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Chapter Twenty-Six

Connor

T he roar is gone now.

The crowd cleared out over an hour ago, the lights dimmed, the rink stripped back to quiet reflections and half-melted patches of ice.

I step out of the locker room with my gear bag slung over one shoulder, hair still damp, shoulder screaming from a charity-game-level slapshot I definitely didn’t try to block with my actual body .

Totally worth it, by the way.

Because tonight was everything I'd hoped for.

And the first thing I see when I step out into the silent corridor…

Lucy.

She stands at the far end of the hallway, framed by the soft glow spilling from the mural wall. The new giant print of the final playoff win in Vegas last season, the Icehawks all frozen mid-celebration, faces full of grit and glory.

She doesn’t notice me at first. Her arms are folded, head tipped slightly like she’s studying the mural and trying not to feel everything she’s feeling. There’s this little line between her brows like her heart hasn’t fully caught up with what just happened tonight.

God, she’s beautiful. Even more so when she thinks no one’s looking.

I start walking, trying to ignore how annoyingly fast my pulse picks up just being near her again.

“You waiting for an autograph,” I ask, smirking, “or just here to ogle my ass again?”

She doesn’t laugh. But her lips twitch like she’s trying not to.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Walsh. Though… you did look mildly competent out there tonight.”

“Mildly?” I clutch my chest like she’s wounded me. “I put on the performance of my life.”

She hums, folding her arms tighter. “I was more impressed with Ryder’s spin move.”

I huff, dropping my gear bag with a thud.

"Ryder's spin move? Really? The kid who tripped over his own feet in LA trying to impress you with stories about his 'dedicated fan pages'?"

Lucy's smile grows wider, and I know exactly what she's doing. It's the same game she played on that hiking trail, deliberately praising everyone else just to watch me squirm.

"He was very entertaining," she says with an exaggerated sigh. "Such natural charisma."

"Natural charisma my ass." I close the distance between us, backing her against the mural wall. "As I recall, you weren't exactly focused on Ryder's jokes when we were behind that Joshua tree."

Her cheeks flush pink, but she maintains that sexy fucking smile. "I don't know what you mean."

I lean in closer, bracing one hand against the wall beside her head. "Funny how you didn't laugh at any of his jokes once I pulled you away from the group."

She finally lets herself smile—the kind that crumbles me from the inside out.

“Well,” I say, quieter now. “At least you stayed tonight.”

She nods. “Yeah. I stayed.”

She shifts her weight, eyes lifting to mine.

“So.” Her voice is softer now. Curious. “How did you pull it off?”

I lean a little closer, letting my smirk return just enough to be obnoxious. “What, the standing ovation? The screaming kids? Or the part where I managed to look this good in Eli's retro pads?”

She rolls her eyes and giggles so softly my heart skips a beat. “Connor…”

I grin, dragging a hand through my damp hair like I’m trying to style it into sincerity.

“I called in every favor I had. Bullied Blake into doing it. Bribed Eli with that imported smoky-ass whiskey he likes. Paid Ryder to stop singing in the locker room so I could think straight.”

Her brow lifts. “And the coffee sachets?”

I chuckle and shake my head. “No. That was all Logan.”

Her smile curves slowly. “But why? Why did you do it, Connor?”

And just like that— she looks at me . Really looks. Not with sass or fire or frustration, but something gentler. Something that cracks me right open.

I exhale, my voice dropping. “Because this wasn’t ever just about hockey.”

She watches me closely, her blank expression unreadable but open.

“This was about Ethan owning his shit. About giving him a way back into something that mattered. About giving him something good again without needing others to put out the fires that he fucking starts. But mostly?”

My throat tightens, and for once, I don’t run from it.

“It was about you.”

Her perfect pink lips part, eyes widening so I can see every tiny detail in those beautiful depths.

“For me,” I say, stepping in until there’s barely space between us. “You’re it, Lucy. Always have been.”

She blinks fast, the light from the mural washing her in this warm, golden light that makes her look even more irresistible than when she had that damn dress on at the gala.

My pulse hammers so hard I can feel it in my teeth.

“Baby, I’ve spent years hiding behind the mask. The cocky goalie. The guy with the playoff beard and all the jokes. I've always been the guy who didn’t need anything.” I shake my head. “But I do. I need you.”

She whispers, “I need you too, Connor.”

Her words are soft, like she’s afraid they’ll break if she speaks any louder. But I feel every syllable.

"And I can't thank you enough for what you've done,” she adds, stepping in close, her hands sliding up my chest. “And I understand that tonight wasn’t just about Ethan getting clean. Or the league clearing our names. You said it… this wasn’t even about hockey.”

“No. It wasn't.”

She smiles back at me. “It was about family .”

My heart stumbles.

“I’ve spent my whole life ashamed of where I came from,” she says, her voice low but certain. “Trying to outrun the Daniels name. Trying to build something separate from all of that. But tonight…”

She looks up at me, her eyes glassy.

“Tonight, I looked around that arena and saw something I never expected. I saw home . Not the mansion I grew up in. Not the name on my old ID. But this —you, Ethan, Blake, Logan, Sophia, Natalie… even Ryder, on his good days.”

Her smile wobbles as we both laugh.

“I’ve never been proud of my family before,” she says. “But now? I am. Because you're all here. I finally know what it feels like to belong.”

Her hand curls into my hoodie, right over my heart.

“And that’s all because of you, Connor. You made this happen. You never gave up on me.”

I press my forehead to hers, eyes closed, trying to breathe around the swell of emotion in my chest.

“I didn’t do it alone,” I whisper.

“You didn’t have to,” she says. “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

And damn it, I’m in love with her.

So completely, helplessly in love that I know I’ll never get over her.

I tug Lucy's hand, leading her toward the back exit where my truck's parked. The hallway's quiet now, just our footsteps and the hum of the lights above us. Her fingers lace through mine, warm and so fucking perfect, like they've always belonged there.

Near the exit doors, I pause, drinking in the sight of her.

Her hair's messy from running her hands through it all night, her cheeks still flushed from the emotion of everything. She's never looked more beautiful.

My lips curve into a grin. "You ready to get out of here, Lucy Daniels?"

She tilts her head, eyes sparkling with that sass I love. "That depends. Are you planning to carry me across the parking lot?"

With a chuckle, one arm sweeps under her knees, the other supporting her back as I scoop her up against my chest.

"Princess carry, bridal carry, over-the-shoulder caveman drag… you name it, baby. I've got you. All night long."

Her laugh echoes through the empty hallway, but her arms wrap tight around my neck. She presses closer, like she can't get enough of me. Like she finally trusts that I won't let her fall.

And when she kisses me, it's different from all our others.

It's soft and sweet, but hungry for the future. With every swipe of her tongue against mine, I can feel that there are no more walls between us, no more pretending.

We earned this one—every heated moment, every tender touch.

This kiss tastes like victory. Like coming home. Like everything I never knew I needed until Lucy Daniels crashed into my life and refused to leave.

I push the exit door open with my shoulder, never loosening my grip on Lucy. The crisp Iron Ridge night hits us both - that familiar bite of almost-winter that makes everything sharper, clearer.

Lucy shivers against my chest, burrowing closer. Her nose brushes my neck, and I swear my heart skips like I'm some teenager with his first crush in his arms instead of a Stanley Cup champion.

The parking lot stretches dark ahead of us, just a few security lights making shadows across the pavement.

But I don't need much light to know where I'm going.

This tunnel, this exit - I've walked it thousands of times after games, practices, wins, losses.

Tonight feels different though.

Because it hits me, standing here with Lucy in my arms, that home isn't what I thought it was. It's not the rink where I've spent most of my life. Not the roar after a big save. Not even the weight of the Cup in my hands.

Home is this woman who challenges me, calls me on my bullshit, and loves me anyway. Who fought for her brother even when it hurt. Who makes me want to be better, stronger, more worthy of the way she looks at me.

I press my lips to her temple. "Let's go home, Lucy Lou."

She lifts her head, eyes glinting with mischief. "Yours or mine?"

"Doesn't matter, baby. They're the same damn place now."