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I have to. Because losing him for good would be like losing a piece of myself. And I don’t think I could survive that kind of wound without bleeding out completely.
28
EPILOGUE
LONDON
5 years later…
The crowd'sroar shakes the damn walls, their cheers for Riot electrifying the air. I can feel it vibrating in my chest as my pulse hammers. Thirty thousand voices blended into one earth-shattering shout.
Riot's name.
My eyes find him across the ice, helmet off, his signature jet black hair wet with sweat. My name in black ink etched on the side of his neck. His chest heaves, cheeks flushed, as he lifts his stick to acknowledge the crowd.
The fans are losing their minds for him.
My husband.
This is it. His last game in the league.
Part of me wishes I could freeze this moment and live in it with him forever.
But I'm suited up to face him as a rival tonight. It's one last throw-down between us out here on NHL ice. I've already promised to destroy him.
Riot expects no less from me.
Now when we lock eyes from opposite sides of the rink, it's electric. Our trust and intimacy off the ice only amplifies the thrill of going head-to-head out here.
Gotta admit, that hunger to dominate each other on the ice never faded. If anything, being married stoked the flames. Tonight, we battle as rivals with the taste of each other on our tongues. There's nothing better.
My gaze rakes over Riot, remembering all the stolen moments between us—in locker rooms, empty rinks, hotel rooms, bus rides. Six years of memories hit me, of us fighting and fucking with the same fire. From hated rivals to husbands. He's as much a part of me now as hockey.
Knowing this is his last time on the ice as a pro... it leaves an ache in me words can't capture. But I know our story is far from over.
They dim the lights and play some tribute on the jumbotron. Clips of his most legendary plays to a soundtrack of rock music blasting, showing the highlights of his career.
Even on that screen his skill is breathtaking—the way he handles that puck, commanding the ice like a warrior king. Relentless. Unyielding. Built to dominate this sport in a way few can match.
He could play another ten years if he wanted. But he's set his sights on something bigger and he's ready to walk away.
Watching the video, I remember how bad I wanted to destroy him when we first met. How I was obsessed with proving I could eclipse his shine with my grit and audacity alone.
Little did I know he'd become my whole goddamn universe one day.
The crowd's on their feet before it even ends, losing their minds for him all over again. I join them, banging my stick too—Golden Boy's earned every ounce of praise tonight.
Across the rink, Riot turns to me, eyes burning. Years of memories pass between us in silence.
Let's give them one hell of a last show, Golden Boy.
The puck drops and we collide, lost to it all—the crowd, the arena, everything but each other out here.
A few hours later, when the game’s over, I've got him pressed against the boards. Our bodies fit together, same as always, both of us flying high after this final stand-off.
We trade breathless laughs as I rest my forehead against his.
"I let you win, Hotshot," he says with that smirk I love.
