'll cheer so loud you can hear me from the ice!"
"I know you will, T-Rex." I lean down to kiss his forehead. "Sweet dreams."
When I return to the living room, Reese has cleared the dinner dishes and is curled up on the couch. I sink down beside her and she tucks her head under my chin.
"He's wonderful," she says softly.
"Yeah." I kiss her head. "We're lucky."
"You're a good dad, Logan." Her fingers trace patterns on my forearm.
"Thanks baby. I think I'm kinda getting the hang of it," I say.
I think about the ring hidden in my locker at the arena, waiting for the perfect moment after we win the Cup. One more win, and I'm going to ask her to make this—us, our family—permanent.
The words nearly slip out right here, right now. But I hold them back.
Instead, I just pull her closer and whisper, "I love you," into her hair.
"I love you too," she murmurs back, her voice warm and sure, and for now, that's more than enough.
I wake at 4:17 AM—no alarm needed. My body's been doing this for years on game days. Beside me, Reese sleeps deeply. I slip out of bed carefully and head to the kitchen.
The apartment is quiet, just the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of Chicago filtering up from below. I move through the kitchen silently and set up the coffee. While it brews, I stand at the tall windows, watching the city lights sparkle against the pre-dawn sky.
Game 5. Up 3-1 in the series. One win away from the Stanley Cup.
My sleepy reflection stares back at me in the glass. I press my palm against the cool surface.
This is my city. My team. My chance.
I carry a coffee to the couch and sink in letting the warmth of the mug radiate in my hands.
"You're up early."
Reese's voice is soft in the half-light. She grabs herself a coffee, comes to the couch, and plops herself down against my side.
We sit in silence, my arm around her, her head on my chest. She doesn't ask questions or make small talk. She understands game days, the need for quiet. Her hand rests lightly on my stomach, warm and comforting through my t-shirt.
I’ve never had a day this big in my life. If everything goes to plan, I’ll be a Stanley Cup champion and a fiancé. Wow.
"If we win tonight..." I start, then trail off.
She tilts her head to look up at me. "When you win tonight," she corrects gently.
I press a kiss to her forehead, grateful for the certainty in her voice. We stay like that until the sky begins to lighten at the edges.
The sound of Tyler’s small feet padding down the hallway breaks our quiet bubble. He appears, clutching his stuffed animal, eyes brightening when he sees us.
"Is it game day?" he asks, climbing onto the couch and wedging himself between us.
"It is," I confirm, ruffling his hair. "Big game."
"You’re gonna win the cup tonight, right?"
Reese catches my eye over his head. "Daddy's going to try his best," she says, saving me from having to answer. "But first, breakfast. How about we let Daddy have some quiet time while we make some eggs?"
Tyler nods seriously, understanding in his three-year-old way that game days are different. "I'll be extra quiet, Daddy," he whispers loudly. "So you can think about hockey."
"Thanks, buddy." I kiss the top of his head.
Reese leads him to the kitchen, keeping their voices low as they clatter around with pans and plates. I close my eyes and listen to them.
After breakfast, it’s time to put on my game-day suit—charcoal gray with subtle pinstripes, white shirt, blue tie. Game day routine.
"You look handsome," Reese says, grabbing my lapels. “And your tie is perfect.”
"Game face," Tyler declares, puffing out his cheeks and trying to look serious.
I can't help but smile, bending down to his level. "You take good care of Reese today, okay? And I'll see you both at the rink."
"I'll cheer so loud," he promises, throwing his arms around my neck in a stranglehold hug I never want to end.
When I stand, she walks me to the door, and pats my chest. "I love you," she whispers. "No matter what happens tonight."
I pull her close, breathing her in. "I love you too. See you on the ice."
The drive to the rink is a lovely calm.
The United Center is already humming with energy when I arrive, though the game is still hours away. I nod to security guards and staff as I make my way to the locker room. Equipment managers and trainers move around me, respecting my space, understanding the routine.
I'm arranging my gear in my stall when Sully appears.
"You bring it?" he asks without preamble.
I glance around to make sure no teammates are within earshot. "Yeah," I confirm, gesturing to my locker. "It's in my jacket."
Sully's face breaks into a wide grin. "Never took you for such a romantic, Mac. Proposing after winning the Cup? That's some movie-level shit right there."
"After we win," I caution.
"When we win," he corrects, echoing Reese's earlier words. "Team's ready. You're ready." He claps my shoulder.
I can't argue with that.
Sully pushes it even farther with a sly smile, "Win the Cup, get the girl, live happily ever after. Just like we drew it up."
He leaves me to my preparations, and I fall into the familiar rhythm of pre-game routine – stretching, visualizing, re-taping my stick. By the time we take the ice for warmups, my mind is clear, thinking only about the task ahead.
The stands are nearly full already. Fans are watching us circle and shoot. I scan the WAG box for Reese. She’s in the second row with Tyler perched on her lap and pointing me out to him. He spots me and waves frantically, I take my glove off and wave back.
I skate one more lap, muscles warm, mind sharp. We're ready. I'm ready. Tonight, we win it all. Just like I drew it up.
Five games into the Stanley Cup Finals, and my body feels like it's been in multiple car crashes. Colorado's been relentless—hitting everything that moves. Two home wins, a road loss, then clawing our way to victory in Game 4 in Denver. Now we're one win away from hoisting the Cup tonight.
The game is brutal—both teams desperate, physical, relentless.
When Colorado scores first, the building goes silent, but Benny answers fast. We trade goals through two periods until Jonesy puts us ahead 3-1 heading into the third.
With three minutes left and Colorado pushing, their defenseman winds up from the point. I don't think—just drop to block it. The puck catches me above the shin pad, pain exploding up my leg. On the bench, I can barely breathe, but there's no way I'm missing this finish.
Final minute, they pull their goalie. I read a desperation pass, step into the lane, and suddenly have open ice with Kovy streaking up my side. The pass is automatic. He buries it in the empty net. 4-2.
When the horn sounds, my brain can't process it at first. Twelve years in the NHL. Twenty-five years of hockey. An entire lifetime leading to this moment.
We're Stanley Cup Champions.
I throw my gloves in the air, stick clattering to the ice as I'm engulfed by my teammates. We’re a pile of grown men screaming and crying and hugging. I drop to my knees, helmet torn off, vision blurring with tears but I'm smiling through it. Kovy hauls me up and hugs me.
"We did it!" he shouts, his face wet with tears of his own. "We fucking did it, Mackie!"
Through the chaos, I find the WAG box where everyone is hugging and high-fiving. Reese is holding Tyler on her hip and bouncing with pure joy. And next to them – surprising me – stands Jessica. I’ll be damned. Reese must have arranged it without me knowing.
My team. My son. My past. My future. All here in this incredible moment.
I raise my stick to them, a silent dedication, before Schmitty drags me back into the celebration on the ice. The Cup gleams at center ice, ready for me to lift it. But first, a moment with the boys as they swallow me in bear hugs—the culmination of everything I've worked for.
We did it. Champions. Together.
The Stanley Cup weighs thirty-four and a half pounds, but when Gary Bettman calls my name to hoist it, it feels weightless.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the captain of your Stanley Cup Champion Chicago Blades.
.. Logan McCoy!" I lift it above my head, my dream since I was a little boy coming true.
I lower it to kiss it and thrust it back in the air.
I begin the traditional captain's lap, skating slowly around the perimeter of the ice, Cup held high above my head. I see faces contorted with joy, grown men crying openly and hugging. It feels like all of us will remember this night for the rest of their lives.
When I complete the circuit, I know exactly who gets it next.
Kovy has been in the league sixteen years – four more than me – without ever touching this trophy.
He's sacrificed more, waited longer, suffered greater disappointments.
The look on his face when I place it in his hands is something I'll remember until the day I die—joy with a hint of relief.
"You earned this," I tell him, as he skates away for his own victory lap.
The ice quickly transforms from playing surface to celebration ground as families pour through the Zamboni gate – children in miniature jerseys, wives and girlfriends walking carefully on the ice, player’s parents wiping away tears of pride.
I scan them, searching for the only faces that matter right now.
"DADDY! DADDY! DADDY!"
Tyler's voice somehow cuts through. I turn to see him breaking away from Reese and running toward me. I drop to one knee, catching him as he launches himself into my arms.
"You did it!" he shouts, squeezing my neck with surprising strength. "You won the Cup! You're the best hockey player ever!"
I laugh, "We did it, buddy. The whole team."
"I saw you!" He pulls back, eyes wide with excitement. "I saw you pass to Kovy for the goal! I yelled so loud!"
Reese makes her way to us through the crowd and wraps us in a giant hug. “You did it! I knew it!” She laughs, grabs my face, and kisses me.
"Hey buddy," I say to Tyler, handing him to Sully, who is waiting for this. "Can you stay with Coach Sully for a minute? I need to talk to Reese."
I grab Reese’s hand and stare into her eyes. "Logan, I'm so proud of—"
I’m drenched with sweat. I stink. I’m so happy. This is the best moment of my life. I can’t wait. I drop to one knee on the ice. Her eyes widen, lips parting in surprise.
"Reese." I have to stop, start again. "Reese, I had this whole thing planned – after the game, with the ring, somewhere romantic. But I can't wait."
The crowd around us starts to notice, a circle of space forming as people realize what's happening. I barely register them, seeing only her face.
"You came into my life and watched me fail at trying to be three different men, a father, a captain, a boyfriend, all separately. Your love showed me how to be all those things at once." I squeeze her hands tightly. "You make us a family."
She’s looking down at me, wiping away some tears, her smile radiant.
"I don't have the ring right now – it's in my locker – but I have to ask you this on this ice, in this moment." I take a deep breath. "Reese Thompson, will you marry me? Will you be my wife, Tyler's bonus mom, my partner in everything for the rest of our lives?"
"Yes," she nods.
“Is that a yes?” I ask beaming.
"Yes, Logan. God, yes."
I stand up, lifting her off the ground as our lips meet and the world is just us for a few seconds. When we break apart, we're both crying—her mascara smeared, my face soaked—and neither of us can stop smiling, and Tyler is tugging at our legs.
"Does this mean Reese stays with us forever?" he asks, looking between us with hopeful eyes.
"Forever," Reese tells him.
"Look what I have!" Elena's voice cuts through our moment as she approaches, something small and velvet in her hand. "Found it in your jacket. Figured you might need it."
She passes me the box with a wink, and I open it to reveal the emerald and diamond ring I picked because it reminded me of Reese's eyes. Reese gasps as I slide it onto her finger.
The celebration continues around us – the Cup being passed from player to player, champagne spraying, cameras flashing – but we remain in our sweet moment. Tyler between us, my arms around them both, champions in every way that matters.
"I love you guys," I shout above the noise.
"We love you too, Daddy," Tyler answers while Reese smiles at both of us.
When I imagined the joy of winning the Stanley Cup, it was the best thing I could have dreamt. I had no idea the moment could be even better than that.