Page 22

DECLAN

5 years later...

“ D addy! Watch me!”

I look up from adjusting my tie to see our three-year-old daughter Dahlia twirling in the middle of our bedroom, her tutu a blur of sparkly pink as she spins until she gets dizzy and collapses in a fit of giggles.

“That was amazing, princess,” I tell her, scooping her up and kissing her chubby cheek. “You’re going to be the star of Mommy’s recital.”

“Just like you were the star of the playoffs,” she says proudly, patting my face with her small hands.

I can’t help but grin. Dahlia might be too young to fully understand what the Stanley Cup means, but she knows her daddy plays hockey and that sometimes people cheer for me. Victoria says she’s my mini-me—same blue eyes, same mischievous smile, same ability to charm everyone she meets.

“Where’s Mommy?” Dahlia asks, squirming to be put down.

“Helping the big girls get ready at the studio,” I remind her. “We’re meeting her there, remember?”

“Can I wear my special necklace?” She pulls at the collar of her leotard, big eyes pleading. “Please, Daddy?”

I know exactly which necklace she means—the delicate silver chain with a tiny ballerina charm that Victoria chose for her last birthday. The same one Dahlia has managed to lose twice already because she’s three and responsibility isn’t her strong suit.

“Only if you promise not to take it off during the recital,” I say firmly, retrieving it from the little jewelry box on our dresser.

“I promise!” She bounces on her toes as I fasten it around her neck. “Can we go now? I want to practice my dance with Mommy again.”

“Just let me finish getting dressed, then we’ll go.”

Five years ago, if someone had told me I’d be living part time in Peach Springs, married to a ballet instructor, and father to the world’s most energetic three-year-old, I’d have laughed in their face. Hockey had been my whole world back then—the ice, the team, the adoration of fans. I couldn’t imagine anything better.

But that was before Victoria Fletcher turned my life upside down.

Now, I divide my time between Sugar City during the season and our Peach Springs home in the off-season. Victoria’s dance academy has expanded to three locations—the original in Peach Springs, the one near the arena in Sugar City that opened first, and now a third in a neighboring town that just celebrated its grand opening last month.

The Nighthawks made her ballet training program permanent, and several other teams have implemented similar programs since our obvious dominance on the ice was becoming impossible for them to ignore. Victoria splits her time between directing her growing dance empire and working as the Nighthawks’ ballet consultant, all while being the most amazing mother I could have imagined to our daughter.

“Daddy! Hurry up!” Dahlia calls from the doorway, already clutching her little dance bag shaped like a ballet slipper.

“Coming, princess.” I adjust my tie one last time and grab my keys. “Let’s go see Mommy.”

The drive to the Peach Springs town square takes only minutes from our house. The annual Peach Festival is in full swing, with booths selling everything from peach cobbler to peach-scented candles. The scent of ripe peaches fills the warm summer air, mixing with the sounds of a local band playing on the gazebo stage.

I park behind Victoria’s studio, noting the crowd already gathered for the children’s recital. This is the biggest event of the festival for the local kids, and Victoria has been planning it for months.

Dahlia nearly vibrates with excitement as I help her from her car seat. “Do you think Auntie Shelby brought her special peach cookies for after the show?”

“I guarantee it,” I assure her. Shelby wouldn’t miss a chance to spoil her goddaughter.

We make our way through the backstage door, weaving around excited dancers in colorful costumes. I spot Teagan, now a college student who teaches at Victoria’s Sugar City location, herding a group of fidgety four-year-olds through their warm-ups.

“Mr. O’Rielly! Dahlia!” she calls, waving us over. “Madame Victoria is in the main studio with the older girls.”

“Thanks, Teagan.” I steer Dahlia through the chaos, nodding greetings to parents and students who recognize me.

After five years, I’ve gotten used to being ‘Madame Victoria’s husband’ here in Peach Springs rather than ‘Declan O’Rielly, NHL star.’ It’s refreshing, actually. Here, I’m valued for being a good father and supportive spouse more than for how many goals I scored in the last game.

We find Victoria in the largest studio, putting the teenage class through their final rehearsal. My breath still catches when I see her—hair pulled back in her signature bun, wearing a simple black dress that shows off the curves I still worship nightly. She’s more beautiful now than the day we met, confidence radiating from her as she directs her students.

Dahlia breaks free from my grasp the moment she spots her mother, racing across the room with a squeal.

“Mommy! I wore my necklace!”

Victoria’s face lights up at the sight of our daughter. She scoops her into her arms, not missing a beat as she continues giving instructions to her students.

“Beautiful extension, Sally! Remember to spot during your turns, everyone. Five more minutes and then you can rest before the show.”

She makes her way to me, Dahlia settled on her hip, and leans up for a quick kiss.

“You look handsome,” she murmurs. “Sorry about the chaos.”

“It’s perfect chaos,” I assure her, stealing another kiss. “Need any help?”

“Could you check that the sound system is working properly? Last year we had that feedback issue during the toddler number.”

“On it.” I kiss the top of Dahlia’s head. “Want to help Daddy with the music, princess?”

She nods enthusiastically, holding out her arms to be transferred to me. As Victoria returns to her students, I catch a moment of pure contentment on her face—the look of a woman fully in her element, doing exactly what she was meant to do.

The recital goes off without a hitch, from the adorable if slightly chaotic toddler number (featuring Dahlia front and center, naturally) to the technically impressive performances by Victoria’s advanced students. I sit in the front row with other proud parents, my phone in hand to capture every moment of our daughter’s performance.

When Victoria takes the stage after the final number to thank everyone, the applause is thunderous. She’s become a cornerstone of this community, not just for her dance instruction but for her advocacy for inclusion and body positivity. The students who first joined her studio when she opened it are now heading off to college, many having secured dance scholarships despite not fitting the traditional ballet mold.

“Can you believe how far she’s come?” a voice says beside me, and I turn to see Shelby sliding into the seat next to mine, a box of her infamous peach cookies in her lap.

“Every day she amazes me,” I admit, watching as Victoria graciously accepts a bouquet from the Peach Festival committee.

“She always had it in her,” Shelby says thoughtfully. “She just needed someone who believed in her as much as she believes in her students.”

After the recital, we make our way to the main festival grounds where the team has gathered for our annual Peach Festival reunion. It’s become a tradition since that first summer when they all came to help us move into our new house.

“Uncle Luc!” Dahlia shouts, spotting the Nighthawks’ former captain, now turned assistant coach. She breaks away from us, dashing toward where he stands with Natalie and their twin boys.

Luc catches her mid-run, swinging her up into the air as she squeals with delight. “There’s my favorite ballerina!”

The rest of the team arrives in waves—Calvin and Olivia, with their son Jacob; Emile and a very pregnant Sara with their daughter Sophia; even Callum makes an appearance, seeming to finally be in a position where he enjoys socializing a little more...

As Victoria moves through the crowd, greeting friends and accepting compliments on the recital, I hang back for a moment, taking in the scene. These people, this place. It’s become the center of my world in a way I never could have predicted. Hockey is still important to me, of course. I still live for the roar of the crowd and the feel of the ice beneath my skates. But this—this sprawling, loving extended family we’ve built—is what truly matters.

“Penny for your thoughts, O’Rielly,” Victoria says, appearing at my side and slipping her hand into mine.

“Just thinking about how lucky I am,” I reply honestly, pulling her close. “Who would have thought one impulsive kiss would lead to all this?”

She laughs, that full-bodied laugh that still sends heat through my veins. “You took quite a risk that day.”

“Best risk I ever took,” I murmur against her hair. “Though I think you took the bigger gamble, agreeing to marry me.”

“I’d say it paid off handsomely.” Victoria’s eyes drift to where Dahlia is now showing Sophia her ballet moves, the two girls giggling together on the grass. “Very handsomely indeed.”

As the evening progresses, we settle at picnic tables laden with festival food—peach barbecue, peach cobblers, and of course, Shelby’s cookies. The conversation flows easily between hockey talk, parenting stories, and plans for the upcoming season.

“You ready for another run at the Cup?” Calvin asks me, passing a plate of ribs.

“Always,” I grin. “Though I might need to up my ballet training. I’m getting old, you know.”

Victoria rolls her eyes affectionately. “Thirty-three is hardly ancient, darling.”

“Ancient enough that the rookies call me ‘sir,’” I complain good-naturedly.

“They call you ‘sir’ because you’re a legend,” Emile corrects me. “Two-time Cup winner, three-time All-Star...”

“Don’t feed his ego,” Victoria warns with a laugh. “It’s big enough already.”

“Speaking of big egos,” I say, lowering my voice as Dahlia climbs onto my lap, “have you told everyone our news yet?”

Victoria’s eyes sparkle as she shakes her head. “I was waiting for the right moment.”

“What news?” Natalie demands immediately, her restaurant-trained ears apparently capable of picking up the slightest hint of gossip even across a noisy picnic table.

Victoria takes my hand, a smile spreading across her face as she looks around at our friends. “Well, it seems Dahlia is going to be a big sister in about seven months.”

The table erupts in cheers and congratulations, everyone talking at once. Dahlia looks up at me, confused by the sudden commotion.

“You’re getting a baby brother or sister,” I explain to her, watching her eyes widen.

“Like Sophia is getting?” she asks seriously, pointing to Sara’s rounded belly.

“Exactly like that,” Victoria confirms, smoothing Dahlia’s hair. “What do you think about that?”

Dahlia considers the question with all the gravity a three-year-old can muster. “Can the baby do ballet with me?”

“Eventually,” Victoria promises. “Though the baby will need to learn to walk first.”

This seems to satisfy Dahlia, who nods solemnly before returning her attention to the cookie in her hand.

As the evening winds down, Dahlia finally succumbs to exhaustion, falling asleep against my chest. Victoria leans against my side, her hand resting protectively over her stomach. The festival lights twinkle around us, music playing softly in the background as our friends continue their conversations in hushed tones to avoid waking the various children who have dropped off one by one.

“Take her home,” Calvin suggests, noticing Dahlia’s sleeping form. “We’ll help clean up.”

I nod gratefully, carefully rising with Dahlia cradled against me. Victoria gathers our belongings, saying quick goodbyes to everyone.

After a short car ride, I carefully carry Dahlia to her room while Victoria turns on lights and locks up behind us.

Once I’ve tucked our daughter in, I find Victoria in our bedroom, already changed into one of my old Nighthawks t-shirts that she’s claimed as sleepwear. She’s removing pins from her hair, letting it fall in waves around her shoulders.

“Today was perfect,” she says as I wrap my arms around her from behind. “Did you see Dahlia’s face when she got that applause?”

“Takes after her mother,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to Victoria’s neck. “Born performer.”

She turns in my arms, hands coming up to rest on my chest. “I was thinking Simon for a boy, after your grandfather. Or maybe Riley for a girl.”

“I love both,” I tell her honestly. “Though I’m still holding out for Declan Junior.”

Victoria laughs softly. “Not happening, O’Rielly. One of you is all I can handle.”

“You handle me pretty well,” I tease, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively.

“Barely,” she says with a shake of her head, but leans up to kiss me, anyway.

Later, as we lie tangled together, Victoria’s head on my chest and my hand splayed protectively over her stomach, I think about the journey that brought us here. From that first day she walked into the arena, to this moment with our second child on the way, our home filled with love, our careers flourishing.

“What are you thinking about?” Victoria asks sleepily, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin.

“Just about how sometimes the best things in life come from taking chances,” I reply, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “And how grateful I am that you decided to stick it out with me.”

“It wasn’t a decision. We belonged together,” she murmurs, already drifting toward sleep.

As her breathing evens out, I hold her close, marveling at how completely my priorities have shifted in five years. Trophies and accolades still matter, of course, but they pale in comparison to moments like this—Victoria asleep in my arms, Dahlia down the hall dreaming of tutus and twirls, another little O’Rielly growing safely beneath my hand.

I used to think happiness lived at center ice under the arena lights. Turns out, it lives right here — wrapped around me, breathing soft against my skin.