Page 22
Chapter twenty-two
Abby
I didn’t expect it to feel like this.
Pulling up to Beck’s farmhouse — our someday farmhouse, if I let myself dream that big — my heart gives this ridiculous little kick.
It’s peaceful here.
It’s quiet in a way that seeps under your skin and settles deep. Fields stretch around us like a soft green quilt, the wraparound porch worn in all the right places, a rocking chair gently creaking in the breeze.
Jake is practically vibrating in the passenger seat.
“Mom, look ! Spotty is going to have SO much room to run! Do you think Beck will let me build a hockey net in the yard? Or maybe a whole rink in the winter?”
I laugh, because with Beck, that’s not even impossible.
“I think you should probably ask him before you start making blueprints in your head.”
Jake grins, already unbuckling.
And me?
I sit there for a beat longer, staring at the house that Beck Hayes bought with us in mind.
Not just me.
Us.
***
Inside, the place smells like cedar and fresh paint. But also... faintly like him.
Warm. Familiar.
Jake tears off down the hall with Spotty on his heels, leaving me standing in the open living space — this big, beautiful, slightly empty canvas waiting to be filled.
Waiting for life.
Waiting for us.
It’s not fully moved in — like Beck’s been holding his breath.
There’s furniture, sure. Comfy, worn-in pieces that look like they’ve been chosen for curling up with a kid or a dog. A big farmhouse table is just begging for pancake breakfasts. Cozy throws are draped over the couch.
But the walls?
The walls are waiting.
Except for one.
My breath catches.
A framed photo — taken when Beck had skated with Jake at the VIP charity event. Jake mid-laugh, Beck looking at him like he hung the moon.
Right next to it... me.
Caught off-guard, smiling at them both.
It guts me.
Rounding the corner into the kitchen there on the island is a note. Beck’s handwriting, clean and strong.
This place isn’t home until you both are here.
I press my hand to my chest.
Oh, Beck.
I find Jake where I expected to. He’s in what can only be his room.
Blue and gray walls. Shelves already holding a few hockey pucks and a mini stick rack. There’s even a framed Thunderhawks jersey — but crossed out in Sharpie with “ICE HAWKS FOR LIFE” scribbled underneath.
Classic Beck.
Jake beams at me. “Mom! This is AWESOME.”
I ruffle his hair. “It is, isn’t it?”
He leans in, suddenly shy. “Do you think Beck really wants us here forever? Or just... sometimes?”
I crouch beside him.
“Jake, if you haven’t noticed, that man pretty much built this place around you. Around us.”
Jake grins so wide it about breaks me.
And then, like magic, the front door creaks. Heavy footsteps. A low whistle.
“I was hoping I’d find you two snooping around.”
Beck.
He’s standing there, looking all casual in jeans, t-shirt, and a baseball cap turned backwards like he forgot he’s supposed to be an intimidating billionaire hockey royal.
“Find anything worth staying for?” he asks, teasing.
Jake barrels into him like a little cannonball. “Everything!”
Beck catches him easily, hugging him tightly.
I hang back, watching them.
This man.
This impossibly good, gorgeous, grounded, real man — who turned down yet more fame and fortune not because it wasn’t enough... but because we matter more.
“You okay over there, Abby Price?” His voice is gentler when it’s just for me.
I nod. Barely.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Just... taking it all in.”
***
Later, after Jake is busy sketching plans for his imaginary backyard rink with Spotty sprawled across his feet, Beck and I end up sitting at the big wooden kitchen table.
Two mugs of tea between us.
The sun slanting low through the window.
He watches me like he already knows every thought spinning in my head.
“When I turned them down, you know,” he says quietly.
His smile is soft. “I didn’t even hesitate.”
“No?”
He leans back, his gaze never leaving mine.
“Because no paycheck, no championship, no front-row glory matters if I’m coming home to an empty house.”
He pauses. “And this place? It was never meant to be just mine. It’s ours , Abby. If you want it.”
Oh, my heart. I swallow hard. “You scare me,” I admit quietly.
His brow furrows. “Me?”
“You,” I nod. “Because you might actually be everything that I had stopped believing in.”
Beck exhales a laugh — a little shaky. “Good.”
My eyes narrow. “Good?”
He reaches across the table, curling his hand around mine.
“Because you scare me too, Abby Price. You make me want forever.”
And I lose it. Right there.
Tears flowing, I round the table and practically fall into his lap, curling into his chest like I belong there — because maybe I do.
Definitely, I do.
***
By the time Beck suggests we stay for dinner, I’m already undone.
“You okay with grilled cheese and soup?” he asks casually, like he hasn’t just rocked my whole world with this place.
“Perfect,” I manage, though my heart is nowhere near calm.
Jake is thrilled — he and Spotty disappear outside to explore, Beck trailing after them to toss a ball for the dog like he’s been doing this for years.
And me?
I’m left wandering the farmhouse — this space so deeply him — but somehow already ours too.
On the kitchen counter, there’s a worn recipe card in Beck’s handwriting that reads:
Mom’s Sunday Soup — tastes like home.
It undoes me all over again.
Dinner is easy, unhurried. We laugh when Jake tells Beck about the time Spotty ate an entire PB my voice barely steady.
“Abby,” he says, serious now. “You were never temporary. Not for me.”
Beck takes a deep, bracing breath.
“I bought this house for a lot of reasons. Quiet. Space. Room for Jake to build whatever hockey rink he’s planning.”
I laugh through a sniffle as we both eye Jake who is on the steps watching.
“But mostly?” He pauses. “Mostly because I knew what I wanted my future to look like. And it isn’t bright lights or another trophy. It’s this.”
He gestures around us.
“You. Jake. Spotty probably chewing up the baseboards.”
I laugh again, wiping my eyes.
“And maybe…” His voice softens. “Three slightly obnoxious cats stealing my pillow.”
As if on cue — I swear, these animals have perfect timing — Biscuit saunters out from inside like he owns the place. Followed, of course, by Mitts and Hat Trick.
All three flop down in varying states of feline disinterest.
“They really add to the ambiance,” I manage.
Beck grins. “Yeah. They’re not going anywhere either.”
His expression turns serious then.
“And neither am I.”
***
Then he’s reaching into his pocket.
Not rushed.
Not flashy.
Just Beck — solid and sure.
Velvet box in hand.
“I’ve had this longer than I probably should admit,” he says quietly. “Waiting until you felt safe enough to believe I wasn’t going anywhere.”
I can barely see through my tears.
He drops to one knee.
Jake gasps from somewhere behind me, whisper-shouting: “OH MY GOSH.”
Beck’s eyes never leave mine.
“Abigail Price,” he says steadily, voice rough with emotion, “will you marry me? Will you let me love you and Jake for all the days we’re given? Will you build forever with me — here, in this messy, imperfect life we’ve started?”
I’m already nodding before he even finishes.
“Yes,” I whisper. “A million times yes.”
His grin?
Devastating.
Beck slides the ring onto my shaking hand.
It’s perfect. Simple. Classic. Timeless.
Like him.
And then Jake barrels into us, nearly knocking Beck over as Spotty leaps excitedly beside him.
“You did it! You really did it!”
Beck laughs, pulling him into a hug. “Looks like we’re stuck with each other, huh, buddy?”
Jake beams. “Best stuck ever.”
And just when I think the moment can’t get any more us ...
Biscuit climbs right into Beck’s lap.
Flops down.
Purrs like a motorboat.
I burst out laughing.
“Well,” Beck says dryly. “Guess that’s a yes from everyone.”
As the night stretches on, and Beck pulls me close beneath the string lights, I know without a doubt...
This isn’t just a house. This isn’t just a yes.
This is home.
Our home.
Our forever.