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I had watched her bleed for that jersey. Watched her claw her way to it, pushing harder than anyone else on that ice, proving—over and over—that she fucking belonged there. And now, seeing her wear it, shoulders squared, chin high?

Fuck, I had never seen anything more beautiful.

“This is it,” I said, my voice lower than I meant it to be. Reverent.

She looked down at herself, fingertips grazing the fabric, then back at me. There was pride in her gaze—fierce and unshakable—but something else too. Something just for me.

Because this wasn’t just her dream anymore.

It was ours.

The weight of it all came crashing down—our past, the risks, the impossible future we were daring to reach for. But I didn’t care. I wouldn’t care. Not when she was standing in front of me like this, fire in her eyes, daring the world to tell her she couldn’t have it all.

“I’m not letting you go,” I murmured, stepping closer, voice edged with the kind of certainty I had spent my whole damn life running from.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate.

And when I kissed her, I knew, with every fucking part of me?—

This fight wasn’t over.

But it was one we would take on together.

“So… you’re not quitting Team USA?” My voice was steady, but underneath it, there was something else—something raw and desperate, like I needed her answer more than I cared to admit.

Iris grinned, that devastating, cocky grin that always meant she was about to prove someone wrong. “Hell no,” she said, rolling her shoulders like she was shaking off the weight of the world. “I’m just showing them I can take a hit.”

A breath I hadn’t realized I was holding finally left my chest.

And then I laughed. Really laughed. The sound ripped through the room, shaking loose all the tension that had buried itself in my ribs. It felt like the first time in a long time that I wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop. She wasn’t backing down.

Not from the team. Not from me.

That hit harder than I expected—like a fist straight to the gut, but instead of pain, all I felt was her. Her fire. Her resilience. The same thing that had drawn me to her in the first place.

“I love it,” I said, unable to keep the grin off my face. That pride I always felt watching her on the ice burned even hotter now. “You’re going to show them what you’re made of.”

She tilted her chin up, a challenge in her eyes. “Damn right.”

And that’s when I realized—we could have both.

I had spent so long convincing myself we had to choose—hockey or each other. That we were doomed to ruin everything if we didn’t walk away first. But standing here, looking at her—strong, unwavering, fucking brilliant—I finally saw the truth.

We didn’t have to lose.

I reached for her hand, and the second our fingers intertwined, it was electric. The world outside my office didn’t feel like a threat anymore; it felt like something we could take on together.

We stepped out of the room together, everything still uncertain. The road ahead was messy, filled with fights we hadn’t even seen coming yet. But this? This felt like solid ground beneath my feet.

We were fighting for us.

And for the first time, I wasn’t afraid to win.

The locker room was chaos—boominglaughter, the pop of champagne bottles, the sharp scent of victory thick in the air. The team was riding the high of the win, their cheers echoing off the walls, but I barely heard any of it. My focus was locked on one thing.

Her.

Iris stood across the room, cheeks flushed, hair damp, her jersey clinging to her like a second skin. She was the center of itall, teammates clapping her on the back, toasting to her name, reveling in the fact that she had just fucking dominated.