Page 27

Epilogue

Lucy

One Month Later

The rehab center's common room has become as familiar to me as Chapter & Grind. Warm honey-colored walls, overstuffed armchairs, and the constant hum of peaceful music playing in the background.

"Lucy!" Ethan's voice carries across the room as I balance my overflowing tote bag. "Please tell me that's Emma's new Caramel Cookie blend I smell."

"Better." I pull out the silver thermos. "She's testing a new roast. Called it 'Recovery Road.' Said you inspired it."

Martha, the head nurse who reminds me of a cuddly grandmother, wraps me in a tight hug. "Your brother's been talking about game day all week. Even got the other residents excited about watching hockey."

"Did he mention he used to play?" I set out the snacks - trail mix, and Ethan's favorite sour gummy worms. "Or is he still being modest?"

"Modest?" Ethan snorts, reaching for the thermos. "I told them all about scoring on Connor in juniors. Once. Out of like five hundred attempts."

Two other residents, James and Pete, drift over at the mention of snacks. They've become Ethan's closest friends here, bonding over their shared struggles and love of sports statistics.

"Your coffee goddess friend single?" James asks, helping himself to trail mix.

"Still trying to work that angle?" I laugh. "Sorry, but I think Logan might object."

"Logan?" Ethan's eyebrows shoot up. "Our Logan? Mr. 'I don't do relationships' Kane?"

"A lot can change in thirty days, big brother." I pour him a cup of Emma's brew, watching his face light up at the first sip. "Speaking of changes, you're looking good. Healthy."

"Feeling good too." He settles into his favorite chair, the one with the view of the gardens. "Though I still can't believe you converted me into a coffee snob. I used to drink gas station sludge."

"That's because you never had proper guidance." I perch on the armrest. "Emma says you're welcome to intern at Chapter & Grind when you're ready. Something about teaching you proper pour-over technique."

The TV flickers to life as the Icehawks take the ice for warm-ups.

My heart skips when the camera zooms in on Connor, all focus and intensity as he stretches in the crease. Then I catch it—right there on his mask, my initials still painted in that soft peach color, now surrounded by more tiny hearts.

"You know," Ethan says, nodding at the screen, "I used to think he was just showing off with those splits."

"Oh no. He really is that flexible."

Ethan gives me a weird look. "I'm not sure I want to know how you know that. I've got nothing but respect for the man who stole my sister's heart, and I don't want that to change."

I study my brother's face from the side. The shadows under his eyes have faded, replaced by actual laugh lines. His shoulders rest easy, no longer carrying the weight of secrets or debt.

"How's the new counselor working out?"

"Dr. Chen? She's amazing. Called me out on my bullshit within five minutes of meeting me." He grins. "Reminds me of you, actually. Zero tolerance for my charm."

"Someone has to keep you humble."

"Iron Ridge does that just fine. Did you know they put up a sign at Ridgeview? 'Home of the Most Expensive Charity Date in Hockey History.'"

"Eli would never—" I stop at his smirk. "He totally did, didn't he?"

"Right next to the photo of you and Connor kissing in the parking lot."

I groan, but there's no real embarrassment behind it anymore. "At least tell me it's a good angle."

"The best." Ethan's attention drifts back to the TV where Connor's now taking practice shots. "You know what's weird? I actually miss that place."

"You'll be home soon, Ethan. Keep doing what you're doing."

The game starts and settles into a rhythm as Ethan and I share the snacks between us. On screen, Connor makes another impossible save, and my heart swells with pride.

"Have you heard from Mom and Dad?" Ethan asks eventually.

"Nope," I shrug, popping a cashew in my mouth like I couldn't care less. "Last I checked their Instagram, they're still in Paris. Something about needing space from the 'unfortunate situation.'"

"Their favorite euphemism for family drama."

"Honestly? I don't even care anymore." I lean back in my chair, feeling lighter than I have in months. "Iron Ridge is home now. The team, Emma, this crazy hockey family we've built—it's more real than any society event ever was."

Ethan's smile reaches his eyes. "You found your people, Luce."

The broadcast switches to Connor's helmet cam view as he stretches in the crease. The peach-colored hearts around my initials shine under the arena lights, but something new catches my eye—two tiny golden rings, linked together near the crown of his mask.

I bite my lip to hide my smile, but Ethan's already noticed.

"Okay," he shifts to face me, eyes narrowing. "Spill it."

"Spill what?" I focus intently on selecting another cashew.

The camera zooms in during a timeout, and Connor, ever the showman, blows a kiss directly at the lens. His lips form words that make Ethan sit up straight.

"Did he just say 'hello, my fiancé'?" Ethan's eyes go wide. "Wait. Are you two—?"

I sigh, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the ring I've been carrying around like a damn lead weight all morning. The diamond catches the light as I slide it onto my finger.

"Lucy Daniels!" Ethan's jaw drops.

Ethan stares at my ring like it might disappear if he blinks. When he finally does blink, his entire face transforms into pure, unfiltered joy.

"Holy shit, you're engaged?!" His voice cracks on the last word, drawing amused looks from James and Pete.

I can't help but laugh at his reaction. "We haven't told anyone else yet. I wanted you to be the first."

Before I can react, Ethan launches himself at me, wrapping me in a bear hug that squeezes all the air from my lungs. I feel wetness against my shoulder and realize he's crying.

"Easy there, big brother."

He sniffles but doesn't let go. "Sorry. Just—you're getting married. To Connor Walsh. My best friend and my little sister."

"And you'll be standing right there with us," I say, finally extracting myself from his grip. "So get better and come home."

Ethan's face lights up. "Already on it. Emma and I talked last week during visiting hours. I may have promised her a complete business plan for her coffee start up. Emma's coffee empire could use a reformed finance guy, right?"

"Of course," I roll my eyes. My throat tightens. "I'm proud of you, Eth. Really proud."

On screen, Blake scores off Connor's perfect outlet pass. The crowd erupts as Connor slams his stick against the glass, grinning directly into the camera—at me.

"I still can't believe I get to keep him," I whisper, touching my ring.

***

After arriving home from visiting Ethan, I'm curled up on Connor's oversized leather couch, drowning in his Icehawks hoodie while flipping through Emma's wedding planning notebook.

The pages overflow with her loopy handwriting and magazine cutouts—all accumulated since I texted her a ring photo hours ago.

My tea steeps on the coffee table, filling the apartment with chamomile. I trace my finger over a sketch of a dress, smiling at how Emma's already planned half my wedding before I've even announced it.

Just as the butterflies start to flutter in my belly again, Connor bursts through the door, still in his game-day suit, hair damp from the post-game shower. His eyes lock onto me and his whole face lights up.

"Ah huh. There's my fiancée." He drops his bag and crosses the room straight for me.

I squeal as he scoops me up, notebook flying to the floor. "Connor! You're crushing me!"

"Good." He kisses me hard, then pulls back with a frown. "You showed Ethan before I could do my big reveal."

"Sorry." I wrap my legs around his waist. "But you did propose the night before I was going to visit him."

Connor’s laughter fills the room, that low, gravelly sound I feel all the way down to my toes. His eyes glint with mischief as he kicks the bedroom door shut behind us.

"You know," he murmurs, voice deep and lazy. "I've heard that engaged couples have the best sex. Something about the anticipation. The build-up."

I roll my eyes, but the grin pulling at my mouth gives me away. "Oh yeah? Where’d you hear that?"

He shrugs, sauntering toward me with that slow, predatory grace that makes my knees threaten mutiny. His fingers slide beneath along the hem of my shirt, teasing bare skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Just some locker room wisdom," he says, slipping one hand further under the fabric. “Blake says it’s all about the emotional connection. Logan says it’s adrenaline. Ryder says it's roleplay and whipped cream.”

I snort. “God help his future wife.”

Connor’s grin turns wicked. "But me?" He dips his head, lips brushing my neck. “I think it’s because you already know how your partner breaks. Every sound. Every pulse point. Every filthy little weakness.”

A shiver trembles down my spine as his other hand finds the clasp of my bra, unhooking it with practiced ease.

"And what theory do you subscribe to, Walsh?"

He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, all cocky and sincere and mine.

"The one where I get to peel back your layers, one by one, until you're screaming my name again. Like you wanted to on that beach. Or in that hotel suite in LA. Or the time I made you come with just my mouth under the covers while your brother slept down the hall."

Heat rushes between my thighs. “You’re such a goddamn menace.”

He chuckles, dragging my shirt up and over my head, baring my nipples to the cold air. “And you fucking love it.”

I do.

I love how he strips me like I’m something sacred. How he cups my breasts like they’re his favorite thing in the world.

His mouth finds one nipple and then the other, his tongue dragging, teasing, sucking until my back arches off the mattress we’ve somehow stumbled onto.

His hand slips between my thighs, and my hips lift involuntarily, needing more.

“You’re soaked for me,” he groans. “Fuck, Lucy.”

He pulls his shirt over his head, pants already halfway down his thighs as he kneels on the edge of the bed, dragging my panties down my legs before he dips his head and devours me.

My fingers twist in his hair as his tongue circles, flicks, plunges—slow, then fast, then maddeningly slow again. I whimper, my legs trembling, thighs pressing around his head.

He flattens his tongue and drags it up my slit with a growl.

“Mmmm… You taste like fucking forever,” he rasps, his lips glistening.

" Yes , Connor…"

He kisses his way up my body, his chest sliding against mine, the thick length of him nudging between my thighs as he kisses me so hard I taste myself on his lips.

I wrap my legs around his waist, guiding him in. My gasp shatters into the space between us as he reaches between our bodies, nudging his cock until he stretches me open, filling me deep and good, until I can’t remember what came before this.

“I love you,” he whispers, forehead pressed to mine, rocking into me with slow, devastating thrusts.

“I love you too,” I breathe, my nails raking down his back. “So much.”

His mouth finds mine, urgent and consuming. His rhythm quickens, deepens, and my body answers with rising heat, tighter coils, the edge coming fast and hot.

“Come with me,” he growls, voice thick and rough. “Let go, baby. Give it to me.”

With a cry into his mouth, I shatter around him—body trembling, heart full, completely his.

This is it.

This is us.

This is… my forever.