Epilogue
Nicole
The ballroom glowed in a way that felt designed to make everyone stand a little straighter.
Gold light washed over white tablecloths, glassware catching it and scattering it back across the room.
The NHL had rented out a venue that knew exactly what it was doing, chandeliers high enough to make you feel small, ceilings that carried laughter without swallowing it.
Everywhere I turned, there were familiar faces stitched into unfamiliar clothes.
Defensemen in tailored suits. Goalies with their hair slicked back, partners clinging to their arms. The San Antonio Surge had claimed a cluster of tables near the front, a bright pocket of noise and movement.
Shawn sat at the center of it, arm secured in a sling that matched his jacket, smiling like someone who had waited a long time to be exactly where he was.
Coach stood nearby, drink in hand, already deep in conversation with another bench boss, their heads tipped toward each other in a way that spoke of shared years and shared battles.
Seeing them all together like this made my chest feel full in a quiet, surprising way.
Landon squeezed my hand as we moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations that still seemed to surprise him.
He wore black, clean lines, no fuss. The Cup ring on his hand caught the light every time he lifted his glass.
I was aware of everything at once, the sound of voices, the weight of my dress, the fact that my nerves were showing up in the way my fingers kept fidgeting against the stem of my flute.
“You’re going to drop that,” Landon murmured, his mouth close to my ear.
“I’m fine,” I said, then adjusted my grip on the glass anyway.
He turned his head enough to look at me, not with concern, but with something warmer. “You’re more nervous than I am.”
“Why is that, exactly?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Because I’ve already won everything that matters,” he said simply. “The Cup for a second time, and this time around, I got the girl too.”
My throat closed on whatever I’d been about to say.
I lifted my glass instead and took a sip that tasted like celebration and nerves mixed together.
Around us, the room continued its steady churn.
Names were called. Applause rose and fell.
Cameras flashed. When Rookie of the Year came up on the program, my pulse took on a life of its own.
They read the nominees. Landon’s name echoed through the room, followed by cheers from our table that cut through the more polite applause. He reached for my hand again, thumb pressing into my palm, a silent check-in. I nodded, even though my stomach felt unsteady.
“And the NHL Rookie of the Year is…”
The pause stretched. I counted my breaths without meaning to.
“Landon Cross, San Antonio Surge.”
The noise that followed was immediate and overwhelming.
Shawn was on his feet with one arm raised, while Grayson and the guys all tried to out-cheer each other.
Coach clapped once, sharp and decisive, then pulled Landon into a brief, fierce hug before letting him go.
Landon turned to me, eyes bright, disbelief flickering across his face before it settled into something like acceptance.
He kissed my cheek, quick and grounding, then stood and made his way to the stage.
I watched him walk up there, aware of how many times I had seen him step onto ice with that same focus.
The difference now was the suit, the absence of skates, the fact that this moment was being shared with everyone in the room.
He took the award, weighty and polished, and stepped to the microphone. The room quieted.
“I didn’t plan a long speech,” he said, voice carrying easily. “This year taught me a lot. Not just about hockey. About listening. And trust. About what it means to be part of something bigger than yourself.”
He paused, eyes sweeping the room before settling on our table. On me.
“I’m a better player than I was last year,” he continued. “And I’m a better person. That doesn’t happen alone. It happens because of a team that doesn’t just refuse to give up on the ice. They refused to give up on me. San Antonio Surge… this is ours.”
Applause surged again, and this time, I let myself cry. I wiped at my face and laughed at myself in the same breath, feeling completely undone in the best possible way.
The official celebration afterward was everything you’d expect. Music that filled the space. Drinks that kept appearing in my hand. Teammates crowded around Landon, slapping his back, pulling him into conversations that overlapped and tangled.
Later, when the room grew louder and the night tipped from polished to loose, Landon leaned in close again. “Come with me.”
We slipped away through a side door and found the rooftop, the city spread out beneath us in a grid of light. The air was cooler up there, carrying the faint sound of traffic far below. He closed the door behind us, and for a beat, we just stood there, the noise of the party muted, the moment ours.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded, stepping closer. “I think it’s all finally catching up.”
He lifted his hand to my face, fingers warm against my skin, and kissed me with intent that left no room for doubt. The city continued on around us, unaware. His body pressed me back toward the railing. My hands found his jacket, tugging him closer.
“I want you. Right here,” he said, a request that felt like a promise.
I cupped his cheek, gazing deep into his eyes. “Then take me.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Landon was always charming, always saying sweet things, but this wasn’t just charm anymore. His voice held something deeper, something raw and unguarded, and it sent a shiver down my spine.
My lips parted, but no words came. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, and tucking it behind my ear with the gentlest touch. The warmth of his fingertips lingered against my skin, making my stomach twist into something hot and desperate.
“I’d take this view over the city skyline any day,” he murmured.
My breath caught. The city buzzed faintly beneath us, a distant hum of life carrying on, while above, the stars shimmered like scattered diamonds.
But none of it mattered. All I could focus on was the man beside me, the way his eyes darkened as he leaned in, closing the space between us.
And when Landon did that, I didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to.
The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, as if he was giving me the chance to pull away. But I didn’t. Instead, I melted into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as his lips moved against mine with slow, aching intent.
And then it changed.
Desire tightened in my chest, all this unspoken longing from tonight unraveling all at once.
Way too much to contain. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer as our mouths collided again, desperate now.
I gasped against his lips, and he swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss as his fingers traced the curve of my spine.
Heat surged between us, and suddenly, the summer air wasn’t the only thing making me breathless.
“Landon,” I whispered, barely a plea, barely a warning.
He groaned, his hands shaking slightly as they slid down my waist, fingertips gripping at the fabric of my dress like he needed something to hold onto.
His lips moved from my mouth to my jaw, down my neck, open-mouthed kisses against fevered skin.
My heart pounded, body thrumming with a heat that had nothing to do with the summer night.
I raked my fingers through his hair, tugging slightly just to hear the low, needy sound that escaped his throat.
He pulled me fully against his hardening cock, the smooth fabric of his tuxedo pants pressing against my bare thighs.
His hands slipped beneath the hem of my dress, fingertips skimming over my thighs where they traced soft patterns against my skin before his touch became more insistent, more certain.
He was hesitant, but not unsure. I knew he was just savoring each new inch of me, mapping my body as he went. The contrast of his rough fingers against my soft skin sent a shiver through me, heat pooling low in my belly as he explored, as if committing every touch to memory.
“Jesus,” he muttered against my skin, as though he were overwhelmed. As though he couldn’t believe this was happening. His hands flexed against my hips, fingers digging in like he needed to ground himself.
My breath hitched as I shifted against him, the pressure between our bodies making my stomach tighten, making us both gasp. A blush burned hot across my cheeks, the intimacy of it all hitting me out of nowhere. How close I was, how little space was left between us.
His forehead pressed against mine, breath ragged and blue eyes blown wide as he searched my face. “We don’t—” he started, voice thick with arousal.
“I know,” I interrupted, my fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, my own breath unsteady. “But I don’t want to stop.”
His lips crashed against mine again, any hesitation melting away as need overtook caution.
His hands roamed, his touch firmer now, like he’d accepted what was happening, what we both wanted.
I gasped into his mouth as he pushed my dress higher, his palms skimming up my thighs, rough fingertips sending sparks through my skin.
“You know,” he muttered between kisses, his lips brushing against my jaw, “This has been equally the worst and best year of my life.”
My breath hitched as he tilted my chin up, his nose grazing mine. “I know what you mean.”
He groaned softly, fingers flexing against my thighs. “I just thought of something.”
“What?”
“Your boyfriend’s the Rookie of the Year,” he replied with a cheeky grin.
Heat curled low in my belly, his confession sending a fresh wave of want through me. “That he is, and I’m so damn proud of him.”