Page 31

CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

DELANEY

W e pull into the parking lot of the Fire Station—a brick-walled, high-ceilinged old firehouse turned bar that’s become a Crane Hockey tradition.

The second we step inside, a wave of cheers and music crashes over us.

The place is packed, electric with post-win energy.

Jerseys hang from the rafters, laughter and shouting echo against the tin ceiling, and every table is filled with drinks, players, and their families.

Iris runs over when she spots us and pulls me into a hug. A few of the guys and their wives greet us as we pass, exchanging hugs and smiles. Everyone is so happy. The joy in this space is palpable. Max and I make our way around the room, saying hello and taking pictures.

The bar is closed to the public tonight—invite-only for the team’s inner circle to celebrate the win. It’s full of players, coaches, staff, family, friends, and a handful of special fans. And Max knows them all. He introduces each one to me by name, and I find that so special—so very Max.

After we’ve made our rounds, we settle in the corner near some of the other players. Max gives my hand a squeeze and leans in.

“You good to join the girls? I’m going to grab us some drinks,” he says, giving me a quick kiss.

“Okay.” I smile and watch him disappear toward the bar, teammates clapping him on the back as he moves through the crowd like a hero. I’m sure all the guys feel like heroes tonight. And they should.

I turn toward the booth where the girls have already claimed a corner—Anna, Iris, Penny, Ari, Elena, and Miranda are waving me over. But just as I start toward them, Beckett intercepts me, beer in one hand and a crumpled pink Post-it in the other.

“Hey, Laney,” he says casually, handing me the note. “I think you dropped this.”

I blink at the handwriting. It’s mine.

Don’t forget—C’s doc appointment is at 10. I’ll meet you there.

A note I left for Max last month. “Wait, what?”

Beckett just winks and walks away.

Dropped it? From where? Maybe it fell out of Max’s jeans? I honestly have no idea.

I barely take a step before Cade stops me next.

“Hey, this yours?” He holds out a blue Post-it.

Get some sleep. You’re a beast on zero hours, but I like when you’re rested.

“What is going on? Where did you get this?” I ask, eyebrows drawing together.

Before he can answer, Jaden slides by with a grin and hands me a yellow one.

Chickpea salad and salmon for dinner. You’re going to love it.

“Okay, seriously… what in the hell?” I say, though I’m laughing now. My heart’s picking up speed.

One by one, players keep stopping me, handing me notes.

You’ve got this. I’m proud of you.

Don’t forget that I’m winning by fifty points.

You’re doing amazing.

I love the way you make this house feel like home.

Have I told you today that you’re hot?

Spinach, tahini, pickles, ranch, and baby wipes.

Had to be at the gym earlier. Miss you already.

Hope your legs are still trembling.

Condiments are a food group.

I’ll miss you today.

All these notes… they’re ours. A Post-it parade of our story. Notes I’ve written to him or he’s written to me over the past eight months. Some are sweet. Some silly. Some deeply personal. A few are mundane. But every single one is familiar.

They’re a timeline. A paper trail of our love story.

I don’t know where he found them all. Some of the meaningful ones were tucked inside the box on my dresser, others I’d stuffed in drawers or left stuck to books or cabinets, thinking they’d been forgotten. But they weren’t.

I’m holding a dozen or more now, fanned out in my shaking hands, when Miles strolls up with one last note.

He stops in front of me, smile softer than usual. “Hey, Laney,” he says gently, holding out the final sticky. “I think you dropped this one too.”

I take it slowly, hands trembling as I flip it over.

It’s Max’s handwriting. Neat. Slanted. Familiar.

We only get one fucking life, and I want to spend mine with you.

My breath catches in my throat. Everything else fades—the music, the laughter, the buzz of celebration. All I can see is this tiny square of paper and the words I’ve never read before.

This note is new. I know it. I would’ve remembered this one.

A hush falls over the room as the crowd parts, like a scene from a movie. Max is there now, walking toward me from the bar. His eyes are on me and only me.

He stops in front of me, his gaze full of love, and takes both my hands in his.

“While I’m sure all love stories are beautiful, there’s no doubt in my mind that ours is my favorite,” he says. “Every note, every word, every day, every moment has made me fall more in love with you. You’ve given me a home, a family, and a love I never thought I’d find.”

The tears start rolling down my cheeks before I even realize they’re there. He lowers himself onto one knee. The bar falls silent around us.

From his back pocket, he pulls out a heart-shaped Post-it Note. “I think you dropped this one too,” he says.

I take it from him, hands trembling. Written in bold, beautiful letters:

Will you marry me?

I blink away tears and lift my eyes from the paper in my hand—to find Max down on one knee, holding a diamond ring.

“Delaney Hagan, I love you more every single day, and I want to keep loving you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” I whisper, the word breaking with emotion. “Yes, Max.”

The bar erupts—cheers, applause, the pop of a champagne cork, whistles echoing off the rafters.

Max rises and sweeps me into a kiss, spinning me around as laughter and love explode around us.

It’s chaotic. It’s loud. It’s perfect.

And I know, without question, I’ll never love another man the way I love Max.

There will be more Post-it notes—grocery lists, reminders, silly flirty messages—but the ones I received tonight?

They’ll always be my favorite.

This moment is etched into my soul forever.