Epilogue - AVA
Signed for Life
My daughter, Elise, is trying to eat my earring.
She's got her fist wrapped around the gold hoop and her mouth wide open, drool already connecting her chin to my collarbone in a glistening thread that I'm going to pretend isn't currently soaking into the neckline of my dress.
"No ma'am." I unhook her fingers gently. "Those are not food."
She looks at me with Kai's brown eyes, huge and serious. Her lower lip pushes out in a pout that is so deeply her father's expression it makes my chest squeeze every single time.
"Don't give me that face. You just ate, so you’re not starving."
She blows a spit bubble.
"Great. Very elegant."
I wipe her chin with the burp cloth draped over my shoulder and hoist her higher on my hip.
She's wearing the sage-green onesie Lucy knitted, the one that took my sister a month, many instructional videos, and one extremely aggressive phone call to a yarn shop in Portland.
The stitching is slightly uneven along the left shoulder. I will never tell Lucy that.
Kai walks into the bedroom doorway with his dark suit, white shirt open at the collar, his hair pushed back but already losing the battle against its natural direction. His eyes find us and there’s a slight softening around his mouth.
"Mira's downstairs," he says.
"Already?"
"She's been here for ten minutes. She brought a bag the size of a suitcase."
"She's staying for four hours."
"The bag suggests she's prepared for a natural disaster."
He crosses the room and holds his hands out. The baby reaches for him immediately, fingers opening and closing.
He takes her. She grabs a fistful of his shirt collar and pulls herself against his chest, tucking her head under his chin. His hand covers her entire back.
"Hey." His voice drops to that low register he only uses with her. "Are you being difficult for your mother?"
"She tried to eat my jewelry."
He smiles. Not the quarter-smile he gives the rest of the world. The full one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes the broken nose look adoring. He presses his mouth against Elise's forehead and breathes her in.
I watch them for a moment too long. Because there's a small velvet feeling in my chest that I haven't gotten used to yet, and I'm not sure I want to get used to it. I'd rather keep it fresh.
Downstairs, Mira has spread the contents of her bag across the living room like a command center. Bottles, formula backup, diapers, two changes of clothes, a stuffed rabbit the baby ignores, and a binder.
"Is that a binder?" I say.
"It's a schedule. Feeding times, nap windows, temperature settings. I printed it in color."
"Mira, she's four months old. She doesn't have a schedule."
"Then we're going to introduce structure." She takes Elise from Kai. "Go. Eat food. Be adults. She'll be fine."
Elise grabs a fistful of Mira's dark hair and yanks.
Mira doesn't flinch. "We're going to have a great time."
Biscuit is curled on the couch, one eye open, watching the baby. Her tail wags once when Kai scratches behind her ear on his way to the door.
"If she cries for more than fifteen minutes, call me," I say.
"She won't cry."
"Mira."
"I’ll call you. Go."
In the car, I flip the visor down and check my lipstick. The emerald dress catches the streetlight. Kai pulls out of the driveway and I catch him glancing at me.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're staring."
“Of course, I am. Do you want me to do more than stare?”
His gaze drops to my mouth. His eyes move over the emerald silk dress I pulled from the back of my closet.
Heat curls up my neck. Seven months of living together and sleeping beside this man and having his baby and he can still make my skin flush with a sidelong look.
We drive to the restaurant on Fourth Street. It’s small and warm, amber light spilling from candle holders on each table, white cloth napkins, the smell of garlic and rosemary drifting from the kitchen. The waiter seats us in the back corner without asking.
Kai pulls my chair out. His hand brushes the bare skin between my shoulder blades and lingers.
We order. He picks the lamb while I get the risotto with truffle oil.
"How has the captaincy been?"
"Like putting on a glove that fits. The months without it felt like driving with the parking brake on."
"You know what I like about you?"
"My modesty?"
"Your complete lack of it." I tear a piece of bread and dip it. "I like that you don't pretend. Most people would try to act humble. You just say it fits and you missed it."
"It does fit. I did miss it."
"See? No performance. It's refreshing."
"You're the one who taught me that. You told me hockey was what I do, not who I am. I had to lose the C to figure out both things are true."
I stop chewing. That quiet sincerity in his voice catches me off guard the way it always does, surfacing without warning in the middle of ordinary conversation.
"What about you?" he says. "The studio."
"What about it?"
"Naomi told me you booked out through January."
"Naomi, Naomi. She talks too much."
"She said you cried when the Brentwood client sent referrals."
"I did not cry. My eyes watered."
"She said you locked yourself in the supply closet for half an hour."
"It was a private moment of professional satisfaction."
His mouth twitches. "In a closet."
I shrug.
He laughs. Low, warm, shaking through his shoulders. I grin at him across the table.
The food arrives. We eat slowly. We talk about the new house he wants to look at in the hills, about whether Biscuit is getting fat or just fluffy.
Sometime during the conversation, Kai sets his fork down, reaches across the table and takes my hand. His thumb traces my knuckle.
"Ava."
"Kai."
"I've been carrying something around for three weeks."
My pulse picks up. "Should I be worried?"
"You should be still for thirty seconds. Can you do that?"
"I’ll see what I can do."
He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a small velvet box, sets it on the white tablecloth between the bread plate and the candle.
I freeze.
He opens the box. The ring is a warm gold band with a single stone that catches the amber light and holds it.
"You rebuilt my life when I couldn't remember it. You challenged me to be better than comfortable and you never once let me settle for less than what we could be."
My vision blurs. I press my lips together hard.
"I want mornings with you. The ones where you steal my coffee and pretend you made your own. I want our daughter's first words and her first steps and every single fight we're going to have about bedtimes and curfews and whether she's allowed to date hockey players."
A wet laugh breaks out of me.
He holds the ring between his fingers. "I want every night you fall asleep on my chest and every morning you complain about my alarm."
Tears are rolling down my face. I'm not wiping them. I don't care about the mascara or the lipstick or the people at the next table who are watching.
"Marry me, Ava."
"Yes. Yes, Kai."
He slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly.
He pulls me to my feet across the corner of the table and kisses me. It’s soft, thorough, unhurried, his hands on my face, my fingers gripping the lapels of his jacket.
When he pulls back, I press my forehead to his.
"I love you, and I need you to know that I didn't cry."
"You're crying right now."
"These are allergies leaking out."
His eyebrow lifts. "Allergies to what?"
"Must be the risotto."
He laughs then kisses me again. The waiter clears his throat somewhere behind us and neither of us moves.
After the dinner, we drive to a charity gala hosted by his team.
We walk through the hotel entrance and the ballroom opens up in a wash of bright light and noise and bodies.
Chandeliers blaze overhead. Music thumps underneath several conversations happening at once. The air smells like perfume and champagne and fresh-cut flowers, sharp and sweet and alive.
My ring catches the light. I can't stop looking at it.
Kai's hand is on my lower back, guiding me through the crowd.
He's in captain mode now, the version of him that holds a room's attention without raising his voice. People turn toward him the way they turn toward warmth.
But he keeps touching me. His thumb on my spine. His fingers brushing my hip when someone passes too close. Small, constant contact that says mine without a word.
Easton finds us near the bar. Dark suit, sharp jaw, that lean, watchful stillness he carries everywhere. His eyes drop to my hand before I said hello.
"So that's what the pocket-checking was about."
I blink. "What?"
"He's been patting his jacket like a nervous tourist for weeks. I assumed it was a medical issue."
He lifts my hand, studies the ring then sets it down. "Good stone. Right size. He didn't overthink the setting. I'm impressed."
"Thank you for that thorough assessment."
"You're welcome." The corner of his mouth lifts. "Congratulations, Ava. He picked well."
"I picked well too."
"Obviously." He extends a hand to Kai. They shake, brief and firm. "Congratulations, Captain."
"Thanks, East."
"Invite me to the wedding, and seat me far from Wyatt."
He drifts off with his drink. I watch him go. Wyatt materializes out of nowhere, green eyes wide, grin enormous.
“Did I just hear my name and wedding in the same sentence?” He stares at my fingers. "Let me see it. I called it first, you know? Let me see the ring. Is it huge? It better be huge. I told Kai to go big."
"You told me nothing," Kai says.
"I gave you spiritual guidance."
"You asked me if I was proposing with a Ring Pop."
"Which was strategic reverse psychology to make you buy a real one." He grabs my hand, examines the ring, and nods with gravity. "Perfect. I approve. I'm making a speech at the wedding."
"You are not making a speech at my wedding," Kai says.
"I've already written it."
"When?"
"Just now. In my head. It starts with the night you two met. I was there. I witnessed chemistry. I'm basically the reason this happened."
"You interrupted us."
"I accelerated the tension. That's a known romantic technique."
Kai snorts.
“You better let me make that speech. Or do you prefer I grab the mic and make it anyway?”
“Are you threatening me?”
Wyatt lifts his hands. ‘Can never do that, Cap. Just enjoying the love between you and your fiancee.”
Kai looks at me. I look at Kai. Neither of us dignifies this with a response, which only makes Wyatt grin wider before he bounces off.
The evening opens around us. I talk to people about designing their homes and offices and about my relationship with Kai. Someone asks about the ring. I tell them. Someone asks about the baby. I tell them that too with warmth in my voice.
Kai catches my eye from across the room. He's surrounded by donors and teammates and noise. But his eyes cut straight through the crowd and lands on me with that focused, steady heat.
I hold his gaze. My hand drifts to the ring. I turn it once on my finger, feeling the weight.
It feels like an anchor, the kind that holds you steady instead of dragging you down.
After a while, Kai crosses the room toward me. He reaches me, his hand sliding to my waist.
"Ready to go home?"
I think about our daughter asleep in her crib. About Biscuit curled at the foot of the bed. About the house we're building and the way he reaches for me in his sleep in reflex.
That is where I want to be. Finally, I have the life I’ve always dreamt of.
A life filled with real love and a man who stays.
"Take me home and make love to me.”
“I will.” His voice turns sultry. “In all the different positions you want.”
THE END.