Epilogue One （late-September）
VIVIAN
September in Alexandria feels like running into an old friend you haven’t seen in a while, yet somehow you pick right back up where you left off.
The air still carries warmth from summer, but there’s a nostalgic crispness underneath it now too.
The leaves along the streets in Old Town are just starting to turn, storefronts are swapping flowers for pumpkins, and the entire city feels like it’s bracing itself for something.
Because in Alexandria, fall doesn’t just mean a change in season.
It means hockey is coming back.
Which is fitting considering I’m currently standing in front of twenty-three professional hockey players who are staring at me like I came in—on purpose—to ruin their afternoon.
“Okay,” I say gleefully, clapping my hands to get their attention. “Who here has worked with metal stamping before?”
Silence. Absolute silence, then Owen slowly raises his hand halfway.
“Oh, good.”
He frowns. “No, I’m raising my hand because I don’t understand what I’m supposed to be doing.”
Laughter breaks out around the tables.
“I thought you said this was arts and crafts,” Liam says from the back of the room. “Nobody said anything about tools.”
“It’s bonding, which could be arts and crafts, but isn’t,” I argue.
Campbell leans back in his chair. “There’s a hammer involved.”
“Yes, but surely you can handle swinging one of those considering you run around on ice swinging a stick in the air?”
That earns me another round of laughter.
Honestly, this has become one of my favorite sounds in the world. Groups of grown ups, like hockey players, pretending they don’t want to participate in something while secretly getting aggressively invested in it five minutes later.
Ten workshops ago, I was starting with Emma and her team.
Now? Now I stand in community rooms, executive board rooms, and youth centers with a travel case full of jewelry supplies and somehow feel like what I’m doing matters more.
I know what I’m adding to the world is useful, and you know what? It makes me happy.
My grandmother keeps saying this is what happens when passion finally catches up to where you belong. I told her that it sounded suspiciously like something you’d find embroidered on a throw pillow. She told me to hush and handed me another box of jump rings.
“Okay, listen up,” I say, lifting the metal stamping tool. “You’re each stamping one word onto your tag today. One word you want to carry into the season.”
“Can mine be nap?” Sawyer asks.
“No.”
“Can mine be revenge?” Campbell offers.
“Concerning, but also no.”
“Can mine be carbs?” Owen asks.
“That one at least feels honest.”
Ty laughs quietly from the far end of the table, and even now—months into this relationship—the sound still finds me instantly.
My gaze flicks toward him before I can stop it. I still think that this man in the dark blue Dominion hoodie should honestly come with a warning label. Especially now.
Especially after Canada.
The trip for Emma’s wedding somehow shifted everything between us again, but in the best way possible.
Maybe because seeing Ty with his family explained so much about him.
The warmth. The loyalty. The way he made sure everyone around him is okay before he lets himself relax.
Also, thankfully, for all concerned, there were no ring incidents.
I smile to myself and look back toward the room.
“And before anyone asks,” I continue, “no, your word cannot be puck.”
A hand lifts immediately.
I point. “Absolutely not, Liam. No versions of any kind of puck nor pucking, got it?”
“How did you know that was what I was gonna say?”
“Because I’ve known you for years.”
Around us, metal tags clink against tables while players dig through stamps and leather cords and trays of hardware with varying levels of confidence.
Somewhere along the way, the Dominion organization started recommending me to other groups after Emma practically became my unofficial spokesperson. Then all the rest, and now this. Officially.
Not because I’m Ty’s girlfriend. Not because I know the players. I got this on my own merit, because they wanted me here. The realization still catches me off guard sometimes, kind of like the handwritten letters sitting in the drawer of my nightstand.
Mom’s handwriting looked strange at first. Familiar but distant.
Like seeing a childhood street after years away.
My grandmother, who moved to the retirement village last week, told me healing doesn’t usually arrive all at once.
Sometimes it arrives so quietly that you have to sit on it and let it get louder.
So far, the letters have been quiet. Careful. She’s trying, and after a lot of late-night conversations over tea, I finally decided maybe my mother’s version of trying deserves me to show some version of ‘trying’ back.
But, one step at a time. That’s the thing I’m learning lately. Not every relationship has to be fixed in one grand emotional moment. Sometimes it’s just showing up again. And again. It can also be about answering the letter.
Sometimes it’s letting someone love you properly after spending years convinced you had to earn it first.
Ty told me at dinner the other night that he wants to meet her when she comes to town later this year. The fact that he said it without hesitation nearly made me cry into my pasta.
“Vivian,” Owen calls out desperately. “I think I glued my thumb to the table.”
“You what?”
He tries to pull his hand away from the table, and it almost comes off. All his digits, except a thumb. “I panicked.”
“You panicked into industrial adhesive?”
“It happened very fast.”
I walk over, trying not to laugh. “You guys are genuinely my most difficult group.”
“That’s teamwork,” Campbell says solemnly.
I reach Owen just as he lifts his hand, the table mat coming with it. “Oh my gosh.”
“I told you,” he says defensively.
Ty’s laughing now too, shoulders shaking as he watches from across the room. The sight hits me square in the chest. Not because he’s laughing, and looking good while he does it. But because he looks light. Really light.
I manage to free Owen from the glue situation with minimal casualties before checking the supply cart.
“Okay,” I announce. “I need more leather cord from the storage closet. Nobody destroy anything while I’m gone.”
“No promises,” Campbell calls.
I point at him. “You’re on thin ice.”
“Hockey joke,” Liam whispers loudly.
“I heard that.”
The room erupts again as I shake my head and turn toward the small storage closet connected to the community room.
I barely get the door halfway open before a large hand catches it behind me, then another body slips inside.
The door clicks shut.
I turn as Ty leans against it, his broad shoulders filling the tiny storage room while my pulse immediately skitters. As long as we’re together, and I hope that it’s forever, I hope I never lose that feeling when I see him or get near him.
“Excuse me,” I whisper. “I’m working right now.”
“Mhm.”
“I would never come bother you at work.”
A grin pulls at his mouth.
“I really hope someday you do.”
Heat rushes straight into my cheeks.
“Ty.”
He steps forward slowly.
“I’m serious. Walk into practice sometime. Distract me.”
“I feel like the coaching staff would hate that.”
“They’d survive.”
“According to Lucy,” I retort, “Craig barely did that one time.”
I try to keep my composure. Really. But then he reaches out, hooks his fingers through the belt loops of my jeans, and gently pulls me toward him.
And suddenly remembering my own name feels ambitious.
“Ty,” I whisper again, weaker this time.
His eyes drop to my mouth.
“You know what your problem is?”
“What?”
“You keep acting surprised that I’m obsessed with you.”
I choke on a laugh. “Obsessed?”
“Fully,” he says easily. “I am a true hopeless situation.”
I’m searching my internal files for a comeback when his hand slides around my waist, and all thought goes from my mind.
Ty backs me carefully against the wall, his lips slanting across mine and I melt.
His mouth moves with the kind of confidence that still makes my spine tingle every single time.
Warm lips, smooth hands, and the familiar scent of clean soap and cedar lingering faintly underneath it all.
I fist the front of his hoodie and kiss him harder.
He makes a low sound in his throat that absolutely does not help my current ability to think.
“Viv,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“Mm?”
“You have no idea how hard it was sitting out there pretending to care about metal stamps.”
I laugh breathlessly as he kisses along my jaw.
“It was your idea.”
“I only wanted to do it because you were here.”
My heart stumbles. Every single time this man says something sincere, it feels like getting hit directly in the sternum.
I tip my head back against the wall as he kisses the spot beneath my ear, and wow. Okay. Maybe this storage closet has potential.
One of his hands slides into my hair just as voices echo faintly outside.
“…where did they go?”
“Oh my gosh,” I whisper, laughing. “They’re going to know.”
“Ignore them.” He pulls away long enough to look at me, eyes warm and devastating and entirely too pretty this close up. “You happy?” he asks quietly.
I smile slowly.
“Yeah,” I admit softly. “I really am.”
His expression gentles instantly, like my happiness matters to him as much as his own. Maybe more.
Outside the door, someone pounds once.
“IF YOU TWO ARE MAKING OUT IN THERE,” Campbell yells, “WE DESERVE A brEAK TOO.”
I burst out laughing against Ty’s chest. “It’s like having kids.”
Ty closes his eyes briefly. “I hate them.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No,” he agrees, kissing my forehead. “I really don’t.”