Epilogue
ELLIOT
Six Months Later
“You’re doing a cookie order?” Sam asks as he wanders into the kitchen.
Busted.
I rarely take custom orders anymore. Not since my lawyers and I settled with Shawn out of court last year.
He was ordered to assume responsibility for the remaining debt he’d racked up in my name and to stay at least fifty feet away from Sam and me for the next two years.
According to my legal team, his new father-in-law relocated him out of the province entirely.
I’m not asking questions. I’m just grateful he’s someone else’s problem now.
“I couldn’t say no to this one,” I tell Sam. “It’s a special pup-doption day celebration.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch his hand sneaking toward the cooling rack. I intercept it with lightning speed.
“Hey,” I scold. “Paws off.”
He surveys the spread of dog-themed cookies with exaggerated longing. “But there are so many,” he groans.
“Sorry, pup. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Seriously?”
“Fur real.”
“Mom.”
“I mean it. Stop hounding me.”
“Mom.”
“I know, I know. It’s ruff.”
“Mooom.”
“Okay, fine,” I concede, selecting a perfectly iced, bone-shaped cookie. “But only because you’re so paw-some.”
He rolls his eyes so hard I briefly worry they’ll get stuck that way. They don’t. He takes a massive bite, chews thoughtfully, then slips up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.
“You’re paw-some too.”
“Really?”
“I Shih Tzu not.”
“Sam.” I attempt a stern tone, but the laughter bubbling out of me completely undermines the effort.
“Not a curse word,” he says, stepping back and taking another bite of the cookie. “I’m not contributing to the swear jar.”
The swear jar in question sits in the centre of the kitchen table.
An old, repurposed pickle jar, it’s stuffed with an assortment of bills and coins.
At least 90 percent of it is from Arthur.
Not surprisingly, after spending his entire adult life as a bachelor, adjusting to family-friendly language has been an ongoing process.
Still, that’s been the only real hurdle in the past eighteen months. And considering how much construction we managed to cram into such a short span of time, I’d say that’s a very good sign.
Arthur moved into the other side of the duplex shortly after Boston beat the Otters in the Eastern Conference Final.
After nearly a year of living as next-door neighbours, we bought the house from my landlord.
Arthur offered to purchase it outright, but thanks to my financial freedom from Shawn’s debt, I was able to contribute my share of the down payment.
Some days, I still can’t quite believe the house is mine. Ours.
We took a well-earned post-playoffs break before getting to work turning the duplex into a single home. Over three intense months, two houses became one. During the most disruptive phases, we all moved into Arthur’s condo for a few weeks, living out of suitcases and takeout containers.
Now that the dust has settled—literally—we have our dream home. Larger bedrooms, each with an en suite. A kitchen that’s better in every way imaginable. A two-car garage. We even built an in-home gym.
“Where’s Coach?”
I have to fight a smile at Sam’s question.
When Arthur moved in and officially became part of the family, Sam stopped calling him Mr. Stetson.
He didn’t want to call him Arthur either, so he landed on what Ben and the players call him: Coach.
Arthur has never said anything about it, but I can tell how much he loves it.
“He had to run an errand,” I say, carefully avoiding my son’s eyes.
Sam’s face lights up. “Are we getting our rings back?”
The rings in question are our Stanley Cup rings.
My eyes sting, like they always do when I think about that night.
The deafening roar of the crowd. Stepping onto the ice with the other families, engulfed in pure joy and chaos.
Sam sprinting straight into Arthur’s outstretched arms, Arthur’s grin so wide it looked like it might split his face in two as he hugged my boy.
Then Arthur’s eyes found mine.
Three long strides, and I was in his arms. He held me like we were the only two people in the building. Telling me he loved me over and over. I couldn’t hear the words over the noise, but I felt them in the press of his lips against mine.
“Mom?” Sam asks again. “Is he getting the rings?”
I blink away the moisture and clear my throat. “I’m not sure.” I know that isn’t the errand Arthur is running, but I don’t want Sam asking more questions.
The rings arrived months ago, but both Sam’s and mine were far too big. Arthur had insisted Sam receive one too, telling the owners he’d earned it through his ongoing work with the team. They agreed without hesitation.
Between buying the house and all the renovations, we only managed to drop the rings off to be resized two weeks ago.
Suddenly, Sam straightens. “I just heard his truck.”
He’s already moving for the door, and I follow close behind, not wanting to miss the look on his face when Arthur walks in.
The front door opens and Arthur steps inside—but not alone. The Labradoodle in his arms surveys the room with wide, uncertain eyes. Its hot pink collar stands out against the golden fur. When its gaze lands on a frozen, speechless Sam, its ears perk and its head tips to one side.
“I know there’s been a lot of change for you over the past year and a half,” Arthur says softly as he crouches and sets the dog, at least fifty pounds of curly fur, gently on the floor. “But how would you feel about one more?”
Sam doesn’t answer. He just inhales sharply, a quiet sniffle breaking the silence.
Pressure builds behind my eyes as I watch my son sink to his knees in front of the dog.
The dog hesitates, curious but cautious. It glances up at Arthur, then back at Sam, as if waiting for permission. No one moves. No one speaks.
Slowly, Sam extends a hand.
After one last look at Arthur, her tail gives a tentative thump. Then another. She pads forward, sniffs Sam’s fingers, and gives them a quick lick.
Arthur looks over at me, grinning. “She’s a hand-licker. Just like your mom.”
“Oh, I did that once.” I laugh, swiping at the tears sliding down my cheeks.
I’m not the only one crying. Sam scrubs at his freckled face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, never taking his eyes off her.
“What’s her name?” he asks quietly, like he’s afraid a louder voice might spook her.
“Goldie,” Arthur says. “But we can change it if you—”
“Goldie’s perfect,” Sam interrupts, scratching gently behind her ear.
As if she understands, Goldie leans into his touch, her tail thumping happily against the hardwood floor.
“I thought you were going to get a puppy,” I whisper without a trace of disappointment in my voice.
“That was the plan,” Arthur admits, his gaze fixed on Sam and Goldie curled together on the floor.
“But then I saw her profile online. The woman at the shelter told me her owner gave her up because his new girlfriend was allergic.” He exhales slowly.
“I just thought…” He swallows. “You and Sam gave me a second chance at a family. It felt right to give her one too.”
My heart swells so full it almost bursts.
I rise onto my tiptoes, tracing my hands up his arms and over his shoulders, grounding myself in him. In us.
“Let’s go for a walk, Goldie,” Sam announces to his new best friend. “They’re about to get gross.”
Arthur laughs as I groan. Together, we help Sam buckle her harness and attach her leash. Then we stand in the doorway, shoulder to shoulder, watching them head down the sidewalk until they disappear around the corner.
The door clicks shut.
Suddenly, Arthur scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder, and I shriek, laughing, my feet dangling dangerously far from the floor.
“What are you doing?” I demand between giggles.
“Taking you upstairs,” he says, delivering a playful smack to my butt.
“You’re supposed to do your exercises!”
“I’ve got another workout in mind.” He carries me up the stairs with ease. “Let’s go get gross.”