Epilogue
Jefferson
Two months later
I log onto the video session, and within seconds my screen fills with the familiar chaos of my old roommates.
Different cities now, different lives, but the same loud energy.
After we all moved out, the group chat turned live when someone obnoxiously titled it Men of the Manor. We try to meet weekly.
“How’s New York?” I ask Reese and Reid. Same city, different teams.
“Good, although I didn’t expect feeling like a rookie all over again,” Reid says with a grimace.
“Yeah,” I agree. “I know the feeling.”
“But the city is great.”
“Incredible,” Reese adds. “Check out this view.” He lifts his laptop, giving us a glimpse out the window.
It’s mostly the brick wall of the building across the way, but if he tilts the camera just right, you get a sliver of downtown skyline.
“The coaching staff is good, and so far everyone has been pretty receptive. And the facilities?” He whistles. “Unreal.”
“Right?” Axel pipes up from where he’s sprawled shirtless on his bed, tugging at the hoop in his eyebrow. His hair is freshly dyed platinum, like he’s leaning into the villain arc. “I thought we had it good at Wittmore, but the pro’s are on another level.”
Reese smirks. “At least you’re not freezing your ass off yet. Wait until January.”
“Shut up.” Axel flips him off, grinning, but we all know he and Nadia are born and raised in the south and are going to miss the warm weather.
“How about you?” I glance at Reid.
“Not bad,” Reid says, leaning back in his chair.
Behind him, I can see his sketch pads stacked high, a marker tucked behind his ear.
“My team in New York is competitive as hell, but I’m holding my own.
Balancing ice time with design gigs isn’t easy, though.
The athletic department at Wittmore gave me a contract I couldn’t refuse–new logos, merch lines, all of it. ”
“Guy can’t stay away from art if he tried,” Axel teases.
“Also a good excuse to visit Shelby.”
“How is she?” I ask, although Ingrid and the other girls keep up better than we do.
“She’s good. Still at the Den, taking a couple classes. She moved into the Teal House after Twyler and Nadia left. Oh shit,” he adds, running a hand through his ginger hair. “You won’t believe who moved into the Manor.”
“Emerson said they tried but it was already rented,” I say.
“Yep. It’s those guys from Serendee. Coach set them up, I think. There’s some girl with them too.”
“A girl?” Axel perks up immediately. “Living in the Manor?”
The blasphemy.
“Yeah, a sister or something? I’m not sure. She’s got that vibe, you know.”
Everyone nods. ‘That vibe’ means long hair and dresses. The Serendee vibe.
Reid shrugs. “Shelby’s pretty wary of anything religious or culty after the way you guys were raised.” He nods toward Axel’s box. “Honestly, they kind of freak me out too.”
“They’re good players, though,” Reese notes. “But we all know it takes more than talent to be a good teammate and compete at the highest levels. Hope they don’t fuck up our legacy.”
Axel leans forward, camera flashing over his pierced nipple. “What about you, Parks? How’s Florida?”
“Like you give a shit about Florida,” I challenge. “You want to know about Grant Pierce, right?”
“Obviously.” Axel smirks. “I want to know everything. What does he eat, what type of deodorant does he use, the kind of jockstrap he prefers.”
“Stop being a psycho,” Reese tells him, but he’s leaning a little closer too, like he wants all the details himself.
I don’t give them much–just that preseason’s started, I’m putting in hours with the trainers, getting into routine. They don’t need the details; they know how it goes.
“And Ingrid?” Reid asks, clearly prompted by someone just off screen. His girlfriend, no doubt.
“She’s good.” I can’t stop the smile that pulls at my face. “The Vegas residency announcement was huge. Six months on the Strip. Which means for once we’re both in places we actually get to stay awhile. No buses, no hotel hopping. Just…home bases.”
There’s a beat of silence before Axel whistles. “So, Parksy, let me get this straight. You’ve got a pro contract, your pop star girl’s got a Vegas residency, and you’re living in Florida sunshine. You really did win the damn lottery.”
I laugh and look across the room. Ingrid’s curled up on the chair in the corner, notepad balanced on her knee. She’s been writing and the whole process is fascinating to watch. She looks up at me and gives me one of those smiles that bottoms out my stomach. “Feels that way.”
And for the first time, it doesn’t feel like I’m chasing the next thing. It feels like I’ve already found it.
*
Three Months After That
Ingrid
The WAGs section is buzzing, though most of the women sit in their polished coats and perfect makeup, more focused on sipping wine than the game.
It’s a home game, so Twyler is a little out of place in her Cain #15 jersey among the Florida fans, but nothing’s going to stop her from supporting her man.
I'm wearing a custom Reid Wilder-designed hockey jacket. Team colors stitched across the sleeves, Jefferson’s name and number bold across the back.
When he presented me with the sketch, I was amazed and immediately sent it off to be made.
He’d outdone himself with the detailing; it feels like both a fashion statement and a declaration.
My phone buzzes, and I check the screen. A laugh slips out before I can stop it.
“What?” Twyler leans over, ponytail brushing my shoulder.
“It’s Reid.” I tilt the screen so she can see. “He says the second the cameras caught me walking in, the internet exploded asking about the jacket.”
Almost on cue, another buzz. I grin. “Shelby this time. She says thank you for making her boyfriend so happy. Apparently, Reid’s already getting messages about expanding the design. People want one of their own.”
“I bet they do,” Twyler says knowingly. “It doesn’t hurt that Jefferson’s having an amazing rookie season, or that anything Ingrid Flockton touches turns to gold.
“Not sure about that, but I do know that Reese is doing great too.”
“My man doesn’t do less than great.” She smirks, and the smugness is absolutely warranted. Reese is already making headlines for his record-breaking stats.
“How are Ax and Nadia?” I ask. “Any updates?
“Chicago suits them, I think,” she says, eyes tracking the ice. “Nadia seems to really like her job in logistics. Axel isn’t starting yet, but he’s getting some ice time, which is all he needs to prove himself.”
We settle back into our seats just as the puck drops again.
The energy in the arena hits me like a cascade of thundering sticks and skates cutting across ice, the crowd rising and falling with every play.
It’s both different and familiar, fun but stressful, being on the other side of the stage.
Down below, Jefferson throws his weight into a body check against Reese, and Twyler practically launches out of her chair.
“Careful with that shoulder, Parks!” she shouts, hands cupped around her mouth. The other women glance at her, startled, but I laugh. Always the trainer, always looking for an injury before anyone else. “He knows Reese’s weak spots.”
“I don’t think Jefferson would intentionally injure his friend.”
She rolls her eyes, like I’m naive. “He just needs to mind himself or he’s going to have to deal with me.” She flops back down but can’t stop bouncing her knee.
The puck slides loose at center ice, and suddenly the game explodes with speed–Jefferson fighting for control along the boards, Reese swooping in with that lethal quickness of his.
Skates screech, sticks clash, and the roar of the crowd spikes as the two of them battle it out.
Reese breaks away first, driving toward the net, only to have Jefferson barrel in from behind, muscling him off balance just enough to force a wide shot.
The goalie snags it clean, and the arena erupts again.
I find myself more invested–deeply invested. “How do you handle the stress?” I ask Twy after another just missed shot. My heart pounds so hard and fast, I think it may crack my ribs.
“Not well,” she admits, pointing to her hairline. “Do you see that? Gray hair already.”
I laugh because I don’t think I see any gray, but I understand the feeling. I try to distract her and myself by asking her about work with the Wolfpack, the minor league team she’s working with up north. Between plays, she gives me the rundown, but overall ,she seems happy with her new job.
When the buzzer signals intermission, Twyler finally turns her attention back to me. “So, how’s residency in Vegas?”
“It’s going well.” I pause, searching for the right words. “Intense, but in a good way. The venue is great and it’s nice to perform on a smaller scale. Between rehearsals and shows, I’ve finally figured out a rhythm.” I shift a little. “Are you guys still coming out for New Year’s Eve?
“Yes! I can’t wait. I’ve never been.”
“Vegas is loud, chaotic, full of lights and strangers, but—don’t worry—I’ll make sure it’s memorable for us. I’ve got something special planned for after the show.”
“I don’t doubt it.” She tilts her head, like she’s weighing her words. “You going to invite Madison?”
The question makes me pause, then nod. “Yeah. I figured everyone would like to see her.”
“So you two patched things up?”
That’s a loaded question. After some time apart, Madison was the one who came to me and said she wanted to resign. I can admit that I felt panicked. We’d worked together for so long, but she meant what she said. Our friendship was more important.
“Things are definitely better now that we’re just friends and not working together.
She’s actually working with one of the acts that opened for us on the tour, Leslie Morgan.
She’s up and coming, fast, and needs someone with a lot of experience.
I think it’s going to be a great fit.” I lift an eyebrow. “She’s also dating someone.”
Twyler’s huge eyes widen. “Oh, really? Who?”
“The sister of one of my dancers. Cassie. I really like her. She’s grounded, sweet. It works.”
“Good for her.”
The buzzer cuts our conversation short. We rise as the guys skate back onto the ice, helmets low, sticks tapping. The whole place roars when Jefferson takes position, his shoulders broad and sure, his every move radiating confidence.
I press a hand to the embroidered letters across my jacket, warmth rising in my chest. Music, the stage, the adrenaline of touring–it’s still mine. But now I have this too. The chance to watch him chase his dream, to share these ridiculous, joyful moments with new friends.
The best of both worlds.
*
Much to Twyler’s frustration, Florida takes the win, and the whole arena practically rattles with noise. I hug her and Reese goodbye after the game, confirming the plans again for New Year’s Eve. By the time we pile into a convoy of SUVs toward the team’s after-party, the mood is electric.
The club is packed–music thumping, drinks flowing, everyone high off adrenaline.
I’d worried, once, about slipping into Jefferson’s world, about being the girlfriend in a sea of women and men who’ve known me since childhood for my fame and career, but they’ve welcomed me, pulling me in like I’m one of their own.
“Ingrid!” Grant Pierce grins when he sees me. He gestures to one of the guys, Conrad Wilkins, who presses a drink into my hand. His wife pulls me in to show me a picture of their new baby. There’s no hesitation, no guardedness. Just open, rowdy acceptance.
And Jefferson, watching it all, looks like he might explode with pride.
Later, we’re on the dance floor, bodies pressed close, sweat-dampened hair clinging to my temples. It’s just like that night after the Frozen Four victory, the two of us lost in the music, victory glittering in the air around us.
I lean up, my mouth brushing his ear, and whisper, “Brilliant Sunrise.”
He stiffens slightly, pulling back enough to frown at me. “What?”
“The song.” My voice is almost swallowed by the bass. “Was it Brilliant Sunrise?”
For a moment, he just stares down at me, eyes dark and unreadable. Then his mouth quirks, equal parts fond and exasperated. “Angel, are you still on about this?”
“Yes.” I lean closer, refusing to back down. “I deserve to know which one it was.”
He exhales a laugh, low and rough, then shakes his head. “I could tell you, but I don’t want anything tainted between us.”
“It won’t,” I promise, but I kind of get what he means.
“That girl, way back then,” he pushes my hair over my shoulder.
I’m letting the color fade out, slowly going back to my natural blond.
“I won’t say she didn’t mean anything to me.
That’s disrespectful to the moment. But what I remember–other than popping off in about forty seconds flat,” he grimaces, “is that every time I hear your voice, a switch flips. I get hard and horny. Not because of that disastrous first time, but because it was always you, Ingrid. And when I hear the song, any song by you, and hear your incredible voice, all I think about is how much I love you.”
I stare at him, my heart so full it almost hurts. And I know he means every word. I also know he’s completely full of shit and loves nothing more than keeping me in suspense.
“So you’re not going to tell me,” I challenge.
His grin widens, lighting up the whole damn room. “Not a chance.”
I laugh, helpless against it, and let him pull me closer. The music swells around us, bodies pressed tight, the rest of the world blurring and fading until it feels like it’s just us.