Epilogue - Ryan
The hum of the arena is a different kind of noise than the one I used to live with.
It isn’t the sharp, dissonant whine of a generator or the sudden, violent roar of incoming fire.
It’s a rhythmic, thrumming anticipation, the sound of skates cutting fresh lines into the ice, the scrape of steel, and the sharp, encouraging whistles of the coaches calling out drills.
I stand by the glass, watching the Pee-Wee warm-ups. Down on the ice, Cory is stumbling slightly under the weight of his gear, his helmet sitting a little too low on his brow, but he’s moving. He’s trying. I see the same determination in his posture that I saw in his dad.
I’ve come a long way. The war is still in me, carved into my reflexes, but the panic attacks are rare now, and the hyper-vigilance, the part of me that used to scan every shadow for a threat, is manageable.
Nate has helped a lot with that. He returned from his final deployment, and we fell into an unspoken brotherhood.
We have a language of silence I don’t have to explain to anyone else, and we help each other with the noise. It’s the best kind of therapy.
I feel a hand slide into mine, calloused and familiar. Jackson doesn’t say anything; he just pulls me slightly closer, his presence the final piece of the perimeter I’ve built around my life. Of course, he’s wearing his Tidal Teals hat backward.
“He’s got the stance down,” Jackson murmurs, his voice warm against my ear. “Kid’s got better edge work than most of the rookies on the farm team.”
I smile, the tension in my shoulders loosening. “Brody would be losing his mind right now. He’d be the loudest parent in the stands, for sure.”
“He’d be unbearable,” Jackson agrees, squeezing my hand.
I look at the ring on my finger, the brushed titanium band I’ve worn since the wedding.
I think back to that day. It wasn’t loud.
We didn’t want the cameras or the media.
It was just us, Anna, Cory, Logan, and the team on a private stretch of beach near the house.
I remember standing there, looking at Jackson, no mask, no Joker persona, just the man who loved me enough to wait while I put the pieces back together.
I remember the way the Pacific felt like it was witnessing something permanent.
I’d walked into that ceremony thinking about everything I’d lost, but when I saw Jackson, I realized I was finally looking at everything I’d found.
I hesitated slightly, turning to look at Jackson.
“Seeing Cory out there, wearing your jersey, finding his feet…” I hesitated for a second, the magnitude of what I was about to say making my heart hammer.
“I realize I don’t want to just be the uncle in the stands anymore.
I can’t wait to bring our own kids to those early morning practices.
I want to see our daughter or son digging their blade in.
I want us to be that home crowd for them.
” Jackson stared at me for a long, silent heartbeat, his expression a chaotic mix of shock and something so intensely beautiful it made my throat tight.
Then he moved, his hands framing my face with a desperate, overwhelming heat.
“Are you serious?” he breathed, his voice cracking, his eyes searching mine with a frantic kind of joy.
“Ryan, baby, do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that?
I want it more than the cup, more than anything.
I want a house full of noise and kids who draw ducks and skate like demons.
I want to start a family with you right now, as soon as we possibly can.
I’m all in, Ry, I’ve always been all in.
” He kissed me then, a long, deep press of his lips that tasted of cookies.
The whistle blows, signaling the start of the game. Cory leans forward, digging his blades in, ready for the face-off.
I’m not the soldier who needs to be in the dark anymore. I’m Ryan. I’m a husband. I’m part of a family.
“Go get ‘em, kid,” I whisper.
Jackson rests his chin on my shoulder, his voice a low hum. “He’s ready. We’re all ready.”
I watch Cory chase the puck, the arena light catching the teal jersey he’s wearing. It’s loud, it’s chaotic, and for the first time in my life, I don’t need to look for the exits.