24. Chapter Twenty-Four #2
"Come on," I say, taking her hand. "I want to show you something."
I drive us to Zilker Park. It's late enough that the Great Lawn is mostly empty, just a few people walking dogs along the trails and some joggers making their final loops around Lady Bird Lake.
I park near Barton Springs Road, and we walk out onto the massive expanse of grass. The Austin skyline glows in the distance across the water — glass and steel towers lit up, defiant against the dark.
"Why here?" Sarah asks, but I can hear some awareness come into in her voice. Like maybe she's starting to figure it out.
"Because this is where it started." I pull her toward the center of the expanse of grass in front of us, to a spot that's probably close to where her booth would've been set up on the most important day of my life — even though I didn't know it at the time.
"Eighteen months ago. The Spring Paws Across Austin Festival.
You had a booth right about here, I think. "
She stops walking, turns to look at me. "You remember that?"
"I remember everything about that day." I step closer, let my hand settle on her waist. "You were trying to wrangle three dogs at once because Diane was at another table. One of them — that terrier mix, the brown one—"
"Chester," she supplies, and I can see a soft smile brush over her features and light up her eyes.
"Chester got loose and made a break for the food trucks. You went running after him in flip-flops, nearly wiped out twice, and when you finally caught him, you were completely out of breath and laughing."
"You saw that?" Her cheeks flush. "That was so embarrassing."
"You were adorable. The cutest thing I'd ever seen. I had to meet you." I brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "Then I came over to your booth and there he was. This chocolate Lab puppy, maybe four months old, scared of everything. Wouldn't even look at me."
"Ranger," she whispers. "He'd just come in from the county shelter two days before. I almost didn't bring him because he was so shut down."
"But you did. And you sat down on the grass with him and me, and you told me his story. How he'd been found abandoned, how he needed someone patient. Someone willing to give him time." I cup her face with both hands. "You looked at me and said, 'I think you might be exactly what he needs'."
"I remember." Her voice cracks slightly. "You filled out the application right there. Diane thought I was insane for doing a same-day adoption. I never do those. But you…I just knew."
"And it was the best decision I ever made." I glance around the Great Lawn. "They're setting up for the Fall Paws Across Austin Festival. This Saturday. Full circle."
"I know." She leans into my touch. "We'll have a booth there again. Diane's already freaking out about logistics."
We stand there in silence, the city sprawling around us. The same grass where I first met her, where I first met Ranger, where everything started without either of us knowing how much it would become for both of us.
Sarah turns in my arms, looks up at me. The Austin skyline reflects in her eyes, all city lights and possibilities.
"What if we can't figure it out, Kevin?"
I cup her face with both hands, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. "I'm not letting that happen."
"Kevin, you can't just—"
"Watch me."
I lean down slowly, giving her time to pull away, but she doesn't. She rises up to meet me halfway.
When our lips touch, it's soft at first. Tentative.
But then Sarah makes this small sound in the back of her throat and her hands slide across my chest, then come to rest on my shoulders, holding herself close.
And I'm done being careful.
I angle her head, deepen the kiss. Try to tell her everything I can't say out loud yet. Everything that's been building for eighteen months. Everything I feel is on a blade’s edge. Everything I’m unwilling to lose, but might anyway.
She kisses me back just as hard. Her hands slide up to my neck, into my hair, pulling me closer.
I walk her backward until she’s a breath away from a tree. My body pins hers. One hand cups her face, the other slides to her hip, holding her against me.
She arches into me and I can’t keep the low sound inside.
And it’s okay. I want her to know I want her. Only her. Only this.
This kiss is hard, searching for the meaning we both know but can’t say. Like we're both trying to hold onto something that might slip away. Like if we stop, we'll have to face everything we don't know how to fix.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard, eyes closed, still holding on.
My hand moves to her stomach. Rests there. Protective, because that feels right.
"I'm not giving up on this," I say against her hair. "On us. On any of it."
Her fingers tighten in my hair. "I'm not either. I'm just...scared."
"Me too, baby. Me too."
I kiss her again. Softer this time, slower, but no less intense. A promise neither of us knows if we can keep.
But for right now, in this moment, we have each other.
And we have Austin spread out around us — the same grass where we met, the same skyline we both love, the same city that brought us together.
Maybe it'll be enough to keep us here.
We don't talk much on the drive home. Sarah's hand is in mine on the center console, and that's enough.
When we get back to my place, it's almost midnight. We're both exhausted — emotionally more than physically.
"I should sleep," Sarah says, but she doesn't move toward the guest room.
"Stay," I say, taking the risk she might say no, that she might turn and walk down the hallway. "Just... Stay with me tonight."
She nods.
We get ready for bed in comfortable silence. She slips into one of my t-shirts — an old Stampede one from my first season here. I strip down to boxer briefs. When I climb into bed, she's already there, curled on her side.
I pull her back against my chest, wrap my arm around her waist, let my hand rest on her stomach. The two most important people in my world, right here. Right now.
I've fought for a lot of things on the ice. Championships. Playoff spots. Being worth keeping in Austin, at a price I've earned.
And now I know what's actually worth fighting for. It’s this.
"Kevin?" Her voice is quiet in the darkness.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For tonight. For everything."
I press a kiss to her shoulder. "Always."
She's asleep within minutes. I lie there awake, staring at the ceiling, her breathing steady against my chest.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and for the first time, I know what it means to be completely thankful.
Tomorrow, my parents arrive. We'll have to figure out how to tell them about the baby. And beyond that, I will have to face the reality that I might be forced to choose between my career and my family.
But tonight, right now, Sarah's in my arms and our baby's safe and we're together.
I look down, see the ink, feel it as my skin touches hers, holds the mother of my child tight.
Semper Protegam.
They’re mine to protect, mine to defend.
And I will.