35. Epilogue A Year Later
Chapter thirty-five
Epilogue: A Year Later
Ilya
Being a husband, captain, and father didn’t feel like a responsibility that could swallow a man whole anymore.
It felt like an honor.
Ilya stood by the bench, gloves off, forearms braced on the boards, watching twenty-four dogs lose their minds on pristine NHL ice while thirty families tried—and failed—not to giggle like children.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer boomed, his voice bouncing off rafters and banners, “tonight the Springfield Cyclones are proud to partner with the Flea Flicker Rescue Center for our very first Pucks them being trusted with the baby had no bearing on them wanting Madison to have a place with them.
They would assume whatever role to the baby that Madison wanted them to take: aunt, uncle, grandparents, friend, whatever she wanted.
But Madison was insistent.
Nika would be their daughter because Madison wanted that.
And Madison was their daughter because, eventually, she had chosen that too.
And every day since, Ilya had woken up aware that family was not something you won once and stored on a shelf.
It was something you showed up for. Over and over.
Now Nika bounced, legs kicking, as Deke darted by. The dog didn’t hear her at first, too busy trying to convince a labradoodle that the other end of the rink was where destiny lay, but that didn’t stop Nika from shouting as if sheer volume might bend reality to her will.
She turned to face him, already knowing where to find Dad.
He lifted a gloved hand and gave her a small finger wiggle.
She shrieked anew, banging harder, then turned back to trying to get Deke’s attention.
Beside her, Kira yelled just as loud, cupping her hands around her mouth. “DEKE! YOU LITTLE MENACE! COME TO YOUR GIRL!”
“She definitely learned her vocal range from your sister,” Mitch muttered from his spot at Ilya’s shoulder.
“Auntie has loads of bad habits she shares,” Ilya agreed, grinning.
Kayla reached over Nika’s head and gently adjusted the baby headphones, ensuring they stayed snug over little ears. Then she adjusted her own discreet earplugs, making a face.
“Kayla swears Nika hits frequencies only dogs can hear,” Jason said, watching them. “She said she’s going to run studies.”
“Do not let her turn our daughter into a research subject,” Ilya warned.
Jason shrugged, all zen acceptance, shoulders relaxed, eyes bright.
He was a different man this year.
Most of them were.
Watching Kira’s wild energy, Kayla’s quiet steadiness, Zoey’s warm exasperation all orbiting around one tiny, determined nucleus filled a spot in his chest he had once been convinced would always feel empty.
The first time he’d held Nika, he cried.
Not a dignified tear in one eye, quick-swipe kind of thing. An ugly, shoulder-shaking, snot-in-the-neckline kind of cry that terrified poor Dr. Sanchez until Madison and Zoey laughed through their own tears and told him it was okay.
It was like a lifetime of grief and want and fear had finally found somewhere safe to drain.
He had been so sure for so long that dad was a uniform he wasn’t safe enough to wear. Now his youngest daughter banged on the glass yelling PUPPY at the top of her lungs, and he wasn’t a wreck.
He was just…happy. Solid. Present.