Epilogue
Seven Months Later
Ryan
The weight of the entire season, of a million agonizing minutes on and off the ice, boils down to the thirty seconds ticking away on the jumbotron.
The air inside the arena is thick with the tension of twenty thousand screaming fans, though there’s only one voice I care about. It’s the final game of the playoffs, a brutal fight for the puck stretched out over four agonizing periods.
We’re up 1–0, but the score flashing bright and menacing above the ice is a reminder of how little that lead means with thirty seconds left. One mistake and they tie it. One mistake and the Stanley Cup slips right through our fingers.
I’m set in my crease, knees bent and body low, my glove hand ready as I grip my stick and track the puck through the chaos in front of me. My muscles burn with a bone-deep ache that resonates through my shoulders and thighs, but my head is clear and I’m ready for anything they throw at me.
My eyes flick toward the other end of the ice just in time to see their goalie racing for the bench. With only seconds left and their season on the line, they’re going all in, sending an extra attacker onto the ice in a desperate attempt to tie the game.
“Hold the line!” I shout, watching six opposing skaters flood the area.
The final twenty seconds become a blur of pure adrenaline. The opposition launches a relentless attack, moving the puck rapidly between them as they swarm our zone. I can barely keep track of the puck, but somehow I manage to keep it out of the net.
The clock ticks down.
Ten seconds left.
A scrum erupts directly around the crease. Sticks clash, ice sprays, and bodies slam into each other around the crease. The crowd roars in the background, drowned out by the blood pounding in my ears.
In the middle of the chaos, an opposing defenseman attempts to jam the puck past my left pad. I lunge forward to cover the ice, but instead of smothering the puck to force a whistle, I catch it with my stick. It spins loosely before coming to a dead stop right in front of me.
I don’t have time to think. My only instinct is to clear the zone before they can reset their attack.
I send the puck sailing down the ice.
Time seems to slow as it slides across center ice, somehow avoiding every stick in its path. My breath catches when I realize where it’s headed.
Straight toward their empty net.
No fucking way.
The puck crosses the goal line.
The overhead horn blares and the crowd goes insane.
2–0.
Before I can process the sheer absurdity of the play, my teammates are crashing into me, shouting and slamming their gloves against my helmet.
“Walker! You fucking scored!”
I’m laughing as I shove them away. “Game’s not over yet.”
But with only seconds left and a two-goal lead, we all know it practically is.
We reset for the faceoff, and the final seconds tick almost as quickly as they start.
The buzzer sounds.
This time, there’s no holding back.
Gloves and sticks scatter across the ice as the guys crash into one another, shouting and celebrating. Someone rips my helmet off, and then I’m buried beneath my teammates.
I laugh, and finally let it sink in.
We won.
We fucking won the Stanley Cup!
Eventually, we pull ourselves together for the traditional handshake line. One by one, the opposing players skate past, offering handshakes and congratulations. A few shake their heads when they reach me, still looking like they can’t believe the goalie scored on them.
As the celebration swells around us again, coaches, staff, and family begin making their way onto the ice. I scan the crowd until I find the only person I want to see.
Then I see her.
Lana steps carefully onto the ice in one of my home jerseys, the fabric swallowing her whole. Tucker follows behind her, grinning like an idiot, but I barely register him.
All I see is her.
She moves carefully toward me through the celebration, tears already streaming down her cheeks. The second she reaches me, she throws herself into my arms. I catch her easily and lift her clean off her feet. She buries her face into the crook of my neck, her arms wrapped around me in a vise.
“You did it!” she sobs against my neck, her voice thick with tears. “Oh my god, Ryan! You did it!”
“We did it, baby girl,” I murmur, kissing her temple.
I glance up, making sure her face is still tucked against me.
Tucker steps forward. Without a word, he reaches into his pocket and hands me a small velvet box.
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the box as my heart thrashes frantically. I carefully set Lana down, my arm still wrapped around her waist to steady her. She blinks, wiping stray tears from her cheeks, looking confused as I step back.
“Lana,” I start, my tongue thick. My eyes flicker to Tucker. He nods his approval, and in front of the twenty thousand screaming fans, the other players, and a wall of flashing cameras, I drop to one knee in front of her.
Lana’s hands fly to her mouth, and her eyes are wide as saucers.
“No more scripts, no more lies, and no more fake PR stunts. I want the real thing with you, all of it, for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”
The crowd goes quiet for a single moment before erupting into a deafening roar of approval as Lana nods frantically. Fresh tears spill over her lashes.
“Yes, Ryan. A thousand times yes,” she manages to choke out. I slip the ring onto her finger, and she throws herself back into my arms.
Lana
The drive back to Ryan’s apartment—no, our apartment—feels entirely too long and like it passed in a second. My eyes were locked on the delicate diamond ring on my finger the whole time.
The second we make it upstairs and the penthouse door clicks shut behind me, I lean back against the door, breathless as I watch Ryan toss his keys onto the kitchen counter.
His dark hair is still damp from the shower, and his broad shoulders seem relaxed for the first time in weeks.
He looks completely at peace, and when he turns around, his grin sends my heart fluttering wildly.
“So,” I tease, tilting my head and crossing my arms. “Are we done celebrating Mr. Championship Goalie? Or are you gonna get called back for more interviews?”
“No,” Ryan says, his deep gravelly voice sending a shiver down my spine. My knees go weak at the intense, wicked look in his sparkling hazel eyes. He walks over slowly, making my blood heat, and traps me against the door, caging his arms around my head.
“There’s still one thing we haven’t properly celebrated tonight.”
He traces his fingers across my jaw, over my ear, and down my neck. I shudder in anticipation and press my thighs together.
“Oh yeah?” My breath catches in my throat as he draws his hand down my throat and across my waist. “What’s that?”
Ryan’s grin softens into an expression of raw devotion, his gaze dropping briefly to the ring on my finger before locking back onto my face. “Our engagement, fiancée.”
Before I can process what he’s said, he pulls me into a passionate, consuming kiss that steals the air from my lungs. I let out a helpless sigh against his lips, my hands clutching at his chest. Blinding heat erupts between us.
I press against him, suddenly needing to be as close as possible.
“Ryan,” I whimper.
He doesn’t waste a single second. His hands slide down to my thighs and he lifts me effortlessly off the floor. I wrap my legs tight around his hips and gasp as I feel his rigid length pressing against me.
I capture his lips in another kiss, and he groans. It’s a raw, primal sound that vibrates through me and sends heat straight to my core. Without breaking the kiss, he carries me to the bedroom, his movements confident and purposeful.
He lays me down in the center of the bed, and hovers over me, pinning me to the sheets as he slowly teases his lips down my neck, to my collar bone.
“Lana,” he breathes against my skin, his voice rough and full of need. “You are so beautiful. I was a ruined man the moment I saw you sitting at my table.”
I tug at his shirt, wanting to feel more of him against me. He pulls it off over his head, then lifts me just enough to strip his jersey off me. I moan as his hot skin presses against mine, and he captures it in another kiss.
Gripping his shoulders, I deepen the kiss. Letting him in to taste and devour me. His lips leave a trail of kisses down to my breasts. He massages and pinches my nipples before taking one into his hot mouth. I cry out, letting my head fall back.
He repeats the motion to the other side. I bury my hands in his hair and pull him back up to me.
“I love you,” I murmur, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I never realized you were the man I measured everyone else against.”
Ryan raises a brow, and I nod.
“I didn’t know I wanted you until you walked through that door, but I was always looking for you in other men.”
He growls and nips at my throat and ear. “I will never let another man have you.”
I feel my panties flood at his possessive tone. “I don’t want anyone but you. Always and forever,” I breathe, and he kisses me again.
His hands trail over my hips, and he pulls down my jeans to reveal bare skin. He bites back a groan and teases the crease of my thigh.
I buck my hips involuntarily and whine. A devilish grin lights up his face and in an instant he’s between my legs, licking and sucking until I fall apart, melting into the mattress.
“Ryan, please,” I moan. “I want you.”
“You have me,” he teases, stepping off the bed to remove his jeans.
I watch, licking my lips as his cock falls free, precum already beading at the tip. Without a second thought, he’s between my thighs again, caging me in.
“Is this what you want, baby girl?” he purrs, rolling his hips against me. His cock slips between my soaked folds to rub my clit.
I press against him and nod. “Yes.”
With excruciating slowness, he lines himself up and penetrates me inch by inch. My head falls back and I grip his shoulders, feeling full and closer to him than I’ve ever felt.
“Lana, you feel so good,” Ryan moans as he begins to move. His hips thrust slowly at first, then build in tempo until we can no longer tell where one of us begins and the other ends.
The room fills with the sounds of our lovemaking. Ryan snaps his hips into me, and I let out a feral groan.
“Hold on, baby girl,” Ryan says, gripping my hips.
“Wha—oh!” He flips our positions and pulls me down on top of him. My eyes roll back as he sinks deeper into me, and the feeling of being so full of him causes me to rock my hips involuntarily.
“You are breathtaking,” Ryan croons, his rough hands moving up my body to manipulate my breasts. His thumbs find my hardened nipples and he pinches, gently at first, then a little harder, drawing a hiss of pleasure from me.
“Please, Ryan, I think I’m close.” I can feel the pressure building in my hips.
“Come for me, Lana.” He grips my hips again before lifting me and snapping his hips up. I cry out, clutching at his wrists for stability.
“Come on my cock, baby girl.”
The slight growl in his voice sends me tumbling over the edge. I see stars as the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had overwhelms my senses.
Ryan roars, and I feel his cock pulse inside me.
We lie there panting for a few moments before Ryan peels himself away to grab a washcloth. After cleaning me up, he scoops me up and slides into bed, drawing the blankets over us.
I lie flat on my back, resting my head against the warm expanse of Ryan’s bare chest, listening to the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath my ear. His muscular arm is wrapped securely around my shoulders, holding me close. He kisses the top of my head.
“I love you, Lana Walker.”
~The End
For more reads click here!