Page 345 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

Dad walks to the old oak coat rack near the window and reaches into the pocket of the jacket hanging there. When he turns back, something small rests in the palm of his hand. A worn silver coin. The edges have been softened by decades of being carried in someone's pocket. He holds it for a moment before placing it in my hand. "I carried this the day I asked your mother to marry me."

I look down at the little coin. "I've carried it ever since."

My throat tightens. "Dad..."

He closes my fingers gently around it. "I think it's your turn."

The coin isn't valuable. It probably isn't even rare. But I can't imagine owning anything more precious. It represents every ordinary Tuesday, every difficult season, every quiet decision to choose one another again, and every year that has made my parents' marriage the example I hope to follow someday.

Dad rests one hand on my shoulder. "You don't need luck." His smile is quiet but certain. "You already found the right woman."

I swallow hard before nodding. "I know."

He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Then go ask her."

A few minutes later I find myself sitting alone in the truck. The ring rested safely inside my jacket. Dad's silver coin in the palm of my hand.

I turn it over once before slipping it into my jeans pocket. It feels right there, like it belongs.

For months I've been fighting to get my life back. I'd thought recovery meant skating again, playing again, leading my team again.

Now I understand. Recovery has never been the finish line. It has simply been the road that led me here. I rest one hand over the ring hidden inside my jacket and smile as I started the engine.

Tomorrow...

I am going to ask the woman I love to spend forever with me.

Chapter thirty-nine

Jamie

The Promise

By Wednesday morning, I’ve become a terrible liar.

Not because anyone is asking difficult questions, but because apparently every person in my life has suddenly developed the ability to read my face.

I walk into the arena carrying my equipment bag over one shoulder, determined to behave like it’s every other practice day.

Ten seconds later Liam falls into step beside me.

"You're humming."

I blink. "I'm what?"

"Humming."

"I don't hum."

"You absolutely do."

He tilts his head, listening dramatically.

"It's subtle."

"I wasn't aware of it."

"Neither was your subconscious."