Epilogue
CAMPBELL
The kitchen smells like garlic and rosemary, and Dad’s humming something off-key while he seasons the roast. I’m chopping vegetables with more enthusiasm than skill when the doorbell rings.
“That’s probably her,” I say, setting down the knife and wiping my hands on a towel.
“Well, don’t keep her waiting in the cold,” Dad calls after me. “And try not to look too eager. You’re supposed to play it cool.”
“I’ve never played anything cool in my life.”
His laugh follows me down the hallway.
When I open the door, Sutton’s standing on the porch with snowflakes caught in her hair and a smile that makes my chest do something complicated. She’s holding a bottle of wine and wearing a red sweater that should be illegal.
“Hi,” she says.
Before I can respond, she launches herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and nearly knocking me backward into the coat rack.
“Congratulations,” she breathes against my ear. “The Dominion is so lucky to have you.”
I hold her tight, breathing in her perfume mixed with cold winter air. “Here I thought you were going to say ‘happy one-month anniversary.’”
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes shining. “Has it only been a month?”
“Well, longer if we figure in the weeks of back and forth we wasted,” I tease.
“At least we ended up here.” She grins. “There’s no other place I want to be.”
I kiss her right there in the doorway, not caring that Dad can probably see us from the kitchen, not caring that we’re letting all the heat out of the house. When we finally break apart, she’s flushed and smiling.
“Also,” she adds, straightening my collar, “in case you haven’t heard yet, Sawyer got called up, too. So you’ll have backup.”
“Oh, we heard. He’s called three times this morning, screaming.”
“I believe the entire neighborhood heard the news.” Dad appears in the hallway, wiping his hands on his apron. “Come in, you two, before you both freeze to death. I’m not losing my son to hypothermia right when his NHL career is starting.”
Sutton steps inside, and Dad pulls her into a hug that’s warm and genuine. “You’re the one who is making an honest man out of him,” he says. “I was beginning to think he’d spend his whole life being emotionally unavailable.”
My eyes roll back in my head automatically. “Dad.”
“What? It’s true.”
Sutton laughs, handing Dad the wine. “This is for you, thank you for inviting me. I know Christmas Eve is usually family time.”
“You are family,” Dad says simply, and I watch Sutton’s eyes get suspiciously shiny.
Another knock at the door interrupts the moment. I open it to find Sawyer standing there with a pie carrier and a dramatic expression that suggests recent emotional trauma.
“Here I get the best news of my life, and she breaks up with me,” he announces, pushing past me into the house. “Via text message. On Christmas Eve.”
Sutton looks out the front door, left and then right, as if she’s looking for more people to arrive. “Where’s his parents?”
“My aunt and uncle have different plans for the holidays,” I explain. “Their newest tradition takes them abroad during our winter months. They’re on a river cruise in Europe, following the Danube from Vienna to Budapest.”
She nods, while behind me I hear Sawyer moan again. Loud enough that I can tell he really wants someone to pay him some attention.
“I’ll bite. Who broke up with you?” I ask, taking the pie carrier before he drops it.
“Alessia.” He throws himself onto our couch like a Victorian maiden in distress. “Said I was ‘too available’ and she needed ‘space to find herself.’ What does that even mean?”
Sutton settles into the armchair, clearly trying not to smile. “The pop star you dated for two weeks?”
“Three weeks. And they were meaningful weeks.” He inhales deeply, closing his eyes. “And she’s not only a pop star. She also sings country music, and she’s indie-alternative, too.”
“You went on four dates,” I point out.
“Four incredibly deep, emotionally resonant dates.” Sawyer accepts the beer Dad hands him. “We really connected. She told me I had good energy.”
“She tells everyone they have good energy,” Sutton says. “It’s literally in her Instagram bio.”
Sawyer narrows his eyes as he sets his sights on Sutton. “Whose side are you on?”
“The side of reality,” she responds, earning a laugh from me.
“Listen to Sutton, she and reality are tight,” I say, inclining my head knowingly.
Dad chuckles from the kitchen doorway. “Sawyer, you fall in love faster than anyone I’ve ever met. Remember the barista? The yoga instructor? That woman at the grocery store who complimented your cart?”
“She said I had excellent produce selection.”
“You were buying frozen pizza and beer.”
“Exactly. She saw past the surface.”
I drop onto the couch beside my cousin, slapping his shoulder. “You’ll survive. You always do.”
“Easy for you to say. You found the perfect woman, who actually wants to keep you around.” He gestures at Sutton, who’s watching this exchange with obvious amusement. “Meanwhile, I’m destined to die alone, probably in Alexandria now, surrounded by hockey equipment and my own poor life choices.”
“At least you’ll have good company,” Sutton offers. “Campbell will be there to witness your descent into lonely desperation.”
“Thanks. That’s comforting.”
Dad calls us to dinner, and we crowd around the small table that’s seen a thousand family meals. The roast is perfect, the vegetables are only slightly overcooked, and the conversation flows easy and warm.
Sawyer regales us with increasingly dramatic retellings of his relationship failures, Dad shares stories about my mother that make me miss her and smile at the same time, and Sutton…well, that gorgeous woman fits into our little family like she’s always belonged here.
After dinner, while Dad and Sawyer begin their tradition of arguing about whether Die Hard counts as a Christmas movie, I catch Sutton’s eye and jerk my head toward the living room.
She follows me, leaving the boys to their debate.
The Christmas tree stands in the corner, lights twinkling in the dimness. It’s not fancy—we bought it at the grocery store lot and decorated it with ornaments that are mostly older than I am—but it’s ours.
“I have something for you,” I say, reaching into my pocket.
“Campbell, we said no gifts—”
“It’s not really a gift. More like...a promise.”
I pull out a tiny dried flower, which has been pressed and is now attached to a fresh sprig of mistletoe. I show it to Sutton, watching as the realization of what I’m holding washes over her.
“The red rose from the gala?” Sutton laughs when she finally gets it. “How did you…I thought I had that?”
“You were in possession of it at one time, but as you can see I managed to steal it. You can thank Elle.”
“What? How?”
“Long story short—at practice one day she was joking about a friend of hers who had an old dried up flower in a vase in their kitchen and how weird it was. I had a feeling, so I asked her if you were the friend and if the flower in question was a rose. When she said it was, I told her its origin story, and she immediately decided she was going to steal it. No hesitation. Full-on flower heist mode.”
Her lips quirk. “You did that for me?”
“I pressed it all by myself, and added some flair.” I hold it over our heads, and she steps closer automatically. “But here’s the thing. I like that I don’t need props anymore to have an excuse to kiss you. I don’t need grand gestures or perfect moments.”
“No?”
“No. I just need you.” I toss the floral bundle onto the couch and take her face in my hands. “I love you, Sutton. I love your fierce independence and your stubborn pride. I love the way you stand firm in what you believe in. I love that you took a chance on me even when it scared you.”
Her eyes are bright with unshed tears. “Campbell—”
“I’m not done.” I grin at her. “I love that you claim me in press conferences and kiss me in parking lots and show up at my dad’s house on Christmas Eve looking really hot, and like you belong here. Because you do belong here. With me. Always.”
She reaches up to grip my wrists, her touch warm and steady. “I love you, too,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “I love your loyalty and your kindness. I love how you take care of the ones you love, and I love that you make me brave enough to be myself.”
“Even the messy parts?”
“Especially the messy parts. Those are the parts that tell me the most.”
From the kitchen, we hear Sawyer’s voice rising in passionate defense of Die Hard’s Christmas movie status, and Dad laughing at something he said.
“This is my favorite Christmas,” I tell her quietly. “Right here. You, Dad, Sawyer arguing about movies. The NHL next season. All of it.”
“Mine, too,” she whispers.
“So you know,” I add, “it’s the kind of Christmas I’ve always dreamed about. You’ve made it perfect.”
I kiss her under the twinkling lights of our modest little Christmas tree, and everything feels exactly right. The NHL contract, the future in Alexandria, the woman in my arms who chose me despite every logical reason not to.
When we finally break apart, Sutton rests her forehead against mine.
“You’re mine now, Sutton Mahoney,” I murmur in her ear as she presses her body closer into mine.
She looks at me, her ice blue eyes sparkling like a thousand fairy lights. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
As we head back to the kitchen where Sawyer and Dad are now arguing over which action hero could survive in the wild the longest, I realize something I’ve known for weeks but hadn’t been ready to say out loud: I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Not just with my family, not just in my career—but with her.
Because home isn’t just a place.
It’s the people who make you want to stay...and the one person who makes you believe you could leave and still carry it with you.
***
THANK YOU