Chapter 20
Ben
The end of a hockey season is usually a funeral.
You pack your bag. You clean out your stall. You say goodbye to guys you’ve lived with, bled with, and smelled for eight months. The rink, usually vibrating with noise and cold air, feels hollow. The silence settles in like dust, marking the end of a war.
But this year?
This year, the end felt like a launchpad.
It was May. Graduation day at Blackstone University.
The campus was transformed. The grey slush and biting wind of February were gone, replaced by emerald green lawns, blooming dogwoods, and seventy-degree sunshine. The campus was swarming with parents in pastel polos, students in black gowns, and enough balloons to lift the library into orbit.
I stood in the locker room of the Ice Box one last time.
It wasn't technically "my" locker room anymore—the season was over, the gear was packed—but I had come back to check for stragglers. Old habits died hard.
I ran my hand along the wooden bench of my stall. Number 4.
I remembered sitting here four months ago, staring at the floor, thinking my life was over because my knee was swollen and my dad was angry. I remembered the crushing weight of the legacy. The fear that I was a fraud.
That guy—the Ben Sterling of February—seemed like a stranger now. A sad, angry, lonely stranger.
"Sentimental much?"
I turned.
Jax was leaning against the doorframe, wearing a graduation gown unzipped over a Hawaiian shirt. He was holding two lukewarm beers.
"Just checking for ghosts," I said.
"Ghosts are gone, Cap. We exercised them with champagne." Jax walked over and handed me a beer. "Cheers to survival."
"Cheers."
We clinked bottles. The cheap beer tasted like victory.
"So," Jax said, leaning back against the lockers. "Montreal. Big time. You nervous?"
"Terrified," I admitted. "But good terrified. Not 'dad is watching' terrified."
"Davids is a good guy. He likes you. And he definitely likes the PR angle. 'The Captain Who Chose Love.' Very Hallmark."
I groaned. "Don't."
"It's true! You're a romance novel cover model now. It's disgusting." Jax grinned. "But seriously. I'm gonna miss you, man. Who's going to yell at me to eat vegetables?"
"Rook. He's taking over as Captain."
"Rook eats crayons. We're doomed."
We laughed. It was an easy, comfortable sound.
"Hey," a soft voice called from the hallway.
We both looked up.
Ivy was standing there.
She was wearing her graduation gown, but she had customized it. The hem was shortened, showing off her legs. She wore killer heels that made my ankle throb in sympathy, and her cap was decorated with pink glitter and the words: EN POINTE & OUTTA HERE.
She looked radiant. Happy. Free.
"Are you boys drinking beer before the ceremony?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Because my dad is out there, and if you breathe hops on him, he might actually combust."
"Your dad is here?" I asked, surprised.
"Yep. He came. He's trying to 'rebuild bridges.' Which translates to: he realized I wasn't bluffing about cutting him off, and he panicked."
She walked over to me. She ignored Jax completely, stepping between my legs as I leaned against the bench. She fixed my collar, her fingers brushing my neck.
"You look hot," she whispered.
"I'm wearing a dress," I muttered, tugging at the gown.
"A scholarly dress. Very sexy."
She kissed me. It wasn't a quick peck. It was a lingering, possessive kiss that made Jax groan and cover his eyes.
"Get a room! Or a rink! Just stop!"
I pulled back, smiling down at her. "Ready to graduate, St. James?"
"Ready to get the hell out of here, Sterling."
"Then let's go."
The Ceremony
The ceremony was held in the football stadium. Thousands of chairs arranged on the turf. The sun beat down on us, baking us in our polyester gowns.
It was long. It was boring. The Valedictorian gave a speech about "soaring eagles" that made me want to nap.
But I didn't care.
I sat in the Kinesiology section. Ivy was across the aisle in the Arts section.
Every time I looked over, she was looking at me. We played a silent game of making faces, trying to get the other to crack.
When they called her name—"Ivy Catherine St. James, Summa Cum Laude"—I stood up.
I didn't just clap. I cheered.
"THAT'S MY GIRL!" I roared, my voice carrying over the polite applause of the parents.
Ivy froze on stage. She looked at me. Her face turned bright red, but she was smiling so wide it looked like it hurt. She did a little curtsy, right there on the stage, holding her diploma like a bouquet.
The crowd laughed and cheered.
When I sat down, the guy next to me nudged my arm.
"Dude. Simp."
"Yep," I agreed happily. "Proud simp."
When they called my name—"Benjamin Cole Sterling"—Ivy returned the favor.
She stood on her chair. In heels.
"GO BEN! WOO!"
I walked across the stage, shook the Dean's hand, and grabbed my diploma.
As I walked off, I looked at the stands.
I saw my father. He was there, sitting in the VIP section (of course). He wasn't cheering. He wasn't smiling. But he nodded. A small, curt acknowledgment.
It was enough.
I didn't need his applause anymore. I had Ivy’s.
The After-Party
The sun was setting. The campus was bathed in golden light. The formal reception was winding down on the quad, and the real party was starting back at the Ice Box.
But we weren't going to the Ice Box. Not yet.
"Get in," I said, opening the passenger door of the Jeep.
Ivy frowned. "Where are we going? Jax ordered a keg."
"We have a stop to make first."
She climbed in. She had ditched the gown and was wearing a white sundress that made her look like an angel.
I drove. I didn't head toward the bars or the house. I drove toward the edge of campus.
To the library.
I pulled into the loading dock area—the scene of the crime. The place where the photo was taken.
Ivy looked around, confused. "Ben? Why are we here?"
"Closure," I said. "And... reclaiming the territory."
I parked the car. I turned off the engine.
"Come on."
We got out. The air was warm, smelling of cut grass and ozone.
I walked her to the exact spot against the brick wall.
"This is where it happened," I said. "This is where Lila took the photo."
"I know," Ivy shuddered. "I hate this wall."
"Don't hate it," I said. "This wall is part of our story. It's the plot twist."
I stepped closer to her. I put my hands on her waist.
"Close your eyes."
"Ben..."
"Close them."
She closed her eyes.
"Remember February?" I whispered. "Remember the snow? Remember how scared we were?"
"Yes."
"Now open them."
She opened her eyes.
I wasn't looking at the wall. I was looking at her.
"We made it, Ivy. We survived the winter. We survived the scandal. We survived our parents."
I reached into my pocket.
I pulled out a key. It was a standard silver key, but it had a keychain attached—a small, enamelled maple leaf.
"What is this?" she asked, taking it.
"It's the key to our apartment," I said. "In Montreal. I signed the lease yesterday. It's in the Plateau neighborhood. Top floor. Big windows. Hardwood floors for dancing."
Ivy stared at the key. Her mouth dropped open.
"You... you got an apartment?"
"We got an apartment. My name is on the lease, but it's our place. No roommates. No dorm moms. Just us."
"And Stanley?"
"The building allows pets. I checked."
She let out a squeal and threw her arms around my neck. "Oh my god! We're really doing this! We're moving to Canada!"
"We're doing it."
She kissed me.
It was just like the photo. Pressed against the brick wall. Her legs wrapping around my waist (the sundress made it easier). My hands in her hair.
But this time, there was no fear. No looking over our shoulders.
If Lila—or anyone else—took a photo now, let them. Let them put it on the front page of the New York Times.
See this? This is love. This is victory.
"I love you," she whispered against my mouth. "I love you, you crazy Canadian."
"I'm American," I corrected, nipping her lip. "But I'm willing to convert for poutine."
The Ice Box
We finally made it back to the house around 10 PM.
The party was in full swing. The music was thumping. The lawn was covered in red cups. It looked exactly like the night we met, minus the blizzard.
We walked into the kitchen.
It was packed. But the crowd parted for us.
Jax was standing on the counter (again). He saw us and raised a megaphone.
"ATTENTION! THE ROYAL COUPLE HAS ARRIVED!"
The room cheered.
Rook walked over, holding a Sharpie and a hockey stick.
"Tradition," he said weirdly. "Sign the wall."
"What wall?" I asked.
"The pantry door," Rook pointed. "All the Captains sign it when they leave. But... you should both sign it."
I looked at the pantry door. It was covered in scrawled names and dates going back twenty years. Miller '18. Thompson '15.
I took the Sharpie.
I found a blank spot near the top.
I wrote: STERLING #4.
Then I handed the marker to Ivy.
She looked at me. "Really?"
"You lived here too," I said. "You survived the smell. You earned your stripes."
She smiled. She took the marker.
Under my name, in her looping, elegant script, she wrote: & ST. JAMES.
And then, next to it, she drew a tiny, perfect pair of pointe shoes.
"Perfect," I said, kissing her temple.
"Okay!" Jax yelled through the megaphone. "Enough sentimentality! Speech! Speech!"
The crowd started chanting. "SPEECH! SPEECH!"
I looked at Ivy. She shrugged. "You're the Captain."
I climbed onto the counter next to Jax. I looked out at the sea of faces. My teammates. My friends. My family.
I raised my beer.
"When I came to Blackstone," I started, my voice projecting easily over the crowd, "I thought hockey was a solo sport. I thought if I did my job, blocked my shots, and kept my mouth shut, I'd win."
I looked down at Ivy. She was beaming up at me, her eyes shining.
"I was wrong," I said. "You can't win alone. You need a team. You need people who will fight trains for you. People who will eat burnt grilled cheese with you. People who will tell you when you're being an idiot."
Laughter rippled through the room.
"So," I raised the bottle higher. "To the Bruins. To the family we choose. And to the girl who taught me that the best plays aren't in the playbook."
I looked at Ivy.
"To Ivy."
"TO IVY!" the room roared.
I hopped down.
Ivy pulled me into a hug. "That was cheesy."
"It was heartfelt. Shut up."
"Make me."
I kissed her.
Later That Night
The party wound down. The guests left. The boys passed out on various pieces of furniture.
The house was quiet.
We went up to the attic.
It was empty. My stuff was packed in boxes. The walls were bare. The Bobby Orr jersey was gone.
It looked like it did when I first moved in. Cold. Sterile.
But it didn't feel that way.
The bed was still there. Stripped of sheets, just the mattress.
"One last night?" Ivy asked, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
"One last night," I agreed.
I locked the door. I walked over to her.
We didn't undress frantically. We took our time. We had all the time in the world now.
We lay on the bare mattress, wrapped in a blanket we had stolen from the couch downstairs.
The moonlight filtered through the skylight, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.
"It feels weird," Ivy whispered, tracing the tattoo on my arm. "Leaving."
"Yeah."
"Are you going to miss it?"
"The house? No. The smell? Definitely no." I paused. "The guys? Yeah. I'll miss them."
"We can visit."
"We will."
I turned on my side to look at her.
"Ivy?"
"Mmm?"
"Do you remember the first night? When you climbed through the window?"
She laughed softly. "How could I forget? You threatened to throw me into a snowbank."
"I almost did."
"But you didn't."
"No. I didn't."
I brushed a strand of hair from her face.
"I looked at you," I admitted, "and I thought: This is trouble."
"And I looked at you," she countered, "and I thought: This is a giant."
"Were we right?"
"Partially," she smiled. "You are a giant. And I am trouble."
"The best kind of trouble."
I kissed her.
"Hey, Ben?"
"Yeah?"
"What happens next?"
I looked up at the skylight. At the stars.
"We drive north," I said. "We cross the border. We find our apartment. We buy a couch. I start my job. You start your studio."
"And then?"
"And then... we live."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
I pulled her closer.
"No more scouts?" she asked.
"No more scouts."
"No more dads?"
"No more dads."
"Just us?"
"Just us."
She sighed contentedly.
"I like the sound of that."
"Me too."
We fell asleep there, in the empty room that had started it all.
The next morning, we would load up the Jeep. We would drive away from Blackstone, away from the expectations, away from the ghosts.
We were heading into the unknown.
But as I held Ivy in the dark, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing against my chest, I knew one thing for sure.
I wasn't the Butcher anymore. I wasn't the Senator's son. I wasn't even the Captain.
I was just Ben.
And for the first time in my life... that was enough.