Epilogue
Five Years Later
Jack
The Xcel Energy Center in Saint Paul was louder than Ironwood ever dreamed of being. Eighteen thousand fans were screaming my name, a cacophony of adoration that vibrated in the plexiglass boards.
Sterling! Sterling! Sterling!
I skated a victory lap, the Stanley Cup hoisted high above my head. It was heavy—thirty-five pounds of silver and history—but right now, it felt lighter than air.
My teammates were mobbing me, slapping my shin pads, shouting unintelligible things. We had done it. Game 7. Double overtime. And I had scored the winner.
But my eyes weren't on the Cup. They weren't on the Jumbotron showing the replay of my goal.
They were scanning the glass behind the bench.
I found her.
She wasn't hard to miss. She was the only woman in the arena who looked like she belonged on a runway rather than in a hockey rink.
Eloise.
She was wearing my jersey—number 9, the 'C' stitched on the chest—tucked into leather pants that cost more than my first car. Her platinum hair was loose, falling in waves over her shoulders. She was jumping up and down, screaming, tears streaming down her face.
Next to her, held in her arms, was a toddler wearing tiny noise-canceling headphones and a miniature version of my jersey.
My son. Leo.
The sight of them hit me harder than any check I’d taken all season. It was a physical blow to the chest—a mixture of love, pride, and disbelief that still, after five years, felt fresh every single day.
I skated over to the glass.
The security guard—an old guy named Frank who knew the drill—opened the gate.
I didn't step off the ice. I reached over the boards.
Eloise rushed forward. I grabbed her, pulling her partially over the wall so I could kiss her.
It was sweaty. It was messy. I probably got playoff beard scratch all over her face.
I didn't care.
"You did it!" she screamed over the noise, her hands gripping my helmet. "You actually did it!"
"We did it," I corrected, pulling back just enough to look at her. "Always we."
I looked at Leo. He was staring at me with wide, golden-brown eyes—my eyes—clapping his chubby little hands.
"Daddy win!" he chirped, his voice muffled by the glass.
"Daddy won," I grinned, reaching out a gloved finger to boop his nose through the gap.
"Go get the trophy!" Eloise shouted, pushing me back toward the celebration. "We’ll be in the family room!"
I skated back to the team. I took the Cup again. I kissed the silver.
But as I skated around the rink, listening to the roar of the crowd, I knew the truth.
This trophy was great. It was the dream I’d had since I was four years old skating on a frozen pond.
But the real prize was waiting in the tunnel. And she was holding my legacy in her arms.
Eloise
The "Family Room" at the arena was a chaotic daycare of wives, girlfriends, and children fueled by sugar and victory. Champagne was flowing. Kids were running wild.
I sat in the corner, balancing Leo on my hip while trying to text my dad back.
Grandpa Vance: Watched the game. Tell him... well done. The goal was adequate.
I smiled. That was high praise from Dean Vance. He and Jack had reached a tentative truce over the years. Mostly because Jack was now a multi-millionaire NHL star who donated heavily to the university, and because he had given my father the one thing he couldn't buy: a grandson.
"He was flying out there tonight," a voice said.
I looked up. Silas was standing there, holding a beer. He was still playing for the Sentinels, now as an Assistant Coach, but he came to every one of Jack’s big games.
"He really was," I agreed, bouncing Leo. "He looked like he was twenty again. Just... hungry."
"He’s happy, El," Silas said, clinking his bottle against Leo’s sippy cup. "You did that. You settled the wolf."
"The wolf settled himself," I said, watching the door. "He just needed a reason to stay in the den."
The door swung open.
Jack walked in.
He had showered and changed into a suit—charcoal grey, custom fit to accommodate his shoulders. His hair was wet and slicked back. The beard was trimmed. The scar on his neck was visible above his collar.
He looked devastating.
The room erupted in cheers, but Jack ignored them. His eyes locked onto me.
He walked straight to us.
"Hey," he murmured, leaning down to kiss me, then kissing the top of Leo’s head.
"Hey, Champ," I smiled. "Tired?"
"Exhausted," he admitted, loosening his tie. "Leo, buddy, you heavy?"
"Up!" Leo demanded, reaching for him.
Jack took him easily, settling the thirty-pound toddler in the crook of one arm like he weighed nothing.
"Ready to go?" Jack asked me. "The team is going to the club, but... I’m done. I want to go home."
"Home sounds perfect," I said, standing up.
We said our goodbyes. We navigated the press line (Jack answered three questions, all variations of "It was a team effort," while holding a sleeping toddler). We got into the SUV.
Jack drove. I watched him.
His profile was sharper now than in college. More refined. But the intensity was the same. The way he checked his mirrors. The way his hand rested on my knee at red lights.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, glancing at me.
"I’m thinking about the pizza place," I said softly. "The Slice. Do you remember?"
"Vividly," he smiled. "You drank a beer you hated and insulted a linebacker. It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen."
"I can't believe we made it," I whispered. "From there to here."
Jack took my hand, bringing it to his lips. He kissed my knuckles, right over the diamond ring and the wedding band.
"I never doubted it," he said. "Not once. Even when I was being an idiot in the rink... deep down, the Wolf knew. He knew you weren't going anywhere."
"He was right," I said. "I’m sticky like that."
We pulled up to the house.
It wasn't a cabin. It was a modern mansion on the shores of Lake Minnetonka. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A massive deck. A private dock.
But inside? Inside it was just us.
We walked in. The golden retriever, Puck (now a dignified five-year-old with a grey muzzle), greeted us with a wagging tail.
Jack carried Leo upstairs to his room. I followed.
We tucked him into his crib. He was out cold, clutching his stuffed wolf.
Jack stood over the crib for a long moment, watching his chest rise and fall.
"He’s going to shift soon," Jack whispered. "Another year or two. First change."
"I know," I said, wrapping my arm around Jack’s waist. "We’re ready. You’ll teach him. Just like your dad taught you."
"Hopefully better," Jack muttered. "Less trauma. More fetch."
We walked out of the nursery, leaving the door cracked.
We went to our bedroom.
It was a sanctuary. A fireplace crackled in the corner (Jack insisted on gas, for the ambiance). The bed was massive, covered in a duvet that probably cost more than my college tuition.
But the best part was the shelf above the dresser.
On it sat two things.
My Gold Medal from Nationals.
And a pair of tiny, scuffed white figure skates.
Jack walked over to the shelf. He touched the medal. Then he touched the skates.
"You realize," he said, turning to me, unbuttoning his shirt. "That tonight is a celebration."
"I realized," I smiled, kicking off my heels. "Stanley Cup. Big deal."
"Not that," he shook his head, walking toward me. "Tonight marks exactly five years since the night in the cabin. The night I knotted you."
I froze. "Is it really?"
"To the day," he confirmed. "I checked the calendar. The Wolf remembers dates."
He stopped in front of me. He reached out and unzipped my leather pants.
"And do you know what the tradition is for a five-year Knotting Anniversary?"
"I didn't know that was a holiday," I breathed, my heart starting to hammer.
"It is in this house," he growled low, picking me up.
I wrapped my legs around his waist. He carried me to the bed.
The sex was different now.
In college, it had been frantic. Desperate. Fueled by the fear that we would be caught, or separated, or broken.
Now?
It was deep. Languid. Confident.
Jack knew every inch of me. He knew exactly where to touch to make me gasp. He knew the precise pressure to use on my hips.
He undressed me slowly, worshipping my body. My body had changed. I had scars from skating. I had stretch marks from Leo.
Jack kissed every single one of them.
"Beautiful," he murmured against my stomach. "Perfect."
When he entered me, it wasn't a collision. It was a homecoming.
He filled me completely, stretching me, grounding me.
"Mine," he whispered, his forehead resting against mine, his eyes glowing that familiar, molten gold. "Still mine."
"Always yours," I promised, arching into him.
We moved together in the firelight. Slow, rhythmic, powerful.
There was no rush. We had all night. We had the rest of our lives.
When the release came, it was a slow-building wave that crashed over us, leaving us breathless and tangled in the sheets.
Jack collapsed next to me, pulling me into his chest. His heart was beating strong and steady against my ear.
We lay there for a long time, listening to the fire pop.
"Eloise?"
"Hmm?"
"I was thinking," he said, his hand tracing lazy circles on my back. "About the cabin plan."
"We have a house, Jack. A very nice house."
"I know. But... for the summers. Up north. Near the Pack."
I lifted my head to look at him. "You want to build the cabin?"
"I want Leo to know the woods," Jack said. "I want him to run. And... I want space."
"Space for what?"
Jack grinned. A mischievous, wolfish grin.
"Space for the pack to grow."
I blinked. "Grow?"
He put his hand on my stomach. His palm was warm. Heavy.
"The Wolf says..." he paused, tilting his head as if listening. "The Wolf says it smells like another pup."
My breath hitched.
I hadn't taken a test. I hadn't told him. I barely suspected it myself. Just a feeling. A missed day.
"He smells it?" I whispered.
"He’s never wrong," Jack said softly. "Is he?"
I looked at him. At the joy in his eyes. At the love that radiated off him like heat.
I smiled.
"No," I said. "He’s never wrong."
Jack let out a whoop of joy that was half-laugh, half-howl. He pulled me on top of him, kissing me all over my face.
"Another one," he laughed. "A girl. I want a girl. A little Ice Princess with a temper."
"If she has your temper, we’re doomed," I laughed.
"If she has your grace, she’ll rule the world," he countered.
We lay there, dreaming of cabins and puppies and little girls with skates.
The journey had been hard. We had bled for this. We had fought for this.
But looking at Jack—my Alpha, my husband, the father of my children—I knew it was worth every bruise.
Because in the end, the ice didn't break me. It forged me.
And the Wolf didn't eat me. He loved me.
I rested my head on his chest, closing my eyes.
"Jack?"
"Yeah, Mouse?"
"Chop the wood wrong."
He laughed, the sound vibrating through my bones.
"Anything for you, baby. Anything for you."
And as the fire died down to embers, and the snow began to fall outside the window, I knew that this... this quiet, warm, imperfect moment... was the real victory.
The game was won.
The season was over.
But the dynasty?
The dynasty was forever.