Page 34 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Epilogue

Kailey

I grinned as I peeked into the small bag that currently held my Christmas present for Smitty’s parents.

It wasn’t much—just a pair of earrings I’d thought the cool and hip Celeste would like, and a bottle of whiskey that was Ryan’s favorite.

I’d gotten lucky that I’d been able to pick up the gifts, considering it was Christmas Eve and the shops had been packed, and his parents hadn’t originally been planning on coming to visit and celebrate the holiday until after the New Year.

But their cruise to Hawaii had gotten canceled, and for some reason they’d decided to freeze their butts off in Baltimore instead of finding another way to the tropics.

I would be glad to see them.

They’d visited a few more times since that initial—dramatic—dinner, and things had been smooth and fun, and Smitty had been able to talk to them a bit about all the things that had been going through his head.

That had brought clarity and understanding, and…tears from Celeste.

But she’d recouped quickly, had held her big, broad son in her arms, and they all had talked for a long time.

Slowly, I was watching Smitty shed that hidden burden, the buried pain he’d carried for far too long, the one masked by jokes and a big personality.

I was watching him soar.

My lips turned up further as I set the bag beneath the tree at Smitty’s place—a house that was going to become mine soon. My lease was up in May, but we’d decided to break it, and I was going to move my stuff in over the All-Star break.

Though, it may be less of a break and more of me frantically getting my stuff in so that I could watch Smitty take part in the festivities.

He’d been playing…incredible.

The rosters weren’t publicly announced yet, but everyone knew he’d be on the roster.

Because he was flying, those heavy weights released.

Only…there was one more weight that still remained.

So hopefully, my luck—the one that had turned up pretty earrings, a bottle of whiskey, and the wallet (boring but I’d been desperate, okay) I’d tucked into the bag behind the tree—would hold.

Because…I’d done something.

Something that might backfire, especially considering it was definitely overstepping boundaries.

But…

I loved Smitty.

I wanted him to be happy.

I wanted them all to be happy.

So, when I’d heard that his parents hadn’t spoken to Brandon since the night at CeCe’s, except for the occasional check-in to make sure he was breathing, I’d known I had to do something.

Even I had found a way forward with my dad.

He’d given me radio silence for a month, then had called, and…I didn’t know why, maybe old habit, maybe stupidity, maybe…just not quite knowing what he wanted and had been overcome with curiosity to find out.

I’d picked up the call.

And…he’d been tentative, the first thing off his tongue, an apology.

That didn’t erase everything. Hell, who was I kidding? It didn’t erase anything . I’d suffered for years because of his actions. But…also…

I could have a polite conversation with him for ten minutes once a week.

Maybe over time it would become something else.

Right now, that was the extent that I was able to allow.

And I considered it a win. A big win. That I could set and keep that boundary, that he wasn’t cruel and demanding and…flying out on a fucking plane in the middle of the night.

Would I ever forgive him? No. I didn’t think I had that in me.

But I might find some way forward that wasn’t a burden on me.

And that would be enough.

So right.

Hopefully, Smitty would understand that was why I’d called his brother. I wanted them happy and to find a way forward and?—

Brandon had been out of line.

But Brandon…

He’d also been dumped by his girlfriend, fired from his job, hadn’t slept in days—and hadn’t divulged that to any member of his family. Carrying burdens was a Smith specialty apparently.

He hadn’t wanted to ruin Smitty’s night.

And he had—sort of. Because it had broken the ice for me, brought me and Smitty closer together…and now I’d given him the chance to come, own up, apologize, and find a way forward.

I’d told him that, too. During our conversation, after I’d dragged the truth out of him.

Well, ordered him to tell Smitty and his parents.

Though, dragging the truth out of him had been accurate.

Look at me.

Soaring and ordering.

My two new favorite adjectives.

But now that it was getting close to go time (to when Brandon would show up), the nerves were getting the better of me.

Smitty was in the kitchen, finishing up cooking dinner.

His parents were with him, and I could hear his mom laughingly joking to send Smitty away from the stove if he burned the gravy.

And Brandon would be here?—

A knock at the front door.

“Shit,” I whispered, standing up from amongst the presents and moving away from the tree. I hurried to the front door.

But…Smitty beat me there, brows pulled together as he reached for the handle.

“Baby,” I began.

His gaze flicked to mine, brows drawing further when he took in what was no doubt a panicked expression on my face. “Little bird?—”

The knock came again.

“Please don’t hate me,” I whispered, even though I knew he wouldn’t.

“Why—” A shake of his head. “I could never?—”

I reached him then. “I know,” I said. “I’m talking crazy because I did something crazy and—” Another knock. “I hope that you won’t be mad.”

A breath.

I opened the door.

And Smitty went still behind me.

Brandon…looked like hell. His face was covered in stubble, he had a backpack hanging off one shoulder, a bag of presents on the other. But the stark expression on his face was worse. This was a man who was hurting.

Smitty knew it.

“I’m sorry,” Brandon said, the words a rasp.

“I know that doesn’t change it. I had…not reasons ,” he said.

“But I wasn’t in my right mind, and I’m so fucking ashamed that I said those things, that I tried to sabotage your happiness just because I was a miserable bastard.

” His chest rose and fell. “I’ll go if you want.

I know I shouldn’t have come, but Kailey asked and—and don’t be mad at her, okay?

She’s just trying to help.” Another breath.

“I know I shouldn’t be here, but this last month has been hell, and?—”

Smitty moved.

One second, he was behind me.

The next he was gently nudging me to the side, moving forward and…

Embracing his brother.

The backpack hit the ground.

The presents followed suit.

I heard something crack inside Brandon’s bag, and knew that no one was going to give a fuck.

Not when Celeste and Ryan overheard the commotion and came into the hall, not when they joined the hug.

Not when they moved into the living room and Brandon began sharing all the things that he hadn’t shared before that dinner.

I gathered up the bags, dumped the bottle of whiskey that had shattered (luckily, in the gift bag), and then had moved into the kitchen, checking on the gravy, finishing up dinner.

Serving it up onto plates because no one wanted to leave the living room.

Brandon was still talking, still apologizing and explaining and owning up.

So, I quietly delivered plates.

But when I went to slip out again, to give them privacy, Smitty caught me around the waist with his arm, tugging me onto his lap.

“I love you,” he whispered.

The small part of me that had been worried about him being mad at me relaxed. “I love you,” I murmured back.

Brandon glanced up from his nearly permanent study of his hands.

The emotions in his eyes almost burned me.

But then he said, “I’m so fucking glad you have that, bro. That’s what I should have said that night. That’s what I’ll say from every day here on out. That’s —” His voice broke, and he glanced down at his hands again.

After a minute, Smitty’s chest moved behind me. “Thanks, Brand.” Then again, his deep breath rocking me forward and back gently. “Now, are we continuing with the Smith tradition of watching Home Alone or should we change it up and watch Elf ?”

Celeste grinned and saluted me with her wine glass. “You know what?” The glass rose a little higher. “I think this is the year for new traditions.”

Later that night, just as Christmas Eve was turning into Christmas morning, as me and Smitty lay together in his bed, long after we’d gotten his parents and Brandon settled in the guest rooms, after Elf and Home Alone had been consumed, Smitty rolled to his nightstand, opened the drawer, and pulled out a box.

“I think this is the year for new traditions, too, little bird.”

He opened the lid, revealing a diamond ring inside.

“I love you, Kailey Henderson,” he said, gathering me close after he plucked the ring from the box and rested it on the tip of my finger.

“I want to help you fly and watch you soar. I want to make babies with you and watch Elf every year on Christmas. I want to do all the little things that bring a smile to your face, knowing that you always do the same in return. I want us to find our happiness, forever, without the weights of our pasts. I want?—”

I cupped his cheek. “I want to marry you, Smitty.”

“I have more to my speech.”

My lips turned up. “I have no doubt that it was about to turn dirty.”

Dancing brown eyes. “How did you know?”

A shake of my head, a brush of my lips to his. “Because, more than anything else, more than anyone else, my heart has always known yours.”

Then as Eve turned into morning, as the man I loved with everything inside me slid the ring down my finger, Smitty gave me the rest.

It was dirty.

So dirty that it led to fucking—quiet fucking, but still with our bodies coming together and my heart racing, my lungs sawing.

But it ended with me soaring, Smitty’s arms around me.

And that meant it was perfect.

Thank you for reading! I hope you loved meeting Smitty and Kailey as much as I did!

But Smitty’s story doesn’t end with the Breakers hockey team!

If you want even more big, bearded hockey players who fall hard and fast for the women they love and get your Smitty fix, pick up book one in the Grizzlies Hockey series, MARRIED TO NUMBER TWENTY-TWO .

I signed the contract. I just didn't expect her to show up ten years later, ready to cash it in.

CLICK HERE TO READ MARRIED TO NUMBER TWENTY-TWO NOW

Read on for a sneak peek below!

Aiden

I wake up to a heavy knock on my condo’s front door and glare blearily at my phone in the charger.

“Two in the fucking morning,” I mutter, grabbing a pillow and clamping it over my ears. “It’s two o’clock in the morning on my fucking birthday, and I have to deal with this shit.”

This shit being my neighbors.

It’s not the first time they’ve pounded drunk on my door, desperate for their roommate to let them in to what they think is their apartment.

This was sort of funny the first time.

I remember those days, drinking too much, being dumb.

But after the second and the third—where I gained status into the inner circle and a code to the keypad to their apartment door—it was no longer cute.

Now, six months later and countless times of bailing them out, I’m so not in the mood.

Especially when it’s my fucking birthday.

The knocking cuts off and I think— pray —that they’ve gotten the hint.

But it’s approximately two seconds later when it starts up again.

I glance at my phone again, see that really five minutes have passed, making it two-seventeen and officially my birthday.

Some present.

I could try to ignore it—but that just means extending the torture. Sighing, I toss back the blankets and stomp to my apartment door, whipping it open to reveal a slender brunette on my doorstep.

“Ho, mama,” she says, gaze taking a slow perusal down my body.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“It’s me. Luna.”

I stare at her, uncomprehendingly.

“From Rockfield?” she adds.

Recognition begins to dawn. “Luna Maybelle?”

“Yup! That’s me.” She nods, grinning, and I see it then, the glimpse of my best friend from the childhood rink I grew up playing at come out in her smile. Mischief and life. Joy and hard work.

Summers spent spending every spare moment together—her figure skating, me playing hockey.

But she’s not little Luna anymore.

Christ, she’s anything but—tall, beautiful, curves for days—and she’s staring at me.

Because I’m staring at her.

Fucking hell.

I spur myself into motion.

“Luna! Oh my God!” I pull her into a hug. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“It’s your birthday!” She holds up a piece of paper that looks faintly familiar. “And, well, it’s mine too, remember?”

That’s right.

We have the same birthday.

“We’re both twenty-five, single, and?—”

My eyes narrow in on the paper. It’s crumpled and stained, as though it’s years old.

A purple and pink swirl decorates the edges and suddenly I remember her painstakingly drawing it as we sat side-by-side at one of the high top tables of the ice rink, waiting for the Zamboni to finish cutting the ice.

Her brow had been furrowed. Her movements carefully controlled.

And I had been obsessing over how pink her lips were and what her butt looked like in her skating dress, so much so that I barely remember what we’d been drawing.

No, I think hard, grabbing on to those memories, not what we’d been drawing .

The contract we’d put together.

The contract my hormonal twelve-year-old self had signed.

With a sparkly pink colored pencil.

A giant boulder settles in my stomach, but before I can snap myself out of the horror of those memories, she shoves the paper in my hands then throws her arms around my neck.

“We’re getting married!”

CLICK HERE TO READ MARRIED TO NUMBER TWENTY-TWO NOW