34 - Kayla
Kayla
The San Antonio sun was different in December. Softer, golden, and stripped of the oppressive weight it carried in June. It filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the historic Emerald stable, casting a glow over the rows of people who had become the patchwork quilt of my life.
Standing at the back of the aisle, clutching a bouquet of white anemones and blue thistle—a tiny nod to the Pacific Northwest—I took a breath that felt like the first real one I’d had in fifteen years.
"Ready, Mom?"
I looked at Gabe. He stood tall in a sharp navy suit, his shoulder fully healed, his eyes clear and bright. He wasn't the boy who had slammed the car door in a fit of betrayed rage, but the young man who had spent the morning helping Michael tie his tie.
"Ready," I whispered.
As the acoustic strings began to swell, we stepped forward.
The room was a sea of familiar faces, a living history of the Surge I’d come to know over the past six months.
There was Cass and Mason, leaning into each other with the easy comfort of a couple who had weathered their own storms. Josie and Grayson looked like the royalty of the franchise.
Holly and Hunter, Nicole and Landon, Sage and Aiden, and even Reese and Theo showed up for our special day.
These were the people who had built this community, the couples whose stories had paved the way for mine and Michael’s.
The other side of the seating area was filled with friends and regulars from the Leaky Faucet.
Miller even looked less grumpy than usual.
Seeing them all together felt like coming home to a family I hadn't known I was allowed to have.
Then, I saw Michael.
He was standing at the altar, flanked by Coach McAvoy and Hunter. He looked devastatingly handsome, but it was the way his lower lip trembled when he saw me that wrecked my composure. The hockey player was gone, and there was only the man who loved me.
When we reached him, Gabe took my hand and placed it in Michael’s. He gave Michael’s forearm a firm, lingering squeeze that meant more to me than anything else.
The ceremony was a blur of light and heat, but the world narrowed down to the vows. Michael took my hands in his, his thumbs brushing over my knuckles.
"Kayla," he started, his voice thick and rough. "I spent my life thinking the only thing that mattered was the name on the back of my jersey and the stats on the board. I thought home was a city I’d left behind. But I was wrong. Home isn't coordinates in Seattle. It’s a dive bar on a Tuesday night. It’s the way you fight for the people you love. You didn't just give me a place to belong. You gave me a reason to stay. I promise to be your anchor when the tide is high and your shelter when the storm rolls in. I’m not just joining your life. I’m dedicating mine to making sure you never have to hold the line alone again. "
Tears blurred my vision, hot and fast. I squeezed his hands, my voice barely a whisper but steady.
"Michael, I spent so long being a fortress.
I thought that if I let anyone in, the walls would crumble and Gabe would be the one buried in the rubble.
But you didn't knock the walls down, you moved in and helped me build a roof.
You loved me when I was prickly and exhausted and terrified.
You showed me that happiness isn't a betrayal of my son, but a gift to him. I love you for the man you are on the ice, but I adore you for the man you are in our kitchen at 6:00 AM when we’re getting ready for the school run.
You are my teammate, my best friend, and finally, my husband. "
There wasn't a dry eye in the house when the minister pronounced us husband and wife. The kiss was slow, deep, and tasted like a promise kept.
The reception moved to the ballroom, where the air was filled with the scent of cedar and Texas lilies. After the dinner was served, Gabe stood up, tapping a spoon against his water glass. The room went quiet.
"I didn't want to like him," Gabe began, looking down at his notes with a shy smile that made my heart ache.
"When Michael Landry started showing up at my practices, I thought he was just another guy looking for a trophy.
I was angry, and I was protective of my mom.
But Michael didn't back down. He took the hits, he stayed for the mess, and he proved to me that real strength isn't about how hard you hit, it’s about how long you stay standing next to the people who need you. "
He looked directly at Michael. "Thanks for not leaving when I told you to. Thanks for making my mom laugh again. And thanks for being the man I want to be like when I grow up."
The applause was deafening, a roar of approval from the Surge family.
When the music shifted to a slow, soulful melody, Michael led me to the center of the floor for our first dance. He pulled me in close, his hand splayed across the small of my back, my forehead resting against his chin. The crowd faded into a soft-focus hum.
"You okay, Mrs. Landry?" he whispered into my hair, his breath warm.
"I’m perfect," I breathed, sliding my arms around his neck. "I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, Michael. It’s been six months and I’m still waiting."
"The only thing dropping tonight is the act, Kayla," he murmured, his nose brushing against mine. "No more hiding. Just us. For the rest of the game."
"I love you, Michael," I whispered, closing my eyes and letting the music carry us.
"I love you more, Kayla. Always."
As the song ended, the tempo shifted, the lights flared, and the party officially erupted.
The regulars from the bar flooded the floor, the Surge players started a choreographed dance that was destined to go viral, and for the first time in my life, the future didn't look like a mountain I had to climb, it looked like a dance I was finally ready to enjoy.
With the formalities out of the way, the celebration was a living, breathing thing.
Across the dance floor, I saw familiar faces in their natural habitat.
Mason and Cass were leading a disastrously uncoordinated line dance, while Grayson and Josie shared a quiet, laughing moment by the bar.
Even Gabe was in the thick of it, surrounded by Tyler and a few of his friends from school, their laughter cutting through the bass of the music.
He looked light. He looked like a kid who didn't have to carry the world on his shoulders anymore because he finally had a wingman.
I leaned back against Michael’s chest, his arms wrapped securely around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. "Look at them," I whispered. "I’ve never seen the Faucet regulars and the pro roster mix so well."
"It’s the tequila," Michael joked into my ear, though his grip tightened affectionately. "And the fact that we’re all finally on the same side of the win."
The music dipped suddenly as Coach McAvoy stepped onto the small stage, a microphone in one hand and a tumbler of scotch in the other. The room settled into a respectful hush, the kind only earned by a man who had spent decades in the trenches.
"I’ve spent about a hundred years on the ice," McAvoy began, his voice gravelly and thick with a rare, unchecked emotion.
"I was here when the San Antonio Surge were nothing but a line on a spreadsheet and a dream that most people laughed at.
I watched this franchise bleed, I watched it fail, and then, this year… I watched it become legendary."
He looked toward the table where his daughter, Cass, sat next to Mason.
"I’ve seen players come and go," McAvoy continued, his eyes misting over. "But through every trade, every injury, and every loss, these boys became my family. They are my family. And standing here tonight, watching Michael finally find his home… well, it’s been the greatest honor of my life."
Cass cleared her throat loudly from the front row, a mischievous glint in her eye.
McAvoy barked out a short, wet laugh, shaking his head. "Okay, okay—the second greatest honor. Raising my daughter was the first."
The room erupted in a chorus of 'Awws' and cheers, and I felt Michael’s chest heave with a silent, shaky breath.
"But every season has to have a final whistle," McAvoy said, raising his glass high. "And after the run we just had, there’s no higher peak to climb. I’m officially hanging up the whistle. I’m retiring, boys.
Not because I’m tired of the game, but because I’ve finally seen the story end exactly the way it was supposed to. "
The cheers that followed was deafening. The Surge players lurched toward the stage, lifting McAvoy onto their shoulders in a chaotic, tuxedo-clad tribute. It was the end of an era, a final punctuation mark on a series of lives that had been intertwined by ice and grit.
As the music kicked back into a high-energy anthem, the dance floor became a blur of motion.
Theo and Reese were spinning in circles; Hunter was trying (and failing) to keep up with Holly’s energy.
It was a beautiful, messy culmination. These weren't just characters in a sport; they were a brotherhood that had survived everything the world threw at them.
Michael spun me around, his eyes dark with a heat that had nothing to do with the party and everything to do with the woman in his arms.
"He's right, you know," he murmured over the music, pulling me flush against him. "The story ended exactly the way it was supposed to."
"No," I corrected him, reaching up to trail my thumb over the line of his jaw, the jaw of my husband, my partner, my best friend. "The story didn't end, Michael. The prologue did."
He smiled that slow, devastatingly handsome smile that had first dismantled my defenses, and kissed me. It wasn't a wedding kiss for the cameras or a victory kiss for the fans. It was a quiet, private promise.
Outside, the San Antonio night was vast and warm, the stars stretching out over a city that finally felt like it belonged to us.
We had survived the collapse, the doubt, and the overtime.
We had fought for every inch of this happiness, and as the music played on into the early hours of the morning, I knew we were finally ready for the only thing that mattered.
The next chapter.