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Brogan

There are nights when the lake is glass and the world goes soft around the edges—nights when I pretend to be a quiet place, all hush and moonlight. But not tonight. Not with the Foster boys running wild on the beach, not with Shep cracking flares and birds losing their damn minds. Tonight, the air buzzes with something different. The kind of magic that only comes when I hold my breath—waiting for a ring, a promise, and the kind of yes that changes everything. Here, nothing is ever simple, but some nights, the all of us root for love to win, even if it has to dodge a little bird shit to get there.

Playlist Song: Fire and Dynamite by Drew Holcomb & The Neighbors

Six months later…

I’ve been pacing this same fifty-foot stretch of sand for the past hour, and if Bennett calls me a lunatic one more time, I’m throwing him into Lake Superior. Not that it would help. He’s built like a freight train and about as easy to budge.

“She’s not due for another twenty minutes,” my brother grunts from where he’s sitting on the cooler, arms crossed like he’s the one getting engaged. “You’re going to wear a trench in the beach.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, adjusting the collar of my button-down for the tenth time. It’s too hot. Or maybe I’m just sweating through it. Can’t tell anymore.

“You look great, bro,” Shep chimes in, popping the tab on his third energy drink. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re about to propose or something.”

I glare at him. “That was confidential.”

Bennett grins like the human embodiment of chaos. “Tell that to Shep. He brought flares.”

I snap my head toward my friend, who pulls a small backpack out from behind the log and unzips it with zero shame. “One backpack. Eight flares. For ambiance. ”

“Ambiance? This isn’t the Fourth of July!”

“You invited Shep, ” Bennett says. “This is what happens when you outsource romance to your idiot best friend and your emotionally stunted brother.”

Shep raises his drink. “Cheers to that.”

This seemed like a good idea in theory—beach, sunset, heartfelt speech, ring—but now, with Shep bouncing on the balls of his feet and Bennett acting like this whole thing is a hostage situation, I’m rethinking everything.

I check the time again. I wanted this to be a surprise. Something special. Her favorite place, her favorite guy— me, in case that wasn’t clear.

Bennett sighs and stands. “Let’s run the checklist again. Ring?”

I pat my pocket.

“Speech?”

“Rough outline.”

“Flares?”

Shep salutes.

Bennett groans.

I turn back to the water, take a deep breath, and try to calm the adrenaline ripping through my bloodstream.

She’s almost here.

And I’ve never wanted to win so badly in my life.

Bennett is pacing now, too, which should make me feel better, except he’s doing it like someone preparing to bury a body. Meanwhile, Shep’s halfway down the beach, testing one of the flares.

“Shep!” I bark. “You light that early, and I swear to God, I’ll make you eat it.”

He turns, hands raised. “Relax, lovebird. I’m just checking the trajectory. Can’t have these bad boys aiming at your fiancée’s face.”

“She’s not my fiancée yet.”

“Manifest it, bro!”

Bennett drags a hand down his face. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

I glance back toward the dunes, my stomach doing that twisty, fluttery thing it only does when Joely’s involved. Which is always now, apparently. The second I spotted her at the holiday party in that dress, everything clicked. And then she let me love her like I’ve been aching to for years, and now I can’t stop picturing her next to me—forever.

“Shep,” I say, trying to sound calm, “please tell me you didn’t bring sparklers, too.”

He beams. “Bro. I’m not a monster. Of course I brought sparklers. They’re in Bennett’s truck.”

My brother lets out a noise that can only be described as an emotional exorcism. “This isn’t the fucking Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, you jackass.”

“I had to plan for contingencies!”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe she says no, and we have to distract you with fire.”

I open my mouth. Close it. Look at Bennett.

He shrugs. “I mean… it’s not the worst plan.”

God help me.

I reach into my pocket again, double checking the ring box for the third time in ten minutes. Still there. Still burning a hole through my thigh.

“She’ll say yes,” Bennett mutters beside me, quieter now.

I blink, caught off guard. “You think so?”

He shrugs again, but there’s a glint in his eye that wasn’t there before. “I’ve never seen her look at anyone the way she looks at you. It’s kind of disgusting.”

My chest tightens.

“You love her?”

I nod.

“Then it’s a done deal. Just don’t fuck up the words. Or cry. Shep’s gonna cry.” Bennett jerks his chin toward where our buddy is now drawing a heart in the sand with a stick. Inside it, he’s written our initials.

I stare at it for a beat too long.

Yeah. I love her.

And it’s about damn time she knew it, flares and all.

I sense her walking toward me before I see her.

“She’s here,” I whisper like a man about to jump out of a plane with a half-inflated parachute.

Shep dives into the dune. “Operation Lovebird is a go!”

Bennett stays where he is, arms crossed, unimpressed. “If he does that ‘Woooooo!’ thing, I’m pushing him into the lake.”

I wave them both off, pacing like a lunatic until I finally spot her stepping out of Virgil’s truck. Virgil gives her a dramatic bow as he helps her down, looking smug as hell. I’m not sure why I trusted Virgil Mumford with the most important delivery of my life, but after all the stuff with the sign, it seemed appropriate.

Joely glances around.

Hair in soft waves down her back, cheeks flushed from the wind, wearing a yellow sundress with tiny daisies all over it. My girl. She’s scanning the beach with a confused little smile, and I can see the second she spots me.

Her whole face lights up.

It hits me right in the chest.

I walk toward her, trying not to sprint like a golden retriever seeing his owner come home from deployment. I want this to be cool . I want to be smooth . But this is Joely, and cool has never been part of the equation.

“Hey, sunshine,” I say, voice rougher than I want it to be.

She smiles like it’s all she’s been waiting for. “Hey, Brogan.”

“Hey, JoJo.”

I hold out a hand, help her make her way across the sand. I made sure it was clear enough since she’s still a tiny bit unstable on that ankle, but for now, she’s trusting me.

There’s a blanket spread out with snacks—her favorite gummy bears, sparkling cider, those little bear claws she loves. But she doesn’t even look at it. She’s looking at me.

“Okay,” she says, eyes twinkling. “What’s all this?”

“Just… something I’ve been meaning to say. For a long time.”

Her lips part, her breath catching just slightly.

I take a deep breath, drop to one knee, and pull out the box.

Her hand flies to her mouth.

She’s looking at me like she already knows, but I can’t let this be quick—not after everything. I kneel down, take her hand in mine, and feel how small and strong it is—how familiar. I clear my throat, and suddenly every joke, every chirp I ever made about marriage feels like it’s melting right out of my head.

“Joely,” I start, voice rough, “I know this isn’t some fairytale proposal with fireworks or a skywriter, but that’s not us. That’s never been us. It’s always been messy and loud, and stubborn, and… real. I’ve spent my whole life trying to live up to something—my brothers, my dad, the game, the town. But the only time I ever felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be was with you. Doesn’t matter if it was a backyard hockey game in fifth grade or you pouring me Cokes from behind the bar when I had a shit game. You’re my person, Joely. My home.”

She squeezes my fingers, and I realize my hands are shaking.

“I don’t care if we end up in a house that’s falling apart, or if we’re old and cranky and yelling at squirrels together. I want all of it. With you. Every Monday night football, every weird bird you adopt, every sign you ever climb up to hang for me. I want the mess and the laughter and even the broken ankles, if it means I get to be the one who carries you home.”

My voice breaks. I let it.

“I don’t want to wait another day to call you mine, not just in front of the team, or my mom, or the whole damn town—but forever. I love you, Joely. You’re it for me. Will you marry me?”

She blinks, then laughs through a choked sob. “Are you serious?”

I grin. “Dead serious. Even more serious than Boone on laundry day.”

She starts crying. Happy tears.

“Yes,” she says, before I can even finish opening the damn box. “Yes!”

The moment I slide the ring on her finger, the beach explodes behind us.

Shep.

Of course it’s Shep.

Flares go off like someone launched a Fourth of July finale with zero supervision. Sand flies into the air like rice, and Joely is laughing so hard she can barely breathe.

“Perfect timing,” she gasps.

I pull her close. “You’re damn right it is.”

And then I kiss my fiancée.

Fiancée.

Hell yeah.

I don’t even make it all the way upright before all hell breaks loose.

So much for just the eight pack because more flares scream into the sky like a redneck tribute to The Hunger Games , hissing and cracking above the water. One spirals off course, and I swear, it nearly takes out a passing duck. The seagulls that had been peacefully scavenging along the shoreline lose their feathery minds.

They shriek like they’ve seen a ghost. Or, more accurately, like they’ve seen Shep.

Which—valid.

“What the actual—” Joely ducks instinctively, laughing as a bird dive-bombs past her head. “ Shep lit the flares?”

I squint through the smoke. “You’re surprised?”

“No,” she says, beaming. “Just mildly concerned.”

A gull swoops low and drops a payload of horror straight onto the unsuspecting dome of my brother.

Bennett has been anointed.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” he roars, staggering back like he’s been personally attacked by the sky. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”

Joely doubles over in laughter, clutching her stomach. “It pooped on him!”

Shep, from behind a driftwood log, pops up like a demented meerkat. “BOOM! Target neutralized! ” Then he sees the carnage. “Oh shit. Literally.”

“You absolute donkey-brained menace!” Boone’s wiping bird crap from his hair, murder in his eyes.

“Hey,” Shep says, holding up both hands like he’s under arrest, “you knew what you were signing up for when I packed tactical flares , my dude.”

“That is NOT a thing!”

“Uh, it is now. Just go dunk your poopy head in the lake.”

Joely’s practically crying from laughing so hard. I reach out, wrap my arm around her waist to steady her. “Careful. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I already fell for you, remember?”

Damn. She’s fast.

Boone storms toward Shep like a seagull-wrath god, feathers in his hair and unholy fury in his eyes. Shep backpedals fast.

“Virgil!” Shep yells. “Back me up!”

Virgil, standing next to his truck, doesn’t even blink. “You lit unauthorized flares on city property. You’re on your own, Flare Boy.”

Shep whirls toward my brother. “Let’s talk about this. Bros before—”

“You’re dead,” Bennett growls.

I turn to Joely, brushing her hair back from her face as the shouting continues behind us.

“This is insane,” she says, breathless.

“Yeah,” I say. “But it’s our kind of insane.”

“You know what that means, right?” she says.

“That I’ll never have a boring day again?”

“That you’re stuck with me. Bird poop, flares, and all.”

“Good,” I say, pulling her in close again. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Somewhere behind us, Shep yells “I surrender!” as Bennett tackles him into a dune.

Joely doesn’t even flinch.

She just kisses me again.

Yeah. This is exactly where I’m meant to be.

We walk along the water’s edge, hand in hand, barefoot in the sand like it’s a damn rom-com that somehow morphed into real life. The chaos behind us fades into the sounds of waves lapping the shore and Bennett yelling that Shep owes him a new hoodie.

Joely leans into me, her head resting against my shoulder, and my whole body relaxes.

“Still think the flares were a good idea?” she asks.

“No,” I admit. “But I can’t lie. The bird shit was karma in its purest form. Think of the story we’ll get to tell our grandkids.”

She laughs softly, the kind of laugh that warms my chest and makes everything else disappear. “You really did all this?”

“Every piece of it,” I say. “The signs, the calls, the flares—though to be fair, I only asked Shep for subtle . That was on me.”

“I love that you tried so hard.” Her voice gets quiet. “No one’s ever tried that hard for me.”

“I didn’t try hard,” I say. “It was easy. You’re the easiest decision I’ve ever made.”

Her eyes shimmer under the setting sun, and she stops, facing me. “Even if I hurt myself again?”

“Especially if,” I say, pulling her in for a kiss. “You’re the one who tied my shoelaces in second grade when I had the stomach flu and almost puked on my Velcro.”

She gasps, eyes wide. “I thought you forgot that.”

We’re still kissing when Shep yells, “CAN I LIGHT MORE FLARES NOW?”

“NO,” Joely and I shout in unison, breaking apart in laughter.

Bennett grumbles something about “public safety” and “restraining orders,” but it’s all background noise now.

Beneath all the chaos, a different kind of anticipation buzzes. I can’t wait to tell my mom a seagull shit on Bennett’s head—she’ll never let him live it down. And we’ve got to get moving anyway, because Lynsie, Gisele, and Beth have an engagement party waiting for us back at Power Play. I can already picture the confetti, the cupcakes, the girls plotting their speeches, and my mom hugging Joely so hard she might break a rib.

I know we’ll walk into a madhouse of hugs and speeches, but for one perfect second, it’s just us—Joely’s in my arms.

My ring’s on her hand.

And for the first time in my life, I know exactly who I am and where I’m meant to be.

Not on the ice.

Not chasing someone else’s dream.

But here.

With her.

As her forever.

Keep the Sorrowville Steam Rolling…

Bennett Foster never needed anyone to fix him. He’s the rock of the Slammers, the guy everyone relies on—except when the weight of it all turns him to stone.

He’s Sorrowville’s most beloved grump, and Gisele LaRue is the only person with the guts (and glitter) to call him on his crap. She’s the vibrant, sharp-tongued owner of Glamboozled Salon—known for fierce style, hotter gossip, and her inexplicable ability to make even Bennett Foster crack a smile.

But after a late-night meltdown leaves Bennett sitting catatonic in the middle of Main Street, the entire town agrees: Gisele is the medicine he desperately needs. Led by Shep and a ragtag squad of hockey players, Sorrowville launches Operation Soft Boy—a mission to teach the Slammer’s biggest brute that having a heart doesn’t make you weak.

Gisele’s up for the challenge. (And maybe she’s been waiting for a crack in Bennett’s armor all along.)

What happens when a woman who lives loud and loves harder finally tangles with the man she’s secretly wanted for years? Will Sorrowville survive the sparks, the snark, and the sexual tension?