Epilogue
SYDNEY
Christmas Eve at Maisie’s house feels like being wrapped in a warm hug—if that hug smelled like cinnamon, pine, and the distinct aroma of my brother getting tipsy on spiked spicy hot cocoa.
I’m sitting in a room glowing with twinkle lights and love, Brooks’ fingers laced through mine like they’ve always belonged there, surrounded by the people who matter most.
Jonah raises his glass, talking way too loudly when he says, “Everyone! I have a good news bomb to drop.” The room, meaning my parents, Brooks’ parents, Meema, and Zoe, all go quiet, and Jonah grins, looking more like my mischievous brother who put Elmer’s glue in my hand lotion bottle.
“I’ve been traded to the Trout. Starting next season, I’m coming home to Boise. ”
A round of cheers erupts, especially from our parents, who now have both their children only a half hour away. I already knew, but Brooks didn’t, and he’s clearly thrilled, already talking about line combinations and playoff potential with my brother.
Jonah’s gesticulating wildly when he goes into some hockey story that has Zoe hanging on his every word. “And then the ref had the audacity—the audacity—to call interference!” Jonah throws his hands up, nearly spilling his third glass of Maisie’s “special recipe” that’ll put hair on your chest.
“Tragic,” Zoe deadpans, but her eyes sparkle with amusement. She’s wearing a sweater with an embroidered reindeer whose nose, lined up between her cleavage, lights up when you press it. So far, Jonah’s pressed it seven times in the last hour. Not that I’m counting.
“Sports are hard,” my dad adds sagely.
Brooks’ thumb traces small circles on my skin, and I glance up at him, at the laugh lines around his eyes, at the steady warmth in his gaze that still makes my stomach flip.
“Your brother’s going to regret that third spiked cocoa tomorrow,” he murmurs into my hair.
“Bold of you to assume he’ll stop at three,” I whisper back. Then I give Gus a pet, as he’s sitting on the other side of me, miserable in an elf costume. We need to get pictures of him so he can get out of that soon, but I have to say—he looks hilarious.
From the kitchen, Maisie emerges with what appears to be a tray of test tubes filled with liquids in alarming Christmas colors—neon green, ruby red, and something that can only be described as tinsel silver.
“Holiday shooters!” she announces with the enthusiasm of someone who has definitely been sampling her own creations. “This one’s Elf Juice, this is Santa’s Little Helper, and this shiny one is—wait for it—Christmas Spirit!”
Brooks’ mother, Lisa, eyes the concoctions warily. “Maisie, what’s in these, exactly?”
“Oh, nothing that’ll kill you,” Maisie waves. “Probably.”
Brooks’ father, Rob, usually stoic, actually cracks a smile. “I’ll try the green one,” he says, surprising everyone, especially Brooks, whose eyebrows shoot up.
“Dad—” Brooks starts.
“What?” Rob shrugs. “We’re sleeping in one of Mom’s guest rooms.”
And just like that, the intimidating Robert Kingston—the man who once made Brooks practice hockey drills until his hands bled—downs a shot of radioactive-looking liquid and declares it “not bad” with only minimal facial contortion.
The shooters don’t look good, but admittedly, Maisie’s spiked spicy hot cocoa is to die for, and unlike my brother, I’m going to cut myself off because I don’t want to be hungover on Christmas day.
The room erupts in laughter, and I find myself marveling at how much has changed. Not just for me and Brooks, but for all of us. Growth, healing, and finding our way back to each other.
My job at KBSN has become everything I hoped for—challenging, rewarding, mine.
I still get the occasional comment about being “the blond” or questions about my hockey knowledge that wouldn’t be asked of male reporters, but now I just smile and eviscerate them with stats they didn’t even know existed.
Having Brooks and Jonah as inside sources doesn’t hurt, but it’s my preparation, my passion, my voice that’s earned me respect in the booth and among fans.
And Brooks—my rock, my home, my heart—has found his stride again too, playing with a freedom and joy I’ve never seen before. The Trout are in a good position to make the playoffs this year, largely thanks to his leadership on and off the ice.
“Earth to Sydney.” Zoe waves a hand in front of my face. “Your nostalgic internal monologue is showing.”
I blink, realizing I’ve been staring dreamily. “Sorry, just thinking about how much has changed this year.”
“Speaking of change,” Jonah interjects, slinging an arm around Zoe’s shoulders with practiced casualness that fools absolutely no one, “did I mention I bought a place in Back Bay? Four bedrooms, rooftop deck, and—” he pauses dramatically, “—a hot tub that could fit the entire defensive line.”
“Gross,” I say automatically. “I’m never ever using that.”
“Oh, come on,” he says. “I’ll clean it! Sometimes.”
“Hard pass.”
“I’ll use it.” Zoe’s cheeks flush. “For journalistic research purposes, of course.”
“Of course.” Jonah’s grin widens. “I’m very supportive of thorough journalism.”
I make gagging noises, which Brooks silences with a kiss to my temple. “Be nice,” he murmurs. “Your brother deserves someone who clearly wants to bang him.”
“Eww.” I watch as Zoe not-so-subtly leans into Jonah’s side. “But it better be a one-night thing. A drunken holiday boning.”
“Merry Christmas to that.” Brooks laughs, and there’s an intensity in his eyes, a charged anticipation that sends a shiver down my spine.
Before I can question it, Maisie clinks a spoon against her glass, calling for attention. “Everyone! Everyone! Brooks has something he wants to share.”
The room quiets, all eyes turning to us. Brooks straightens beside me, his hand finding mine again, squeezing once—our signal for “I’ve got this.”
“So,” he begins, his voice steady despite the emotion I can feel thrumming through him. “Most of you know that this year has been... a journey.”
Understatement of the century. From fake engagement to real love, from career implosions to rebuilding, from the shadow of Huntington’s to...
“I got my test results back yesterday,” he says, and the air in the room suddenly feels too thin, too still.
I hold my breath, though I already know what he’s going to say.
He told me first, as promised, in our kitchen last week.
But this—sharing it with our families, making it real—feels momentous in a different way.
“I’m negative.” His voice breaking. “No Huntington’s gene. Clean bill of health.”
The collective exhale is audible, a room full of people who love Brooks releasing a year and a half of fear in a single breath.
Maisie bursts into tears first, her hands flying to her mouth.
Lisa is next, reaching for Rob’s hand as tears stream silently down her face.
Jonah whoops, pumping his fist in the air like Brooks just scored a game-winning goal.
“I knew it,” Maisie sobs, clutching her chest. “I knew my boy would be okay.”
And then we’re all moving at once—a convergence of hugs and tears and laughter that feels like being caught in the eye of a joyful storm. Brooks is engulfed, passed from one embrace to another, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
I hang back, watching the scene unfold, my own vision blurry. The magnitude of this moment—what it means for Brooks, for us, for our future—washes over me in waves. No more living in fear. No more what-ifs hanging over every plan. No more silent calculations about care and decline and loss.
Just us, and whatever life we choose to build together.
Brooks eventually extracts himself from the group hug and finds his way back to me, his eyes red-rimmed but radiating a peace I’ve never seen before.
“You okay?” I say.
He cups his hand on my cheek. “Perfect. This means I get to love you,” he says softly, as if we’re alone in the room.
A tear slips from my cheek, and he brushes it away. “It does.” I don’t say more because regardless of what happened to Brooks, I’d love him until my last breath. Needing to lighten the moment, I say, “How does it feel? Being officially future-proof?”
He laughs, the sound free. “Like I can finally breathe.” He takes my hands in his. “It’s changed everything, Syd. The way I play, the way I think about tomorrow... everything.”
“I’ve noticed. Coach Barrymore told me you’re playing the best hockey of your career this week. Said it’s like watching someone who’s found their purpose again.”
“That’s exactly it. I’m not playing scared anymore. Not holding back.” He pauses, his eyes searching mine. “And not just on the ice.”
There’s something in his tone, a promise, that makes my pulse quicken. But before I can decipher it, Zoe leans over and whispers, “Poor Boise,” her eyes twinkling. “Are they ready for both Kingston and Holt on the same team?”
“Definitely not.” I laugh. “The local media’s going to lose their minds. Especially when they find out my brother’s dating my best friend.”
Zoe sputters on her drink. “We’re not—I mean—No, never—”
“Save it.” I smirk. “He’s running the battery down on your cleavage reindeer nose.”
She blushes crimson but doesn’t deny it. “I know, right? But don’t worry, he’s not my type.”
“Mm-hmm. That’s what I said.”
As the party continues around us, Brooks leans down to murmur in my ear. “Can I steal you away? There’s something I want to show you.”
“Now?” I glance around at our families, deep in celebration mode.
“Trust me.”
Curiosity piqued, I let him lead me through the kitchen and out the back door. The cold air hits like a slap, bracing and sharp, but Brooks is prepared. He hands me my coat and scarf, already retrieved from the front closet, and pulls on his own jacket.
“Where are we going?” I say as we crunch through fresh snow, our breath clouding in the frigid air.
“You’ll see,” is all he says, but there’s an undercurrent of nervous excitement in his voice that’s contagious.
We follow a familiar path—the one leading to our cabin, the place where everything changed for us. Maisie’s ridiculous scheme might have brought us together under false pretenses, but what grew between those walls was more real than anything I’d ever known.
Instead of going inside, he leads me past it, up the path that winds to the lookout point—the one he told me about but we didn’t get to see last time we were here.
When we reach the clearing, I understand why he brought me here. The sun is setting, painting the Idaho mountains in breathtaking shades of gold and deep rose. The snow-covered peaks reflect the light, creating a landscape so beautiful it almost doesn’t look real.
“Oh,” I breathe, momentarily forgetting the cold. “It’s incredible.”
“You’re incredible,” Brooks says, turning to face me, his expression suddenly serious. “Sydney Holt, do you have any idea how much you’ve changed my life?”
My heart races, understanding dawning as Brooks takes both my hands in his. “Brooks—”
“When Meema admitted lying to bring us together, I thought she’d finally lost it,” he continues, his voice thick with emotion.
“But it turns out she was right. As always.” He takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You were exactly what I needed, Syd. You saw through my walls, challenged me, made me laugh when I thought I’d forgotten how. ”
“You did the same for me,” I whisper, tears freezing on my cheeks. “You helped me believe in myself again.”
“You stood by me through the darkest time of my life. When I was terrified of my future, of what I might become, you never wavered. You promised we’d face it together, whatever came.”
“And I meant it,” I say fiercely. “I still do.”
“I know,” he nods, his smile. “That’s what makes this so easy.”
And then, as the last rays of sunlight gild the mountains in gold, Brooks Kingston—hockey star, grumpy bear, love of my life—drops to one knee in the snow.
“Sydney.” He reaches into his pocket and pulling out a familiar ring—Maisie’s ring.
The one I returned to him when everything fell apart.
The one that, despite it all, I’d missed seeing on my finger.
“Last time we did this, I wished it was real, but I hated how it happened. This time, I’m asking you in the way I’d imagined since I was young.
” His voice catches. “Because I love you. Because I want to spend every day of my life with you. Because you make me better, braver, happier than I ever thought possible.”
The tears are flowing freely now, but I don’t wipe them away. I want to feel everything about this moment—the cold air, the warmth of his hands, the perfect, terrifying joy expanding in my chest.
“Will you marry me?” Brooks’ voice is steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. “For real this time. Just us, for as long as we both have.”
“Yes,” I say immediately, the word rising from somewhere deep. “A thousand times yes.”
He slides the ring onto my finger—where it belongs, where it’s always belonged—and rises to his feet, gathering me into his arms. Our kiss tastes of tears and promises and a future suddenly wide open before us, unclouded by fear or doubt.
When we finally pull apart, both breathless and laughing through our tears, Brooks rests his forehead against mine. “I love you, Future Mrs. Kingston.”
“I love you too,” I whisper back. “But I’ll be keeping my last name. It’s a brand, sorry. And you’re forgiven for making me freeze my ass off for this proposal.”
He laughs, the sound echoing across the mountains. “I’ll spend the rest of my life warming you up.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” He kisses me again.
And in that moment, I know with absolute certainty that this—this moment, this man, this love…
is winning.