Page 17

Morgan

Six Months Later

The local rink smells like my new normal—rubber mats and metallic ice. No pressure today, just a charity scrimmage with kids in the stands and rescue dogs along the boards.

I'm on the bench with Stanley, both of us wearing those ridiculous matching aviators Max insists we keep. Spookie's tucked under my chair. Otto and Amanda are sharing popcorn two rows back, and—

"Did Otto just smile?" Max asks during warm-ups.

I squint. "More like a facial malfunction. But Amanda laughed, so we'll count it."

He plays hard, not because anyone's watching, but because that's who he is. Even Otto notices.

"He shows off," he mutters as Max passes the bench. "Like peacock, but with less feathers."

After the final buzzer, I find him in the locker room.

"The dogs are with the German Romeo," I say, backing against a shelf. "He's teaching Amanda how to say 'delicate flower' in Deutsche."

"God help us all."

"Almost as helpful as your stick handling out there."

He pulls me closer. "Want a private demonstration?"

My laugh turns to a gasp as he lifts me. "Show-off," I mutter against his neck.

"Future wife," he counters.

"This isn't our second chance, you know." I pull back, meeting his eyes. "It's our first real one."

"I told you." He kisses me softly. "I'm all in."

"I've been meaning to ask you something," I say suddenly.

His brow lifts at my tone. "Yeah?"

"You know how when a schnauzer and a poodle have puppies, they're schnoodles?"

"Yeah?"

"Or like, a husky and a corgi? Horgis."

"Where is this going?"

"What do you get when a golden retriever and a German shepherd—hypothetically—make puppies?"

"Don't even think about it. Nobody messes with my girl."

I laugh, smug. "Knew you'd say that! But I'm not talking about that girl of yours."

I press my fingers over my stomach, watching realization dawn in his eyes.

"I'm talking about the guy who plays hockey and the veterinarian. Who made something very real. A 'hocknarian' or... 'vetkey'?" My grin widens. "Who wants to meet you. In about seven months."

He stares at me, eyes filling with an emotion I can't quite name. When he finally kisses me, it's tender and fierce all at once, like he's trying to pour his whole heart into this moment.

"I was thinking," I whisper when we break apart, "if it's a girl, we could name her Emily. Not Emmery like your sister, but another kind of Emmy for our family."

His arms tighten around me, and I feel him swallow hard.

"And if it's a boy?" he asks, voice rough with emotion.

"Emily too. I mean, if Stanley can be a girl with a boy's name..."

He laughs against my hair. "You're ridiculous."

"No, silly. He'd be Emilio."

"You have answers for everything, don't you?"

I slip on my aviators with a grin. "I do."

He stares at me, stunned and quiet for a breath.

Then he grabs my face with both hands and starts kissing every inch of it—cheeks, forehead, nose, chin—fast and messy and full of joy.

“Kissie kissie,” he mutters like a prayer.

I’m laughing and swatting at him through tears. “Max!”

“She used to do that,” he says, eyes bright. “When words weren’t enough.”

And I get it. I feel it.

Because right now, words aren’t enough for me either.

"Well, now that you know," I say, straightening his jersey, "I can't wait to tell Amanda."

We find my bestie outside, phone pressed to her ear, face pale. I tense as she ends the call.

"Weird test results," she says with a forced shrug. "That scratch that wouldn't heal? It's something rare. My doc ran DNA workups and—" her voice drops—"my parents are not my parents."

"What?"

"I need to call the doctor. I'll call you after." She squeezes my shoulder. "You're good at happy endings. I've got... questions."

We watch her walk to the parking lot, Otto trailing behind like a concerned German shadow.

Stanley and Spookie wait at the exit. No fanfare. No drama.

Just the quiet confidence of knowing who's in your corner.

Always.

———

Thank you! —Livvy Stone

THE END