Epilogue
One Month Later…
“I’m taking you to brunch after the open practice this morning,” he says. “With the guys.”
I blink. “That’s not brunch. That’s a hostage situation.”
“Exactly.” His eyes narrow like he’s pleased with himself.
I shut my laptop with a sigh that’s mostly for show. “You realize you’re dating a woman with a calendar.”
He taps the top of the laptop with one finger. “I’m dating a woman who used to treat feelings like a press release. So yes, I realize.”
The words used to land like a small gift.
I pretend not to melt.
“Fine,” I say. “But if Dex starts auditioning for a stand-up special, I’m pretending I don’t know either of you.”
Colby grins. “If Dex isn’t saying something inappropriate, I worry about his health.”
Funny. And somehow, completely true.
I keep thinking about how time doesn’t erase what happened.
It just changes the way it sits inside.
A month ago, the arena felt like a stage I had to control.
Now it feels like… his.
And somehow, mine too.
***
By the time we get to the rink, Colby’s hand is in mine like it’s always been there. Like it doesn’t require a decision. Like he doesn’t care who sees.
Which means, of course, the universe immediately sends me into the lion’s den.
Dex is the first one we run into.
He’s leaning in the player entrance like he lives there, with coffee in one hand, phone in the other, and sunglasses on indoors, clearly fueled by no sleep and bad decisions.
His gaze drops to our joined hands.
He freezes.
Then he raises his coffee like he’s toasting us.
“Well,” he says. “Look at that. The man finally got himself a girlfriend the hard way.”
Colby squeezes my hand once, like ignore him.
I don’t.
“Good morning, Dex,” I say sweetly.
Dex points at Colby. “This guy went on an emotional journey when would’ve taken twelve minutes.”
Mason appears behind him, already grinning like he knows exactly where this is going.
Colby exhales. “I don’t do online dating.”
Dex blinks. “You… what?”
“I find women the old-fashioned way,” Colby says flatly.
Dex squints. “Define old-fashioned. Oh, I know, begging.”
Mason snorts so hard he has to brace a hand on the wall. “I would’ve paid real money to see that. Do you say pretty please when you ask women out?”
Colby shoots him a look. “You’re not helping.”
I bite my lip, failing to hide my smile. “You beg?”
Colby shoots me a look, shaking his head. “Please don’t encourage them.”
“I’m just saying,” Dex adds. “The man could’ve downloaded an app. Instead he emotionally raw-dogged courtship.”
Mason loses it.
I laugh too, and Colby finally has enough.
“You idiots don’t know shit about dating,” he says calmly, but lethally. “If any of you did, you wouldn’t still be single and emotionally confused.”
Dex opens his mouth.
Colby cuts him off. “And for the record? I like knowing who I’m talking to before I decide they’re worth my time. Not some fake picture and a bio written like a ransom note.”
Dex scoffs. “Hey, I don’t mind fake. And some of those profiles are very… prolific.”
Mason nods solemnly. “Inspirational, really.”
Dex continues. “Anyway. The important thing is, Sloane, I would like to formally apologize for the kiss cam.”
I pause. “You… would?”
Dex nods solemnly. “Yes.”
Colby’s brow lifts like even he doesn’t believe this.
Dex continues, completely serious. “I should’ve warned you earlier that it has magic powers."
"Really?" I ask, amused.
Dex beams. “See? You're holding hands. Magic. You're welcome.”
Colby pulls me past him, still muttering, but I’m laughing now.
Not the tight, managed laugh I used to use.
A real one.
And that’s when it hits me.
Not like a lightning bolt.
Like a simple truth I stopped arguing with.
Back when that whole ridiculous “dating game” started, I told myself it was strategy and optics.
Yet, if I’d been doing my job the way everyone expected, I would’ve picked the safe choice.
The easiest.
Mason.
He’s charming. Clean. Camera-friendly. He would’ve smiled for every photo and never once made my heart do that stupid skidding thing.
Instead, I ended up with the one man on the roster who refuses to play along.
The one who made me feel seen instead of packaged.
The one I couldn’t control.
Colby glances down at me, like he feels the shift.
“What?” he asks.
I shake my head once. “Nothing.”
He narrows his eyes. “That was not nothing.”
I squeeze his hand. “Later.”
He studies me for a second, then nods like he’s filing it away.
“Later,” he repeats. “I have to get ready. Sit by the bench and I’ll see you after practice.”
We’re halfway to the tunnel when the arena’s in-house announcer’s voice booms through the speakers, testing levels.
“Good afternoon, everyone. Welcome to the Outlaws' open practice!”
A few minutes later, I’m in the family section near the glass behind the bench, a hot chocolate in my hands because the arena is freezing, and the cocoa here is genuinely excellent.
The guys are on the ice for warmups.
Colby skates a lap and glances up.
Not a quick look.
A look that finds me.
He taps his stick once on the ice, like a tiny signal.
My heart does the stupid skidding thing.
And then the announcer’s voice crackles again.
“Folks,” he says, amused, “do you remember that infamous kiss cam moment from a few weeks ago? The one involving our very own captain?”
A ripple of laughter moves through the small crowd.
I sink lower in my seat. Oh no.
“Apparently,” the announcer continues, “it worked so well the first time, he has requested a… follow-up.”
The lights above the ice flicker.
Not a full kiss cam.
Just a soft spotlight that lands squarely on me.
Laughter ripples through the crowd, followed by a round of applause.
I press a hand to my chest. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Colby looks up again. This time he doesn’t just find me.
He smiles.
Not cocky.
Not guarded.
Just sure.
He skates over to the boards and hops the small gate with practiced ease, helmet still on, gloves dangling from one hand.
The announcer chuckles. “Ladies and gentlemen, sometimes the best plays aren’t drawn up. They just… happen.”
Colby removes his helmet, rests his forearms on the glass, close enough now that I can see the familiar crease between his brows.
A cheer goes up behind us as I step down to meet him.
He leans in over the glass and kisses me, quick and warm, and the crowd cheers.
Because of course they do.
The announcer clears his throat theatrically. “For those keeping score, that’s what we like to call a clean finish.”
When he pulls back, his forehead rests briefly against mine through the glass now, ridiculous and perfect all at once.
A month ago, this would’ve terrified me.
The attention.
The lack of control.
The fact that I couldn’t spin this into a clean narrative.
Now?
I don’t want to spin anything.
That game show.
The date and goodnight kiss that wasn’t supposed to mean anything.
Somehow it all led here.
To friends who meddle loudly.
To a man who refuses to be managed.
To a feeling I didn’t plan, but chose anyway.
Because in the end, it turns out I didn’t get played by another hockey player.
I didn’t lose control.
I didn’t even lose the game.
I just got completely, undeniably…
Totally kiss cammed.