Epilogue Two
DECLAN
Winter light filters through the tall lodge windows, pale and soft as it drifts over the rows of chairs and pine boughs lining the aisle. Outside, snow clings to the branches. Inside, everything smells like polished wood, pine, and nerves.
I’m already in my tux, standing off to the side of the ceremony space as people chat quietly. Music hums from a speaker somewhere, but it all blurs at the edges. All I can hear clearly is my own heartbeat.
I’m supposed to be breathing. Relaxed. Calm.
Instead, my gaze keeps drifting to Sophie and the twins.
Our nanny Tessa’s holding Finn, while Sophie’s got Lila on her lap. Between them, it’s a small circus—ribbons, snacks, drool, the works—but they’ve got it handled. Sophie looks up at something Tessa says and grins, all calm confidence. One year of being a big sister, and she’s already got it down.
I rub a hand over the back of my neck.
Soon, Charlotte will walk down this aisle.
Even after all this time, I still can’t believe I get to marry her.
The last year and a half went by in a blur.
One minute Charlotte was moving into the house pregnant with the twins, and the next we were learning how to function on two hours of sleep, passing infants between games and feedings like some kind of deranged relay team.
Travel was harder than I expected, leaving her at home with the twins and kissing them all goodbye. I came back every chance I got: off-days, red-eyes, breaks between road trips. If I could get home, I did.
Charlotte went part-time with the Ice Foxes after the twins were born. Home games only, no travel. It was the perfect balance for her: enough to keep her doing what she loves, not enough to pull her away from the babies too long. And our nanny fills in the gaps.
Sophie adjusted faster than any of us. She went from twelve to thirteen with two babies in the house and somehow found her rhythm—fetching diapers, making them laugh, reading out loud while one of them drooled on her sleeve.
Half the time I catch her humming to them like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And every day, Charlotte’s been steady, thriving. Even when we’re exhausted, even when I’ve been gone too long, even when the twins hit a phase where no one slept and the house turned into a battlefield of teething toys and bottles, she never loses that spark.
We built a life in the middle of the madness, piece by piece.
And in a few minutes, Charlotte will walk through those doors, and I’ll finally get to marry her.
I swallow hard, adjusting my cufflinks even though they’re already straight.
The wedding coordinator moves toward me, steps sure, eyes bright.
“Ready, Declan?”
I stand straighter. My pulse steadies. My hands stop fidgeting.
This is it.
I nod once.
A deep, grounded, absolutely certain yes.
The music changes before I’m ready for it.
One soft chord, then another—slow, warm, the kind that lands straight in your chest and stays there. Conversations taper off. Chairs shift. A hush moves through the lodge like someone dimmed the world.
The coordinator lifts a hand toward me, a quiet signal.
Here we go.
I step into place at the front, spine straight, heartbeat anything but.
The bridal suite door opens.
And there she is.
Every instinct I’ve ever had—from playoff nerves to overtime adrenaline—fires at once. My hands flex uselessly at my sides. My throat tightens so fast it feels like I forgot how to breathe.
Charlotte steps into the doorway on her father’s arm, and for a second, my vision actually blurs.
God. She’s everything.
The dress is beautiful and elegant, and fits her like it was made for her alone. Her hair is half-pinned, curls brushing her shoulders, and shimmering earrings catch the light.
But it’s her expression that hits the hardest.
Her eyes find mine, instantly, like they’re magnetized. And the minute they do, her shoulders soften, her chin lifts, and her smile is slow, sure, impossibly warm.
Sophie lets out a tiny gasp from the front row, hand pressed over her mouth, eyes bright. The room’s gone quiet and distant, every person fading to background.
Until it’s just her.
Charlotte starts down the aisle, her father matching her steps. Her bouquet is winter greens and soft white blooms.
Each step feels like it rewrites everything I thought my life was supposed to look like.
I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, but it doesn’t help.
Because she’s walking to me.
Because this moment—the one I told myself I didn’t deserve, the one I convinced myself I’d never get—is actually happening.
When she reaches the front, her father leans in, murmurs something, and kisses her cheek. She squeezes his hand once before he steps back.
And then she’s standing in front of me.
Close enough that I can see the faint tremble in her hand. Close enough that I can feel her breath mix with mine. Close enough that everything inside me settles, clicks, exhales.
“Hi,” she whispers.
It’s barely sound. Barely breath.
But it hits like a puck straight to the ribs.
“Hi,” I manage, my voice rougher than I expect.
Her fingers brush mine as she hands off her bouquet, and my whole body reacts before my mind does: relief, awe, something deeper than both.
And standing here, I know one thing with absolute certainty:
I’ve never wanted anything the way I want her.
The officiant begins, but I barely hear the first few words.
Charlotte’s standing inches from me, hands clasped in front of her, breathing slow and steady like she’s anchoring herself to this moment. To us. And I’m truly trying to listen to the officiant.
“…joined today in front of family and friends…”
“…a partnership built through trust, patience, and love…”
But it’s useless.
Every time she looks up at me, something in my chest pulls tight and warm, like muscle memory I didn’t know my heart had.
My fingers twitch. Her lips part on a soft, nervous exhale.
Yeah. I’m gone.
The officiant nods gently. “Declan. Your vows.”
Right.
Those.
I take her hands. Her fingers fit against mine the way they always have, like she’s holding me together.
I swallow once. Twice.
Then I speak.
“Charlotte… I didn’t know it was possible to be this sure of anything.”
My voice is low, rough around the edges.
“Before you, everything in my life was about surviving the day in front of me. Being a captain. Being a dad. Keeping everything under control.”
Her eyes shine, and I have to blink hard to stay steady.
“But you changed that. You didn’t ask me to be perfect. You didn’t ask me to be anything other than me. And somehow, that was enough.”
I exhale, slow and uneven. “You taught me what it feels like to trust again. What it feels like to come home to someone.”
Her breath catches.
“You are my teammate in every way that matters. You make the hard days feel manageable. You make the good days feel… unreal. You make our family feel complete.”
Her fingers tighten around mine.
“I promise to show up for you. To choose you. Every damn day. Even on the days when life is loud and exhausting and the twins are melting down and Sophie’s rolling her eyes at both of us.”
A soft ripple of laughter moves through the room.
“And I promise you this—whatever comes next, however big or small—you’ll never face it alone.”
Her eyes shine harder now. Mine probably do too.
I finish quietly.
“I love you, Charlie.”
Her chin trembles.
Then the officiant turns to her.
“Charlotte… your vows.”
She inhales, shaky but brave, wiping a quick tear with her thumb. Then she looks up at me, and it hits with more force than any hit I’ve taken on the ice.
She begins softly.
“Declan… I think I loved you long before I understood what the word meant.”
My breath stops. She squeezes my hands, steadying herself.
“You’ve always carried so much. Your team, your daughter, and still… you made space for me.”
She laughs softly, tears slipping freely now. “You let me see the man underneath all that armor.”
My chest tightens.
“You showed me what partnership really looks like. Not perfection. Not control. But honesty. Patience. Showing up. You love me in a way that feels safe.”
She takes a shaky breath.
“You’ve given me a home I didn’t even know I was searching for.”
Her voice breaks. “And a family I never thought I’d have.”
Sophie sniffles loudly in the front row. That almost undoes me.
Charlotte lifts her chin, eyes locked on mine.
“I promise to stand with you—when life is calm, and when it isn’t. I promise to listen, even when it’s hard. I promise to laugh with you, push you, steady you, and let you steady me.”
Her fingers tremble against mine, one last tear slipping down her cheek.
“And I promise this: whatever the world throws at us, I’ll be your place to land. Your partner. Your safe place.”
She exhales softly.
“I love you, Declan.”
The room is silent.
Then the officiant’s voice warms, gentle and steady.
“By the power vested in me… I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
My pulse spikes—no hesitation, no nerves left—just this tidal wave of certainty crashing through my chest.
“Declan,” the officiant says, “you may kiss your bride.”
Charlotte barely has time to take a breath before I’m gathering her in, one hand at her waist, the other sliding up to cradle the back of her neck. Her fingers curl instantly in my jacket, soft but sure, pulling me closer.
The kiss is everything: slow, reverent, deep enough that the room tilts for a second.
A soft chorus of “awws” ripples through the crowd. Someone cheers. I think it’s Torres. Might be Tyler. Doesn’t matter.
Because she melts against me like she always does.
When I finally pull back, she laughs softly, her breath catching.
She turns toward me, eyes shining. “Hi, husband.”
That lands right in my chest.
“Hi, wife.”
She rises up and kisses me—brief, soft, perfect.
Music swells as Charlotte slides her hand into mine.
We turn to walk back down the aisle and—
Finn squeals.
Lila claps.