Epilogue DECLAN
A Special Win
The ring burns a hole in my locker.
I've checked on it three times in the last hour. A simple platinum band with a single diamond. Elegant and understated, exactly like Ivy. It's tucked inside my equipment bag, wrapped in the velvet box Patricia's jeweler friend helped me pick out two weeks ago.
Tonight. I'm doing this tonight.
If we win.
No. When we win.
"Dec, you good?" Jake appears beside me, already in his pads. His warm brown eyes are sharp, assessing. "You've been staring at that bag like it's going to explode."
"I'm fine."
"You're lying." He sits on the bench, lowering his voice. "What's going on?"
I glance around the locker room. Tyler and Connor are arguing about pregame rituals. Misha sits in his corner, silent and focused like always. Coach Petrov is in his office, probably reviewing footage for the hundredth time.
"I'm proposing," I say quietly. "After the game. On the ice."
Jake's eyebrows shoot up. Then a grin spreads across his face.
"About time."
I swallow. "You think she'll say yes?"
"Are you serious right now?" He claps my shoulder. "That woman testified in front of the entire hockey world to defend you. She chose you over job offers from Stanford and MIT. Of course she'll say yes."
"What if I mess it up?"
"Then you mess it up. But you won't." His expression turns serious. "Focus on the game first. Win this thing. Then go get your girl."
He's right. It’s game five, series tied 2-2. Everything is on the line.
We lose tonight, our season is essentially over. We win, we advance to the conference finals for the first time in franchise history.
The pressure should be crushing.
Instead, I feel clear. Focused. Ready.
Because Ivy will be watching from the stands, wearing my jersey with "HAWTHORNE" across the back. Because Riley and Rowan are here. Because Ivy’s parents approved us when I asked. Because Marcus gave me his blessing last week after I asked him for it. Actually asked him, like some nervous kid.
"You hurt her again, I'll end you," he'd said. "But yeah. You have my blessing."
Coming from Marcus, that's basically a tearful speech of approval.
Coach Petrov storms into the locker room, whistle around his neck. The room falls silent immediately.
"Alright, listen up." His accent thickens with intensity, his eyes scanning each player. "Tonight, we make history. Tonight, we show everyone what this team is made of. You make no mistakes. No hesitation. You play like your lives depend on it because your legacy does. Understood?"
"Yes, Coach!" we shout in unison.
"Hawthorne." He points at me. "You're centering the first line. Morrison, you're captain. Keep them focused. Volkov, I need you sharp in net. Chen, Hayes; no stupid penalties."
"Hey!" Connor protests.
"Did I stutter?"
Connor shuts up.
We finish suiting up in focused silence. The familiar ritual grounds me: lacing skates, taping stick, pulling on the jersey that's become a second skin. The smell of sweat and ice and determination fills the room.
Jake stands in the center, and we gather around him.
"Brothers," he says simply. "Let's make this count."
We stack our gloved hands, one on top of the other, and shout our battle cry before exploding out of the locker room.
The tunnel to the ice vibrates with noise. Thousands of fans screaming, music pounding, the energy electric and overwhelming. I close my eyes for just a moment, center myself, and think of Ivy.
This is for us. For our future.
Then I'm on the ice, and everything else disappears.
The first period is brutal.
Both teams are flying, checking hard, fighting for every inch of ice. I take a hit into the boards that rattles my teeth. Tyler gets tangled up with their forward and nearly starts a fight. Misha makes three impossible saves that keep us tied at zero.
By the time the buzzer sounds, we're all gasping for air.
"Keep pushing," Coach barks during the intermission. "They're getting tired. We capitalize in the second."
He's right.
Seven minutes into the second period, I steal the puck at center ice and take off. Their defense man tries to cut me off, but I deke left, then right, my body moving on pure instinct. The goalie squares up, but I see the gap. Five-hole, just barely open.
I shoot.
The puck slides through.
Goal.
The arena explodes. My teammates mob me, pounding my helmet, shouting. But I'm already looking at the stands, searching for the section where I know she's sitting.
There. Row twelve. Ivy jumps to her feet, screaming, her hands pressed to her mouth. Even from here, I can see the joy on her face.
I point at her.
She laughs. Even though I can't hear it over the crowd, I know exactly what it sounds like.
We carry that momentum through the rest of the period. I assist on Jake's goal to make it 2-0. Tyler blocks what should have been an easy score for them. Misha is playing out of his mind, stopping everything they throw at him.
By the third period, the other team is desperate.
They pull their goalie with three minutes left, going for broke with an extra attacker. We're all exhausted, legs burning, lungs screaming. But we hold the line.
Two minutes.
One minute.
Thirty seconds.
Their forward breaks free with the puck, charging toward Misha. I chase him down, my skates eating up ice, and manage to poke-check the puck away just as he shoots. It slides harmlessly wide.
Ten seconds.
The crowd is on its feet, counting down.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
The buzzer sounds.
We won!
We're going to the conference finals.
The arena loses its mind. Fans are screaming, jumping, hugging strangers. My teammates dogpile at center ice, everyone shouting and laughing. Someone dumps a water bottle over my head. Jake is crying as he hugs each of us.
"We did it!" Connor yells, his young face split in the biggest grin I've ever seen. "We actually did it!"
But I'm not celebrating yet.
I skate away from the pile, toward the section where Ivy is standing. She's pushed her way to the glass, her small frame somehow making it through the crowd. Her brown eyes are wide, mascara slightly smudged from happy tears, her straight black hair falling around her face.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
I drop to one knee on the ice.
The crowd noise shifts. Confusion, then realization, then a collective gasp that ripples through the entire arena. Cameras swivel toward me. The jumbotron switches from the final score to my face.
I pull the ring box from where I tucked it into my glove, flipping it open.
Ivy's hands fly to her mouth. Tears stream down her cheeks.
I can't hear myself over the noise, but I mouth the words anyway:
“Will you marry me?”
For one endless moment, she just stares. Then she's nodding frantically, saying something I can't hear but can read on her lips:
“Yes. Yes. Yes.”
The arena erupts again, somehow even louder than before.
Security helps her onto the ice. She's wobbling in her sneakers on the frozen surface, and I catch her before she falls. My hands shake as I slide the ring onto her finger. It fits perfectly.
"I love you," I say against her ear, the only way she'll hear me.
"I love you too." She pulls back, and her smile is radiant. "You're insane. You know that?"
"You're marrying me anyway."
"I am." She laughs, and the sound cuts through everything else. "I really am."
I kiss her, right there at center ice, in front of twenty thousand people and every camera in the building. She kisses me back, her hands fisting in my jersey, and nothing has ever felt more right.
My teammates surround us, whooping and congratulating. Riley is somehow on the ice now, crying and hugging Ivy. Rowan is grinning. As we finally skate off the ice together, me basically carrying her, I can't stop grinning like an idiot.
"Mrs. Hawthorne," I murmur into her hair.
She looks up, eyes sparkling. "Not yet."
"Soon."
"Soon," she agrees.
The locker room is chaos. Champagne being sprayed, music blasting, everyone shouting and celebrating. But I keep Ivy tucked against my side, my arm around her waist, anchoring her to me.
Jake claps me on the back so hard I stumble.
"Told you she'd say yes."
"Never doubted it," I lie.
Marcus approaches. For a moment, I tense. But he just looks at Ivy and something softens in his expression.
"You happy?" he asks her.
"So happy," she says, her voice thick with emotion.
He nods, then turns to me. "Take care of her."
"Every day," I promise. "For the rest of my life."
He holds my gaze for a long moment, then extends his hand. I shake it, and there’s an understanding between us. I know then that I’ve gotten my best friend back.
The celebration continues around us, but I pull Ivy aside to a quieter corner of the locker room.
When we finally emerge from the locker room an hour later, hand in hand, the arena is mostly empty. Our families wait in the tunnel. Riley’s still crying happy tears. Rowan is looking pleased. Ivy's parents are beaming.
But it's the twins who rush forward first.
"We're getting a sister!" Riley squeals, hugging Ivy fiercely.
Rowan just smiles and says quietly, "Welcome to the family officially."
Ivy's mother kisses her cheek. Her father shakes my hand with a firm grip and a warning look that says everything Marcus's threats did.
We all head out together, planning an impromptu celebration dinner. But as we walk through the parking lot under the night sky, I pull Ivy back just for a moment.
"What?" she asks, laughing.
I take both her hands, the engagement ring catching the streetlight.
"I'm going to be a good husband to you. I'm going to support your research, celebrate your wins, be there when things get hard.
I'm going to make you feel seen and valued every single day.
" My voice drops. "You've spent your whole life being overlooked.
That ends now. I see you, Ivy. And I'm going to spend forever making sure you never doubt that. "
Her eyes fill with tears, her smile widening.
"I’ll always love you," I whisper.
THE END.
Did you like this book? Then you’ll LOVE Fake Married To My Rockstar.
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Ash Ryder is a tattooed rock god with a reputation hotter than his Grammy shelf.
I’m a kindergarten teacher and secret romance blogger.
He’s also my brother’s best friend—off-limits—and now, my fiancé.
Our deal: his image gets a boost, my bank account gets a miracle.
Strictly business. Especially since he isn’t into women.
Only… he kisses me. Like, really kisses me.
One night with him—and I learn exactly how not-gay he is.
And like an idiot, I fall for him. But when I say “I love you”…
he flinches. Turns out, I wasn’t the girl he wanted—just the one who fit the plan.
So I’m ditching the vows and walking straight out the door…