Page 76 of For Pucking Ever

"But you proved me wrong," I say, throat tight with emotion. "You made me believe I was worthy of being loved. And more than that, you reminded me that I could love, too. Fully. Without fear. Without hiding. Without compromise."

Finding my courage, I drop to one knee on the forest floor, ignoring the damp that immediately seeps through my pants. Some things are worth getting a little dirty for.

His eyes water as his mouth parts in shock, one hand flying up to cover it.

"You're my light, Derrick Shaw. You're the reason I can be B. Ardent and still lace up every night for the Vipers. The reason I want forever. Something that's just for us, away from cameras and contracts and expectations. So. . ."

I open the box. The brushed platinum band shines in the midday sun, engraved with the coordinates of this very spot, this bench where everything changed.

"Will you marry me?" I ask, voice shaky.

There's a second of silence. One suspended heartbeat where even Bullet seems to understand the gravity of the moment, sitting still and watchful.

Then Derrick laughs, eyes spilling over with tears as he pulls me up and into his arms with the same strength that lets him snatch pucks out of the air at impossible angles.

"Marry you? Are you serious? Of course I will." He laughs excitedly, the sound echoing through the trees. "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Hell yeah."

We kiss, here on the bench that started it all, our dog snuffling at our feet, the Seattle breeze threading through the trees like music. There's no crowd, no cameras, no roar of the stadium. It's just us.

My home. My Princesse. My Forever.

-THE END-

BONUS EPILOGUE

TOBIAS

It's late afternoon when I walk up the steps to Lia's house. Ridley told me to stop by if I wanted to meet the baby. I mean, why not. The fact that I found my new place via the team's management was a godsend. The fact that this place belongs to my new Captain's wife. . .well. Fate? Or something like it. The universe has a strange way of connecting dots I never knew existed.

The place is a Queen Anne. One of those classic Seattle houses you see in real estate ads, the kind with gingerbread trim and big windows framed in white. Intricate woodwork details the porch, catching the golden afternoon light. It's beautiful and a little intimidating, standing there like a postcard of domestic perfection. Of course, Ridley's sister would live here. He probably helped her buy it outright. Vipers’ money goes far when you're smart with it, and Ridley's got the contract and the endorsements to give her the world.

I'm not sure why I came. The gift bag and food dangles from my fingers, filled with carefully selected organic onesies that cost more than they should. My palms are sweating slightly against the ribbon handles. The scent of orange chicken and stir-fry makes my stomach grumble. I've brought enough to feed everyone.

I tell myself it will be quick. Just a drop-in, introduce myself, then I will go back next door and start to unpack what little of my life I brought with me to Seattle. The rest is still in storage, waiting for me to decide if this place is temporary or something more permanent. I guess that will be up to Coach Lennox and management. Honestly, if I had a choice, I would have probably chosen any other team but this one. Still, a trade is a trade and I don't want to think about the whys. So, a polite nod and a gift bag for the baby. I'll offer congratulations, maybe shake a few hands, then slip back out before it gets weird. I don't plan to stay long. Just enough to be neighborly, to start establishing connections with my new team. That's all.

I knock, unsure what I'm about to walk into but I'm going to go with it. It's post-season and the perfect time to get to know my new teammates. Yes, tell yourself that, Groves, I mutter before the door opens wide, the sound of laughter spilling out into the afternoon.

The woman standing in the doorway has warm brown skin, long locs cascade over her shoulders, and a megawatt smile that I recognize instantly. She's wearing joggers, a loose Coldplay band t-shirt, and no makeup. Her natural beauty is striking, effortless. She still looks like she belongs on the cover of a magazine, even dressed down like this.

I blink, surprised. Brea Brookes. No mistaking her. That's a face I've seen on a hundred screens, billboards, and album covers. Singer/songwriter and an R&B icon whose voice has filled stadiums worldwide this year. I didn't expect her to be here. Wait, right, she's Masters’ fiancée. The connections in this team run deep.

"Tobias, right?" she says with a smile that somehow makes me feel instantly welcome. "Come in. They're all in the living room."

I nod. "Thanks." I step inside the foyer, heart already kicking against my ribs. I'm not one to shy away from new surroundings but something about this moment is giving me uneasy vibes. Like I'm walking into something I'm not prepared for. The polished hardwood floors gleam beneath my feet, my reflection distorted in their shine.

The house smells like lavender, warm wood, and something sweet scents the air. Maybe cookies or cake, I'm unsure, but it's homemade and smells good. This place is stunning, lived-in, and comfortable. Family photos line the walls, plants thrive in sunny corners. There's music playing low in the background, something jazzy and mellow and the soft hum of voices coming from around the corner, punctuated by occasional laughter. I follow behind Brea as two big rooms come into view separated by the foyer. I recognize Alexis on the couch in the room to the right, pregnant, glowing, and relaxed. Her hand rests protectively over her rounded belly. I'm leasing her house this season. We've exchanged a few words. Nothing more than logistics, but it's nice to see a friendly face.

Then I see her. Sitting next to Alexis, tucked into the corner of the sectional, surrounded by pillows that seem to cradle her like she's something precious. A baby is cradled against her chest, tiny and new. She's small and curvy, wearing an oversized hoodie and leggings, and she looks tired in the way new mothers always do. That bone-deep exhaustion mixed with a serene kind of joy, but she's stunning. Effortlessly beautiful in a way that catches me off guard. Her dark brown hair is twisted up, a few curls slipping down to frame her face, catching the light from the nearby window. There's no makeup, no performance. Just warmth. Just real. Something authentic that makes me pause.

The baby in her arms is tiny, swaddled in soft yellow fabric that looks impossibly small. One little hand clutches the collar of her hoodie like it belongs there. Like she knows exactly where home is. Tiny fingers, impossibly perfect, holding on with surprising strength.

I don't know who this woman is but I can't stop looking at her. There's something magnetic about the tableau she creates, this picture of new motherhood that feels both intimate and universal.

Then movement from the other room catches my eye as he walks into the room, a bottle of water in his hand. I stare, trying not to give too much away at the sight of him. Yes, we've been on the ice together but it's different. You can't hash out years of baggage in between power plays and puck drops. The fluorescent lights of the rink create a different reality than this warm, domestic scene. I should have prepared myself, but of course life doesn't work that way. Thanks for that, universe. Another cosmic joke at my expense.

He's moving slowly. Calm. Every step deliberate, careful not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere. I know that walk better than I want to admit. The way his shoulders set, the rhythm of his steps. He crosses the room and stops behind her. He places a hand gently on her shoulder, a casual touch that speaks volumes. She glances up and gives him a look that hits me straight in the chest. It's tender, intimate, filled with shared secrets.

He smiles back, soft and quiet. Like he belongs here. Like she's his. Like the baby is too. The certainty of it is written in every line of his body.