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“Hey, buddy.”

“You were awesome in the dunk tank. Way cooler than my old coach. He used to yell a lot.”

“Yelling doesn’t make people better,” I say. “But good aim does.”

Jake grins. “I’ve been practicing.”

“I noticed.” I reach over and rub the blue sugar from his cheek. “You sharing that cotton candy?”

“Nope. But I can give you my frog.”

He holds out the ridiculous rubber frog with solemn pride. My heart twists.

“I’ll keep him safe,” I say.

Jake’s eyes squint. “You’re not leaving again, are you?”

The question lands like a puck to the ribs. I kneel so I’m eye-level. “Not if I can help it.”

He nods, satisfied. “Good, ’cause Aunt Quinn smiles more now.”

I blink fast. “Thanks for telling me.”

He sprints off, yelling something about popcorn. I stay still for a beat longer, watching the light shift over the lake.

Later, just before my speech, I walk out to the edge of the dock alone. The sky’s that deep blue purple that only happens this time of year. The water’s calm. And for a second, I let myself be completely still.

I almost didn’t come back. Almost convinced myself Quinn would be better off with someone steadier. Safer.

But she’s not asking for perfect. She’s asking for honest.

And I can do that.

I head up to the mic. Mayor Kenner gives me a quick thumbs up.

“Thanks for coming out, everyone,” I begin, scanning the crowd. “Sunset Cove knows how to throw a party—and more importantly, how to take care of its own. I’m proud to call this place home. Always have. Always will.”

There’s a cheer, and I spot Quinn clapping, Abby next to her holding tight to Jake who’s got blue cotton candy stuck to his cheek. My chest tightens in the best possible way.

“We’re here tonight to raise funds for youth programs, including the hockey academy,” I continue. “When I was a kid, this town showed up for me. After I lost my parents, after every setback, you were there. That’s why I came back—to give these kids the same sense of safety and possibility I was lucky enough to have.”

Applause rises again. I see Griff with his arm around Liz, Jake, and Abby bouncing Violet on her hip. Even Savannah is nodding from the lemonade stand like she’s pretending not to be tearing up.

“And yeah, I got dunked for charity,” I add. “No one told me Jake had a fastball.”

The crowd laughs. Jake fist-pumps again.

“But the truth is, getting dunked was the easy part. Choosing to stay? To plant roots? That’s harder. And worth it.”

I glance toward Quinn. She’s watching me with this look—soft, steady, a little surprised, like maybe she didn’t realize just how deep my roots go here.

“Thank you,” I say. “For welcoming me home. For reminding me that sometimes the biggest wins don’t happen on the ice. They happen right here.”

I step off the stage to a mix of cheers and clapping. As I hand the mic back, someone presses a folded envelope into my hand—an anonymous donation. I glance down and see a check with a note:For the clinic. We need Quinn to stay.

I don’t know who sent it, but I know exactly what to do with it.

When I find her again by the lake, she’s sitting on the edge of the dock, legs dangling over the side. I take the spot beside her and hand her the envelope.