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New Year’s Eve

PEYTON

I should be at the stadium, surrounded by snacks and champagne-flavored gummy bears in the owner's box. At least, that’s what Cammy texted me about an hour ago.

Cammy: Are you coming out tonight? New Year’s Eve games are the best. There’s always something in the air, and we’re all going out after.

Peyton: Thanks, but I’m going to lay low. Maybe edit some, watch a movie, and then head to bed early.

The part I don’t tell her— “...and try not to think about the man I gave up, the syndication deal I turned down, or the way the silence in my townhouse echoes now that he’s gone.”

I settle into the couch, curled up in my sweats, when a knock sounds at the door.

I didn’t call for a food delivery and as far as I know, no one should be coming over today.

I rise, peeking through the window—and freeze.

Jesse.

Standing on the porch with his cane, bundled in a jacket two sizes too big and a smug little smirk on his face. Abby’s parked at the curb, idling like she knows this is a quick drop.

I pull open the door. "Jesse? What—"

He hands me a thick envelope, then shrugs like it’s no big deal. "He asked me to give this to you. And we’re kind of best friends now, so don’t screw this up for me," he says with a wink.

“Who are you best friends with?” I ask…though I already have a feeling I know who he’s talking about.

“Hunter Reed.”

I shake my head and ruffle his hair. "You’re unbelievable."

He grins, already turning. I watch him walk carefully down the porch steps and back to Abby’s car. His steps are steadier. More confident.

My chest squeezes because I’m holding something in my hands from Hunter, and that my nephew is doing so well because of Hunter’s encouragement. Whatever this is...it's from the man I think about most of the day.

Maybe it’s a goodbye.

Maybe it’s a final rent check.

Or maybe—God help me—it’s a custody agreement for Sproutacus. That would be just the sort of thing Hunter would do to make me laugh.

I tear into the envelope.

Inside, a season ticket to his section—and a French bulldog sticky note. Did he steal them from my house, or did he purchase his own? Considering I just tucked mine into my desk days ago to keep from seeing them and thinking of him, I’m pretty sure he didn’t break into my house for sticky notes.

Hunter’s handwriting curls across the paper:

Don’t worry...it’s not another glitter cock. Come to my game tonight. One last time. Please.

I suck in a breath.

Is this his last game?

A final farewell before New Jersey becomes home again?

I haven’t seen any trade announcements, but if I’m honest...I haven’t checked. Any breaking news with the Hawkeyes, I’ve intentionally ignored. I just don’t think the reality of seeing the news release of Hunter getting traded to New Jersey is something I can handle.

I exhale slowly, trying to calm my heartbeat, but it’s no use. I want to see him. Even if it breaks me.

Five minutes later, I’m in my closet, pulling on jeans.

I reach for the spot where I always kept his jersey that he made me wear as part of our arrangement.

I got used to being wrapped up in his number.

And then I sink into the memory of why it’s not where it should be—I gave it back with the rest of his things.

Disappointment prickles.

I grab my black puffy jacket instead and head for the door.

That’s when I see it.

A gift.

A gift box, perched on the hood of my car.

Another sticky note taped on top with his handwriting on it. I glance around quickly, almost hoping to find him crouching in the brushes nearby…but nothing.

Some things don’t fit right from the start...

I unwrap it, a breath catches in my throat.

Inside is his jersey. And another note:

...and some things fit perfectly from the very beginning. This jersey is yours. It’s never looked better on anyone. No matter where I’m playing, I hope you’ll wear it.

Tears sting my eyes.

God, he knows what he’s doing.

I peel off my coat, tug the jersey over my head, and climb into my car.

When I enter the stadium, I head for our old seats—my steps quick, heart pounding.

As I approach, I look up overhead to spot familiar faces behind the glass high up in the owner's box.

Isla notices me first, then Cammy, then all the girls.

They cheer, banging on the glass like we just won the Stanley Cup.

I smile, cheeks burning.

But just as I reach my seat, I stop—someone’s sitting there.

"Excuse me, I think this is my—"

The woman turns.

"Carly?"

She beams. "There you are! I’ve been waiting an hour."

She immediately jumps up and hugs me. It takes me a second to connect with what's happening, and then I stretch my arms around her too.

Finally, we both pull back from our hug.

"What are you doing here? Should you even be traveling? I thought you were starting treatment."

She pats the seat beside her. "Next month. I’m getting settled first. The moving van just got here."

I blink. "Settled? Where?"

"In the guest house behind the house that Hunter just bought. It’s in that nice subdivision where all the retired players live,” she tells me as if this news doesn’t have more questions that are bubbling up.

I have no idea where to even start now. “And I believe that Hunter told me Coach Haynes lives three doors down. "

I sit, stunned. "Hunter...bought a house in Seattle? I don’t understand…why?"

"Because he didn't take the trade. He's staying,” I hear a voice, and someone flips around in front of me in their seat.

Jesse.

Now I feel like I’m in a tailspin. What is going on?

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

"We were invited," a deep male voice echoes next to him. A voice I've known since childhood.

My brother, with Abby sitting to the right of him, my mom on the left.

"Oh my God! You’re home!" I say, as he stands from the seat in front of me and we hug. “I’m so confused as to why all of you are here.”

"We're here for you and Hunter sweetheart,” Carly says.

“And the moving van you just mentioned? I thought you already told Hunter that you wouldn’t move.”

“I was waiting for my doctor to find me an opening in Seattle. I didn't want Hunter to be let down if nothing opened up in time. But the rest of it... Well, that's the fun part...and you'll have to wait and see. Hunter wants to tell you all about it."

The lights dim.

The jumbotron flares to life.

A close-up shot appears.

Of a sticky note.

Shaped like a bulldog.

Come down to the ice. One last surprise.

And that’s when I see him.

Hunter Reed—skating out onto the ice in the darkness and spotlights of the stadium…with something in his hands.

The announcer’s voice booms. "Can we get Peyton Collins to center ice, please? Peyton Collins? We promise this won’t take long."

My body moves before my brain catches up.

The usher waves me forward, and I climb over the railing to the players tunnel, with help from a couple of players, to get down.

Hunter’s there.

Skates on, helmet off, jersey half-untucked.

And in his arms... A French bulldog puppy.

I gasp.

He grins, crossing the ice until he’s right in front of me.

I reach out to scratch behind the ear of the little puppy.

“What is going on, Hunter? The notes, the announcer, your mom and my family being here…this puppy?”

"I didn’t take the trade, Peyton. Bethany and her ex are out. My mom got into a trial here, and this is where my life is."

"Hunter..."

He steps closer. "I fell for you the second you rolled your eyes at me at the charity event while you were ordering your drink. I should’ve seen it then.

I should have known what was standing right in front of me.

But I was too drunk at Oakley’s, and I was too stupid, and my vision was too clouded after everything Bethany put me through to see that you were about to flip my life upside down—for the better,” he says, leaning in closer, and I welcome it.

I miss him so close. “I should have asked you on a real date. I shouldn’t have needed a charity auction or a fake dating pact.

But I don’t regret it, because it brought me here. ”

“And the puppy?”

He hands the sleeping pup off to me, and I cradle it in my arms.

"You said your life was too chaotic for a puppy. I figured we could try chaos together."

Tears spill freely now.

“I don’t care where we live, Peyton. In your townhouse, in the house I bought for us, in New Jersey, in Seattle. None of it matters to me. I just want to be with you.”

I laugh through the tears. "Did you bring me out here in front of all these fans to give me a puppy?” I ask with a smirk.

He smiles. "No. I brought you out here to ask you once more…to bet on me. One last time.”

"Okay," I whisper. "I’ll bet on you. Again and always."

He kisses me.

The crowd erupts. I get a glimpse up in the owner’s box where the girls are jumping up and down, and then down to where Jesse, my brother, Abby, Mom, and Carly are all applauding and hugging.

Our family just got bigger, and there’s nothing more I want.

It hits me that this is exactly what my father always wanted for me. He wanted me to find my voice, and most importantly, to find love and passion in life again. To find my place in this world. And I know that with Hunter and our family by my side, that’s exactly what I have.

Trade contracts and network deals aren’t what make you happy. It’s the people in your life that make every day worth living, and that’s what I have here.

And there’s one more final truth. That nothing between Hunter and I was ever fake. Not for a moment.

"What’s his name?" I ask, scratching the pup’s chin.

"Sproutacus the Second. But we can call him Sprout. What do you think of him?" he asks, reaching over to scratch his chin.

I grin. "I’m just glad he’s not another glitter dildo.”

He steps closer and rests his forehead against mine, his arms wrapping around Sprout and me. “As long as I’m around, you won’t be needing any more silicone cocks. I promise, Passenger Princess.”

And then I kiss him again, puck drops forgotten, the roar of the fans long forgotten.

The girls were right—New Year’s Eve at the stadium is crazy.

But I wouldn’t want this life any other way.