26. Epilogue
Ryan
Two Years Later…
When I married Emma, I didn’t think there was anything that could top that moment or feeling of happiness. I was wrong.
Ten months after our wedding day, we welcomed our beautiful baby daughter, Lily, into the world. Emma worked so hard in the birth, and though it was hard for me to watch her being in so much pain and not being able to do a darn thing about it, I couldn’t have been prouder of her.
After eighteen hours of labor, we were presented with our gorgeous little girl, and the first thing we noticed about her was the shock of red hair.
“Oh, I’m in trouble,” I said, smiling down at my exhausted wife.
“You can bet your butt you are. One redhead is bad enough. Two?” She grinned. “I’m telling you, you’re done for.”
As it happens, Lily was an angel from the moment we brought her home. She slept through the night, did all the things she was supposed to do at the times she was supposed to do them, and has brought Emma and me more joy and laughter than we could ever have imagined.
Steve and I have more in common than ever, and we talk about our children, sometimes forgetting that John is still fatherless.
“Not for long, dude,” Steve said one night when we were out for drinks. “But only if you make an honest woman of that girl of yours.”
“I will,” John said confidently, giving us both a knowing grin.
Yep, John is now dating, and Emma and I totally take the credit for it. He and Debs got together at our wedding, and honestly, they make the perfect couple. John was always Mr. Positivity, but Debs brings this energy to their relationship that makes John glow whenever he talks about her. He hasn’t popped the question yet, but Steve and I have bets on the date. I guess Christmas; he’s going for New Year.
As for Emma and I, we’ve only gone from strength to strength. Her clinic is as busy as ever, and with her new hydro pool, she’s gotten more clients than she can handle, which is why she had to bring on another physio to share the load. There are still coaches trying to solicit her to come and work for them full time, but Emma continues to fight them off.
The hardest part of our relationship is when the team has to play away from home. Sometimes, I’m away for a few days, but if we go across the country, it can be a week. It tears me apart, being away from my girls, and every time I’m away from them, I FaceTime them so I can virtually kiss them good night.
But it’s getting harder, and I’m not getting any younger, something I mentioned to Emma the other day.
“I’m thinking about going into coaching.”
She nearly spat out her coffee. “What?” She gawked. “But you love the game.”
“I do, but my knees don’t,” I said with a smirk. “You do know the average age of an ice hockey player is between 24 and 27, right?”
Emma shook her head. “I did not know that, but realistically, you’re only just past that age range. I mean, it’s not like you’re ancient or anything.”
“And then there are injuries.”
She lifted her hands. “That’s what these are for.”
I hitched my eyebrows and gave her a look.
“Behave,” she giggled. “Anyway. I think you should take some time to think about it. I don’t want you making a decision you’re going to regret. You’ve been doing this a long time, Ryan. I don’t know how you’d cope without the competition and thrill of the game.”
“Emma, I have thought about it. It’s not just the age and the chances of injury. And sure, I love the thrill of it all. But I miss you and Lily so much when I’m away, it nearly kills me. If I was coaching, I could pick somewhere closer to home, be home every night, and not have to leave you.”
She gazed at me across the table with those beautiful eyes and smiled. “You’re such a softie, really, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “I am. But that’s your fault. If you weren’t so gorgeous, and amazing, and wonderful, I’d be as hard as nails.”
A light laugh left her throat, and as always, my heart jumped.
We’re getting excited now because it’s Lily’s first Christmas. Well, not exactly. She was born in October, so technically, it’s her second, but she was two months old last year, and let’s face it, like most two-month-old babies, she spent most of her time sleeping.
This year, she’ll understand what’s going on. At least a little bit. Her eyes already light up every time she passes the huge Christmas tree in the hallway. We’ve had the same company come in and decorate the mansion for the last ten years. Yes, I know it sounds pretentious, but it’s a huge house, and none of us—Thomas included because he still lives here—has the time for the number of decorations this place needs.
The tree already has a bunch of presents under it, but there’s one present I’m more excited about than any other. Lily’s new ice skates. From the moment she was able to crawl, Lily was drawn to the ice. It’s genetics, I guess. Every time the lake has frozen over enough to skate on, I take her out on it. In fact, there was a time when Emma and I wondered if her first words were not going to be Mommy or Daddy , but ice and skates.
Emma got her own ice skates a week after we were married, courtesy of yours truly. When I gave them to her, I told her she didn’t have to use them, but I had a gut feeling she would. There had been a glow about her on that first occasion I’d taken her out. Sure, one could say it’s because she was freezing, but I beg to differ, and since then, my gut has been proven right.
My darling wife no longer needs me to hold her up. She’s a pretty great skater in her own right. It’s something we do as a family now, and it makes my heart so happy.
“Right, skates on,” I say when we finish breakfast. It’s our regular Saturday morning routine.
“Yay. Skates,” Lily cries from her high chair.
I beam a grin over at her. “Yay. Skates,” I repeat.
When we’ve got Lily out with us, I always go on the ice first. It’s a rule Emma made from the beginning. She’s a confident skater, but I’m the expert, and our daughter is precious to us both.
“I reckon you’re going to be an ice skater, just like your daddy,” I say to Lily when the three of us are on the ice. I say “on the ice,” but for half the time, Emma and I lift her as we glide and let her slide while we hold on to her tightly.
“No way,” Emma counters. “You’re far too clever to be an ice skater, aren’t you Lily?” My beautiful wife grins as she teases me.
“Are you trying to say ice skaters aren’t smart?” I challenge her.
She shrugs and continues with that beaming smile on her face.
“Remind me again, which of us can speak fluent Italian?”
“Oh, will you ever let that go?” Emma huffs dramatically.
I chuckle and gaze over at her. “I can’t do that, darling. It’s one of the things that got you to marry me.”
She smiles then, a light blush on her cheeks, the wind tugging at her hair, and her beauty radiating out of her.
“I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” I sigh.
“Then I must be the luckiest woman,” she replies.
“Skates,” Lily cries.
And Emma and I burst into laughter.