Epilogue
BECKETT – FOUR YEARS LATER
“Thanks for joining us in the studio today, Coach Blake,” I say once the camera is rolling.
“Thanks for having me, Mr. Blake.”
The glint in my wife’s eyes is something I will never get tired of. I’ve never been happier than the day she agreed to marry me, except for maybe the day we finally got to say I do.
“We’re still workshopping that name,” I add to the camera.
Finley shakes her head, that teasing look still on her face. “I think it suits you.”
I grin at my wife, hopefully reminding her that this is a big deal for me. My first full segment for a national sports network. Normally, I’m just breaking down the plays from the high-tech setup in our house and chiming in when they need a former player’s perspective.
I clear my throat before asking, “You're about to start your fifth season as head coach with the Denver Yeti. I assume all our viewers watching know that I have a bit of a bias toward the Yeti, but for those of you who don’t, I played with the Yeti during my last season. So, a lot of bias, some may say.”
“If by bias you mean you are twice as hard during your analysis of us, I completely agree,” Finley replies.
She’s eased up a lot when it comes to her professional image in the past few years.
Sure, she still wears her full-black pantsuits with the button-up white shirts at games, still has that little Denver Yeti pin on, and still pulls her hair up in her ponytail so tight that it gives her a headache.
But off the ice, she’s a little less worried about what the internet is saying about her.
The Yeti’s PR department is finally easing back from their rigid stance on never showing she’s a woman, too.
I smile in the way I know makes her wish she could still make me skate sprints. “I just want to make sure that the audience doesn’t think I’m giving you preferential treatment.”
“You would never. Though, let’s not forget the fact that, throughout the course of your career, you played with half the men that you're analyzing. And if we’re going to start claiming favoritism, I don’t think I’ve heard you say one bad thing about Larsen.”
“This interview isn’t supposed to be about me, Finley.”
She shrugs. “I thought you preferred it when everything was about you.”
I level my wife with a glare, looking over her shoulder to see the studio crew laughing behind us.
“Abel.” I call out to my coworker. “Come out here and join us. I think we need a third party.”
Abel walks out on screen, just like we had planned. He sits in the chair next to mine, so we’re both looking across at Finley, who sits completely composed in yet another black pantsuit. Her hair is down, curled lightly, begging me to wrap it around my fist when we get back to our hotel.
“So,” Abel starts, “you two got hitched this off-season, I hear?”
“We sure did,” I agree.
“A small wedding up in the Colorado mountains,” Finley adds.
“Small? You didn’t invite the team?” Abel asks, as if he weren’t there, too. As if he didn’t do shots with Larsen and then proclaim it as the best night of his life.
I look at him in mock horror. “Of course they were there! They’re her team. They’re basically family.”
Finley looks at Abel like they’re co-conspirators. “They’re coworkers… but Beckett talked me into it… eventually.”
Abel nods solemnly. “Clearly a mistake. Can we expect such terrible decision-making from you this season with the Yeti?”
“While Beckett had a say in our wedding, he, fortunately, doesn’t hold any weight when it comes to coaching the Yeti,” Finley answers, and I smile.
It’s one of the many reasons we’re putting together this segment right now.
There’s a not-so-small subset of hockey fans who like to think I’m calling the shots, and Finley is just a puppet.
The people who matter know it’s not true—there’s a reason Denver had her sign a five-year contract.
But we’re putting that rumor to bed now, anyway.
While also capitalizing on the Yeti’s championship win to expand my career into more than just being a studio analyst.
“Okay, okay,” I say. “I think our viewers want to hear what the Yeti have planned for this upcoming season. What changes are you hoping to make off-season to make sure you’re holding the Cup above your heads come June?”
“You know there's nothing I like talking about more than Yeti hockey,” Finley replies before leaning forward slightly and getting into it.
She talks about the off-season work the men are doing, the strategy the team has for the next year, and what she thinks their chances are of winning another championship. She’s perfect and professional, and I’ve never loved her more.
And that night, when we both stumble into our hotel room in New York, I pull her into my arms, giving her a long kiss.
“You did amazing today,” I whisper against her warm lips.
“No fair, taking advantage of my praise kink, Beckett,” she groans, shoving lightly against my chest.
“I thought you said a little praise would get me anywhere.”
She sighs, slipping out of her shoes while still holding on to me. “It will, but it's still not fair.”
I lean down, capturing her lips with mine. When I finally come up for breath, I murmur, “You did so well today, Mrs. Kane.”
She’s not changing her last name, but she’s still mine.
“I think it’s the start of something big for you, Mr. Coach Blake.”
“Even if it’s not, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than sit around and talk hockey with you. Five years later, it’s still my favorite thing to do.”
“You’re still my favorite thing to do,” she flirts, a crooked tilt to her smile.
“Then what are we doing just standing here?” I ask, unbuttoning my pants and pulling off my shirt.
“Now that’s the hustle I like to see.” She follows suit, stripping to just her bra and underwear.
I pull her against me, my hands finding their home on her hips as I kiss her deeply. When she starts to rock against me, I slide one hand lower, running a finger over her center through her underwear.
“You’re so ready for me. I’m going to make you feel so fucking good.”
“It’s always good with you.” The last word comes out as a sigh as I bend down and take her hard nipple into my mouth.
I give it all the attention she deserves, licking and lapping as if my life depends on it. “You’re so beautiful. So amazing. I could do this all day,” I tell her, moving my attention from her breasts to her throat.
“I need you,” she whispers, as close to whining as Finley ever gets. “Right now, Beckett.”
I lift her up, and she pulls my cock free. I’ll never get used to the feeling of her fingers wrapped around me.
“Fuck,” I half grunt, half moan, as I reach between us, sliding her black underwear out of the way as I guide her onto my dick.
When I’m fully inside her, I stop, taking a moment to collect myself. To appreciate the fact that I can make love to my wife anytime I want.
That we got to the point where we could be together.
Her eyebrows pull together. “What?” she asks, and I realize I’ve been staring at her, unseeing, for an uncomfortable amount of time now.
“Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you,” I say, slowly thrusting in and out of her.
She leans down, kissing the sensitive spot just below my ear. “I’m lucky to have you, too, Beckett.”
I walk us both over to the bed and slowly lower her onto her back. She keeps her legs wrapped around me, my cock buried deep inside her.
I place my hands down on either side of her face. “You’re so perfect.”
She wiggles her hips against mine. “I’m so needy. Just make me come, love.”
“Your wish is my command, Queenie.”
With that, I rock into her, my eyes rolling back as her tight channel grips my cock. “You’re amazing.”
My mouth finds her nipple again, pulling it into my mouth as my right hand sneaks between us to find her clit.
She moans when I find it, thrusting her hips against me.
“So fucking perfect,” I murmur in her ear.
I add a finger to her clit, continuing the slow circles, even as her breathing becomes ragged, her thrusts less controlled.
My pleasure builds deep inside me, my core clenching as my body demands its release.
“Come for me, love,” I beg. “Let me feel your pretty pussy clenching around my cock.”
She starts to unravel in my arms, and I talk her through it, barely able to get any words out. “You’re such a good girl. You’re—”
I cut off as I come, my head dropping to rest on her collarbone. “Fuck, you’re perfect. I really am the luckiest man in the world.”
“I love you,” Finley murmurs sleepily.
“I love you, too, baby.”
I cuddle her from behind, tucking her tight against me: the only place I ever want her to be. We lie like that, content to be tangled up in each other. Just when I’m about to fall asleep, Finley’s phone dings once.
“Ugh,” she groans, and I reach over and grab her phone for her from the nightstand. “Who could possibly need me right now?” She flops back down, one hand on her forehead like she’s in need of smelling salts.
Seconds later, Finley sits up, her eyes wide as she stares at her screen. “Holy crap.”
“What?” I ask.
“Look at this text from Charlotte.” She holds her phone up to me.
I shake my head, reading my own text. “I don’t need to. Callan just sent me a message. I’m sure it’s about the same thing.”
She’s responding, her thumbs flying over the keys as she says, “Do you remember when we first found out they were working together? It was such a shit show.”
“I mean, I fell in love with my coach,” I reply, leaning over to give her a kiss on the smooth skin of her bare shoulder. “I don’t know if it gets much worse than that. Though it turned out pretty well for us.”
She lifts one dark eyebrow. “Pretty well?”
“So well,” I say, pulling her on top of me. I run my fingertips down her waist, tracing the contours of her ribs. “Falling in love with my coach turned out so fucking well.”
Not ready to say goodbye to Finley and Beckett? Neither was I.