Page 157 of Uncoachable

Engaged.

It still doesn’t feel real some days. It feels like if I look too hard or breathe too fast, it’ll all disappear like a dream. Like I’ll wake up back in a windowless locker room, my body aching and my mind pretending I don’t know that it’s time to stop.

I used to think the ‘C’ stitched onto my jersey was the only thing that gave me value as a man. I thought that without the game, I’d be nothing more than a ghost, haunting the hallways of retired legends and talking about the “good old days.”

But as I watch Ivy, I realize I haven’t lost my captaincy at all; I’ve just changed my team. My job now isn’t to take the hits so the puck stays in the zone for an extra five seconds. My job is to be the shore when her tide gets too high.

It’s to be the person who holds the ladder while she reaches for things no one else thought were possible.

I look around and see the guys—Hale, Cash, Nico, even Brick—scattered across the ice, helping her with the various groups of kids.

The ‘Boston Reign’ was just the locker room where we all happened to meet.

This?

This is the brotherhood that survived the transition.

We aren’t bound by a corporate franchise or a paycheck anymore; we’re bound by the woman who saved us from ourselves.

And it’s not just a one-time thing. Every single month, without fail, they find their way back here to this rink on the east side. It’s not because there is a mandatory schedule or because Ivy told them they had to.

They come because this place has become theirs, too. They tie the laces of five-year-olds, they chase the beautiful chaos of the “Learn to Skate” sessions, and they referee imaginary penalties with more passion than they ever show in the NHL.

Scottie’s voice carries across the ice from the benches, sharp, delighted, and utterly unmistakable. She’s perched next to Ivy’s father and she appears to be deep in an intense conversation, already terrifying a nearby equipment manager.

Maid of honor, of course. There was never really another option. If I’d suggested anyone else, Scottie probably would have checked me into a wall.

I glance at William.

Two years have changed that man more than I ever thought possible.

Leaving the General Manager position over a year ago had been the first domino; he had finally realized that being a father mattered more than maintaining a front-office legacy.

There is no judgment in his eyes today, no cold calculation of “brand value.” There is just curiosity, a quiet pride, and that subtle, careful humor he’s been relearning how to wear like a comfortable old sweater.

He’s listening to Scottie, really listening, instead of waiting for his turn to correct her or point out a flaw in her logic. The man who once made every single word a battlefield now smiles openly at Ivy, and for the first time, it feels… almost like home.

Beside him Claire, his wife, beams quietly.

She is as warm and kind as ever, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes glistening with tears that are perpetually threatening to spill—just like they did the night I sat in their living room and told them we’re engaged.

Ivy skates toward me without even thinking about it, her movements as automatic as breathing. She stops right in front of me, a small cloud of ice shavings hitting my boots.

“You’re late, Moore,” she says, her tone teasing and her eyes sparkling with a mischief I never get tired of seeing.

“You started the revolution without me,” I reply, mock offended, as I step onto the ice to meet her. “I figured you had it under control.”

She leans in, her forehead brushing against my shoulder for a brief, grounding second. “I always do. But it’s more fun when you’re watching.”

I kiss the top of her head.

“You built something incredible here, Ivy,” I tell her, and I mean it with every part of me.

She shrugs, trying to be modest, but her eyes shine with a fierce light. “So did you, Cal.”

I glance around at the kids, the laughter, and the beautiful, sprawling mess that somehow works perfectly. I look at the woman who walked away from a seat of power to build something that would actually last.

Maybe she’s right.