Epilogue Two #2
We lie quietly together as the sun fades and the stars shine bright and then finally get up and walk inside, holding hands.
My heart is heavy with the fact that Dylan’s dad is gone, and this time for good.
“I’ll lock up. Go take a shower,” I say, and she just walks ahead of me.
I make sure everything is closed and check in on Dylan again, who is in the same position as he was before.
I pull the door partially closed when I leave the room and walk to our room.
The sound of the shower running tells me where she is as I grab the ring box and sit on the bed.
I look at the ring and wonder if there will ever be a good time to give it to her.
I imagine her standing in front of me wearing a white dress and smiling.
I’m so lost in my daydream that I don’t hear the shower turn off.
I only look up when she opens the bathroom door and stands there in front of me wearing one of my shirts with her hair piled on top of her head.
“What?” she says, and she looks from the box in my hand and then up.
I guess there is no time like the present.
“I had so many different ideas about how to do this,” I say, and she stands there in front of me, not moving.
“The whole romantic moment, candles, roses, music, champagne.” I shake my head.
“You name it, the idea came to my head.” Her lower lip trembles.
“The rule is that you have to ask the father's permission to marry their daughter.” I swallow back the lump in my throat.
“But I had someone more important to ask permission of, and that was Dylan.”
“Justin,” she says with a tear streaming down her face.
“I told him I wanted to marry you. That I wanted to make you mine forever.” I smile.
“That I want everyone in the whole world to know that you’re mine.
I mean, officially mine.” She steps forward to come to me, but I hold up my hand.
“I told him I wanted you to have my name, and he asked me if he can have my name also, and just like that, it made this so much more than just us getting married or you becoming my wife. It means becoming not just your husband but becoming his father. He wants to call me dad.”
“I know,” she says. “He’s been dying to ask you for the past four months.”
“I said yes,” I say. “I said yes to being his father, and I really hope,” I say now, getting down on one knee in front of her, “that you’ll say yes and marry me. Become my wife.”
“This is really awkward,” she starts, “but I have a counter.”
“Of course, you do,” I say, shaking my head.
“I’ll only become your wife if …” I wait for it. “If you give me a baby.”
She smiles. “I want to have another baby.”
“Only one?” I ask.
“We can start with one,” she says. “I can be maybe persuaded to go up.”
“Yes,” I say, and then I open the box with the ring, and she sobs.
“Caroline, will you be my wife?” She nods her head, her hands on her mouth, and tears streaming down her face.
I take the ring out of the box, and she reaches her left hand out, and it’s shaking like a leaf.
I slide it on her finger and see the five-carat square diamond sitting on it. “This is forever.”
“Forever,” she whispers, leaning down and holding my face in her hands. “And ever.” She kisses me.
* * *
Nine years later
“Good luck tonight,” I tell Dylan as he slips on his suit jacket. He grew to be a full six feet, five inches, and he works out even harder, so not only is he tall, but he’s also a rock. He was also drafted first overall, making him the fourth Stone to be drafted first.
“It will be what it will be.” He smirks at me as we walk out of the hotel room, and he makes his way to the rink.
He gives me a hug before he walks to the back and gets ready while I make my way to the box where my family will be joining me.
“Hey,” I say to Matthew who just sits there on the phone.
I sit next to him, watching the ice, getting ready for the big game.
“How’s your boy?” Matthew asks from beside me.
“Calm,” I say. “Nothing like his father.”
“It’ll be okay,” Matthew says, and I just look ahead. Slowly, the box fills with all the kids and the wives, and I look over when I hear my name being called. “Dad.” My eight-year-old son, Christopher, calls my name, and he walks in wearing Dylan’s jersey. He looks exactly like me.
The night we got engaged is the night we decided she would get her IUD removed, and we would see what happened. It took one month before she was pregnant, and nine months later, my son came into the world. “Hey, little man.” I open my arm, and he gives me a side hug. “Where is your mom?”
“She’s coming,” he says. “She was crying, so Grandma is talking to her.”
My head snaps up, and I’m about to go check on her when my twin girls, who just turned five, come into the room wearing Dylan’s jersey also.
To say everyone was surprised when we were told we would be having twins would be an understatement.
Having them come out looking exactly like my sisters is something else.
Their hair is just a touch darker, and where Zara and Zoe have green eyes, my girls have baby blue eyes.
“Abigail and Gabriella, where is your mother?” They both shrug and run to the food.
I’m about to charge out when she comes into the room with my parents beside her. “Sweetheart,” I say her name quietly, and she comes to me, and I lean in and kiss her lips. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” She pretends she wasn’t crying.
“Christopher told me you were crying,” I say, and she glares.
“Christopher should mind his own business,” she jokes, and the crowd starts to cheer so you know the team is going on the ice. I kiss her forehead, and we stand, watching Dylan take the ice. “It’s a big night.”
“Or not,” I say, trying not to get my hopes up. “He just needs to do his thing.”
The game starts, and the three Stone men stand side by side. My father is in the middle of Matthew and me. “You ready for this?” I look over at my father, who just smiles and beams with happiness.
“It’s time,” he says, and I just smile. The game is uneventful until the last two minutes of the game when Dylan takes the puck and skates it out of the zone, my stomach fluttering for him.
He passes the puck behind him to the defenseman and makes his way into position right inside the zone.
They pass the puck from defenseman to defenseman and then they slip it to Dylan, who is winding up his stick for a one timer, and just like that, it hits the back of the net.
His hands go up in the air, holding his stick, while the box erupts with shouts.
The sound of the announcer fills the box. “History is made. It only took fifty years, but Cooper Stone has been knocked off by none other than Dylan Stone. He now has the record as most points scored by a rookie.”
I watch him celebrate on the ice, and Matthew puts his arm around my father, who is clapping with tears running down his face. My arm goes around him also now. When the game ends, they have Dylan skating to the center of the ice, and the reporter is there waiting for him.
“I’ve won two Stanley Cups, yet this moment is so much better.” I look at my dad, the smile on my face hurting my cheeks.
Dylan skates to the reporter with his helmet off as he tries to catch his breath. “Well, it seems like you did it.”
“Apparently,” he says, smiling, and he looks up at me. His hands are on his waist.
“It must be surreal,” the reporter says.
“It is,” he says, and the crowd starts to chant his name. “But I wouldn’t be here without my family and their support,” he says and looks at me again and points. “But most importantly, my dad.”