Page 152 of Uncoachable

“Only for you, Coach,” I murmur back, pulling her closer.

Cash barrels into us, hugging both of us at once, nearly knocking us over.

“WE DID IT! COACH, I LOVE YOU, BUT NOT LIKE HE DOES, DO NOT WORRY!”

Ivy laughs, shoving him lightly. “Cash, get off before you knock us over.”

“NEVER!” he shouts.

They all take turns hugging her, thanking her, telling her she earned this.

Carter stands just behind them, his arms crossed and his head nodding once—the Hale version of a total emotional breakdown.

The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, vibrating the floor.

“CAPTAIN MOORE—COME GET THE CUP!”

My legs are shaking as I skate forward toward the podium.

The Cup is heavier than I imagined—it’s cold metal and warm history, every dream I’ve ever had pressed into its silver surface. I lift it over my head, feeling the weight of the legends who came before me, and the world goes white with noise.

But I don’t skate my lap yet.

I turn and skate straight back to her.

Her eyes widen, her hands dropping to her sides. “Cal, what are you doing?”

“Help me,” I say simply, holding the silver base toward her.

She hesitates for one heartbeat, then she steps forward, her fingers trembling as they touch the metal. Together, we lift the Cup. Her hands are on the silver, and mine are over hers. Cash is yelling somewhere in the background about “Power Couples,” but I don’t hear him.

We skate our lap together—well, it’s more of a waddle because Iveline doesn’t have her skates on and she’s slipping on the chewed-up ice. I hold her steady, my arm around her waist.

The team follows behind us in a chaotic, shouting, laughing, crying line. Fans press against the glass, banging their hands and chanting her name.

“TALVI! TALVI! TALVI!”

She looks stunned, looking up at the rafters as if she can’t believe the sound is for her.

I squeeze her hand. “Told you. They love you.”

And then she looks at me. Not at the fans, not at the trophy, but at me.

Soft. Certain. Forever.

“I love you,” she says.

I grin, my heart pounding harder than any overtime period. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go.”

She smirks, that brilliant, sharp look returning to her eyes. “You couldn’t if you tried.”

We skate on, the ice beneath us and the world at our feet. And for the first time in my life, I know exactly what my future looks like.

***

The second the locker room doors swing open, it is chaos. Champagne explodes everywhere, the corks popping like gunfire. The room is a haze of white foam and frantic shouting.

Cash is already shirtless, dumping a bottle of Gatorade over someone’s head. Brick is yelling about destiny, and Leo is doing snow angels on the wet, champagne-soaked floor.