Epilogue
Faye
The noise inside Little Caesars Arena was a living, breathing beast.
I wasn't looking at the clock. I was looking at the ice.
Oakley Thorne looked tired. His beard was thick—the traditional playoff beard that scratched my face every morning but which I secretly loved.
His jersey was stained with blood (probably not his) and sweat.
He was bent over at the waist, gasping for air as he waited for the final face-off in the defensive zone.
He looked exhausted. He looked battered. He looked magnificent.
5... 4... 3...
The puck dropped. Oakley won the draw, tying up the opposing center. The puck skittered into the corner. The seconds bled away.
2... 1...
The horn blasted. It was a sound that shook the fillings in my teeth.
Pandemonium.
Gloves flew into the air. Helmets crashed to the ice. The Detroit Red Wings spilled over the bench like a tidal wave, burying their captain under a pile of humanity.
I stood up, pressing my hands against the glass, tears streaming down my face.
"He did it," I whispered. "He actually did it."
Beside me, Jax—who was currently serving as Oakley’s agent after retiring early due to a knee injury—was screaming incoherently, shaking a bottle of champagne that cost more than my first car.
"THAT'S MY BOY! THAT'S THE WOLF! KING OF THE NORTH!"
I laughed, wiping my cheeks. It was surreal. Five years ago, we were sneaking around in a broom closet, terrified that a single photo would ruin our lives.
Now?
Now, Oakley Thorne was the face of the NHL. He was the highest-paid center in the league. He was a household name.
And I was right there with him.
I looked down at my own credential badge hanging around my neck. DR. FAYE THORNE - HEAD PHYSIOTHERAPIST.
I hadn't just followed him. I had built my own empire right next to his. I ran the rehabilitation wing for the team. I was the one who put them back together when they broke. I was the one who kept the Captain on the ice.
Down below, the pile was breaking up. Oakley emerged, hair wild, grin blinding. He shook the hands of the losing team—gracious in victory, as always.
Then, the Commissioner walked out onto the carpet. The silver cup—Lord Stanley—gleamed under the spotlights.
Oakley skated over. He didn't lift it immediately. He paused, looking up.
He scanned the luxury boxes. He found ours.
Even from this distance, I saw his eyes lock onto me. I saw him mouth two words.
For us.
He lifted the Cup over his head, screaming in triumph. The flashbulbs exploded like fireworks.
I turned to Jax. "I have to get down there."
"Go!" Jax yelled, shoving me toward the door. "Go kiss the Champ!"
I ran. I sprinted through the corridors of the arena, my heels clicking on the concrete, dodging security guards who waved me through with smiles. Everyone knew who I was. I wasn't just the WAG; I was the Doctor.
I hit the ice level just as the team was taking their victory lap.
I stepped onto the ice—carefully, in heels—but I didn't get far.
Oakley saw me.
He broke away from the group, handing the Cup to his rookie winger. He skated toward me, picking up speed.
He stopped inches away, spraying snow onto my shoes. He didn't care. He dropped his gloves. He dropped his stick.
He grabbed me by the waist and lifted me into the air, spinning me around.
"We did it!" he roared, his voice hoarse. "Faye! We did it!"
"You did it!" I cried, clinging to his sweaty, padded shoulders. "You were amazing!"
"It's heavy," he laughed, setting me down but not letting go. "The Cup. It's heavier than I thought."
"You're strong enough," I said, smoothing his messy hair back from his forehead. "You carried the whole team."
"I carried us," he corrected, his gold eyes blazing with adrenaline and love. "For five years, Faye. Every shift. Every hit. It was all to get here. To build the life I promised you."
He leaned down and kissed me.
It was salty. It was messy. It was televised to millions of people. And it was perfect.
I kissed him back with everything I had, ignoring the cameras, ignoring the crowd.
"I love you," I whispered against his lips.
"I love you more," he promised.
He pulled back, grinning like a fool. "Hey. Remember that time in the library? When we talked about virtues?"
"Vaguely," I laughed. "I was distracted by your hand down my pants."
"Right. Well. I think I found my virtue."
"Yeah? What is it?"
"Patience," he said. "I waited five years for this moment. To be on top of the world with you."
"And humility?" I teased.
"Overrated," he winked. "Tonight, I'm a god."
"Okay, Zeus," I swatted his chest. "Go take a lap with the trophy. Your team is waiting."
"One more thing," he said, holding me tight. "Don't go anywhere. The party is at the house. And I have... plans for you."
"Plans?"
His gaze darkened, shifting from playful to predatory in a heartbeat. The Wolf was awake.
"Celebratory plans," he growled in my ear. "Involving the trophy. And no clothes."
My breath hitched. Even after five years, he could still reduce me to a puddle with a single look.
"Go," I pushed him gently. "Before you get a penalty for delay of game."
He laughed, kissed my nose, and skated back to his team.
I watched him go, the silver cup gleaming in his hands, and thought about the scared girl in the grey sweater who had walked into the Ice Room all those years ago.
She had no idea what was coming.
She had no idea that the monster in the tub wasn't a monster at all. He was her destiny.
Oakley
The house was quiet.
Finally.
The party had raged until 4:00 AM. The entire team, their families, the staff—everyone had been crammed into our sprawling estate in Bloomfield Hills.
There was champagne in the pool. There was pizza on the ceiling (don't ask).
There was a Golden Retriever named Barnaby sleeping in the bathtub because he got overwhelmed by the attention.
But now, the last guest had stumbled into an Uber. The cleaners wouldn't arrive until noon.
It was just us.
I walked through the silent living room, loosening my tie. I was exhausted. My body felt like it had been run through a wood chipper. Every muscle screamed, every bruise throbbed.
But my heart? My heart was full.
I walked out onto the back patio.
Faye was sitting on the edge of a lounge chair, wrapped in a blanket, staring out at the sunrise over the trees. She held a steaming mug of coffee in her hands. Barnaby was curled up at her feet, snoring softly.
She looked ethereal in the morning light. Her hair was messy, her makeup smudged from the long night, wearing one of my old Ironclaw hoodies over her pajamas.
She looked like home.
I walked over quietly. Barnaby lifted his head, thumped his tail once, and went back to sleep. Traitor.
I sat down next to Faye, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. She leaned into me instantly, fitting into my side like a puzzle piece.
"Hey, Champ," she whispered.
"Hey, Doc," I replied, kissing the top of her head. "You tired?"
"Exhausted," she admitted. "But a good exhausted. My cheeks hurt from smiling."
"Mine too."
We sat in silence for a moment, watching the sky turn from purple to pink.
"Can you believe it?" she asked softly. "Five years. We graduated. You got drafted. We moved. We survived your dad trying to sue us into oblivion."
"We beat him," I reminded her. "He sent a text, by the way. Last night."
Faye stiffened. "What did it say?"
"Congratulations. The stock price is up."
Faye snorted. "Classic Elias. Always watching the bottom line."
"Let him watch," I said, tightening my grip on her. "He's irrelevant. He has the money. I have the life."
I looked around the patio. The massive yard where Barnaby chased squirrels. The grill where I burned burgers on Sundays. The window to the library where Faye spent hours reading.
This was the life I had dreamed about in that cold, sterile cabin.
"I have a question," I said, turning to look at her.
"If it's about breakfast, the answer is pancakes," she said without opening her eyes.
"Not about breakfast."
I shifted, reaching into the pocket of my sweatpants. My hand closed around the small velvet box I had been carrying around since the third period.
"Faye."
She opened her eyes, sensing the shift in my tone. She sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around her.
"What is it?" she asked. "Is your shoulder hurting? Do you need ice?"
"No," I said. "I need you."
I slid off the lounge chair onto one knee on the cold stone patio.
Faye’s hands flew to her mouth. The coffee mug wobbled dangerously.
"Oakley," she breathed. "What are you doing?"
"I'm keeping a promise," I said. "I told you I'd ask you again when we got the dog. We've had the dog for three years. I'm a little late."
She laughed, a wet, teary sound. "You've been busy. Winning championships."
"That was just the pre-game," I said seriously. "This? This is the main event."
I opened the box.
Inside sat a ring. It wasn't a monstrous rock like the ones the other WAGs wore. It was vintage. An oval diamond set in rose gold, flanked by two small emeralds that matched the forest. It was delicate, unique, and perfect for her.
"Faye Sommers," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "You are the only person who ever saw me. You saw the boy behind the name. You saw the man behind the wolf. You saved my life in a broom closet, and you've been saving me every day since."
Tears spilled over her cheeks.
"I don't want to do this without you," I continued. "I don't want the trophies, or the money, or the legacy if you aren't the one holding my hand. Be my wife. Be my mate. Be the mother of my pups—eventually."
She let out a choked laugh. "Pups."
"Is that a yes?" I asked, my heart hammering harder than it had in overtime.
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, you idiot. Of course it's a yes."
I slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly.
I stood up and pulled her into my arms. She buried her face in my neck, sobbing happy, muffled tears.
"I love you," she cried. "I love you so much."
"I love you," I vowed. "Forever."
We stood there for a long time, holding each other as the sun finally broke over the horizon, bathing us in gold light.
"So," she said, pulling back and wiping her eyes. She admired the ring, watching it sparkle. "We have a wedding to plan."
"Elopement," I suggested. "The cabin. Just us, Jax, and the dog."
"Your mother might want to come," she reminded me softly.
I paused.
My mother.
We had found her two years ago. Faye had encouraged me to reach out. She was living in Paris, painting again. We had visited. It was awkward at first, but healing. She wasn't broken anymore. And seeing me with Faye... seeing me happy... it had helped her forgive herself.
"Yeah," I smiled. "Mom can come. And Varon. He'll want to critique my vows."
"Probably," she laughed.
Barnaby barked, deciding he had been ignored for too long. He trotted over and wedged himself between our legs, demanding scratches.
I looked down at the dog, then up at my fiancée.
This was it. The Happily Ever After.
But it wasn't the end of the story. It was just the end of the prologue.
"Come on," I said, scooping Faye up into my arms bridal style. She squealed, clutching my neck.
"Where are we going?"
"Inside," I said, walking toward the French doors. "I promised you a celebration involving the trophy. And I always keep my promises."
"The Cup is cold, Oakley," she warned, though her eyes were dancing with heat.
"I'll keep you warm," I promised.
I carried her into the house, Barnaby trailing behind us, his nails clicking on the hardwood.
As I walked past the mirror in the hallway, I caught a glimpse of us.
The big, scarred Wolf carrying his girl.
I didn't see the fear in my eyes anymore. I didn't see the shadow of my father.
I saw a man who had won the lottery.
I kicked the bedroom door shut behind us, locking the world out one last time.
And then I spent the rest of the morning showing the future Mrs. Thorne exactly how much a Wolf loves his mate.