Boldly by Elise Faber

Epilogue

Hazel

Game seven.

The score was tied.

The Breakers were on home ice, exhausted, and looking like they might not be able to squeak out the win. They’d spent much of the overtime period in their own end, barely fending off an assault from the Gold’s awesome offense.

Scrambling.

Desperate to stay in it.

She was in the owner’s box, next to Oliver. Trying not to bite every single nail on her fingers down to the quick.

She’d already ruined her manicure, just by picking away at the polish.

But this shit was nerve-wracking. How did the wives and girlfriends do it? How did they stand the pressure of watching their guy on the ice fight for something they wanted so, so badly?

At least they only had one player to worry about.

Hazel had twenty.

Was Marcel doing okay? What about Connor? His girlfriend had recently broken up with him, and he’d seemed down, like he’d really liked her, even though they hadn’t been dating long. What about Luca? He’d made a bad play that led to the Gold tying the game in the final minutes of regulation. Was he kicking himself and in a bad mental space? And Theo. He was battling injuries and—

Oliver took her hand.

He’d been so still this entire game, a virtual statue.

As though if he breathed wrong, he’d sabotage the team.

But even while dealing some pretty heavy demons—hello karma to swing its dick right in his face—Oliver was still aware of her.

“Breathe, babe,” he said, not taking his eyes from the ice. “They have this.”

“I—”

But she didn’t get the rest of the sentence out because all of a sudden Marcel, Conner, and Theo were tearing up the ice, the Gold scrambling to catch up.

Too late. In a complete defensive breakdown, their team had a three-on-none advantage in the Gold’s zone.

Marcel fed the puck to Conner.

Who tapped it to Theo.

Who faked passing it to Marcel and instead fired it back to Conner.

Who shot it on net.

Brit, the Gold’s goalie, was scrambling, challenging them, cutting off angles and sliding from side to side in the net. She stacked her pads, dove, and…

Saved the puck. It bounced off her into the corner.

The crowd released a disappointed breath, Hazel right along with them.

And the Gold defense flew into the zone, tangled up with Hazel’s guys, getting between them and the goal. But not between Marcel in the goal.

Somehow in the scramble, they’d missed Marcel.

Who suddenly had the puck on his stick and was firing it toward the goal.

Brit slid.

But she was too far out of position.

The puck flew into the back of the net.

Goal!

Holy shit. Goal!

The arena was quiet for a heartbeat and then absolutely exploded with noise. The bench cleared, guys flying onto the ice, everyone celebrating in a flurry of hugs and excited punches. Equipment was flung aside—gloves and sticks and helmets littered around the ice like a yard sale. The goal music came on. The crowd was roaring.

And the Breakers were gathered in a mass on the ice, hugging and smiling.

Hazel’s eyes stung.

Hell, tears were sliding down her face. There was no point in hiding it. She was so freaking proud of them.

But when they turned, almost as one, their eyes on the box, and pointed at Oliver.

He pointed back at the guys.

And…she lost it.

Sobs wrenched through her, tears came in rapid succession, the scene on the ice going blurry.

“Babe,” he murmured, cuddling her close, kissing her cheek, wiping the moisture away.

Then Conner gestured, and at first, her watery eyes didn’t process it. She dashed the tears off her lashes, blinked a few times…then nearly lost it all over again.

Because once Conner had started, the rest of the team followed.

Pointing at Oliver.

And then down at the ice.

Allof them.

Making it clear where they wanted Oliver.

She stood, tugging a now silent and still Oliver to his feet. Then to the door. Then to the elevator that led down to ice level. Then to the hall that led to the rink.

Conner stood at the end.

She smiled at him, having long given up on holding back her tears.

They dripped down her cheeks, and she tugged Oliver toward his friend, toward the bright lights and the roar of the crowd.

“Thanks, Haze,” Conner said, quieter and more serious than she’d ever heard him. He wiped his thumb over her cheeks, pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You going to be good?”

“Take care of him,” she whispered, glancing at her lovely, good man, who was stunned silent.

A nod.

Then Conner slung an arm over Oliver’s shoulders and drew him forward.

The crowd hit another level of loud when they realized who was stepping onto the ice, thankfully cut up so much that it was rough enough to walk on with normal shoes, and a carpet currently being rolled out on the edges if it wasn’t.

She trailed quietly behind them, having to dash more tears away when she saw Marcel approach with a jersey—with Oliver’s jersey.

That was when her man unfroze.

He took the jersey, tugged it over his head, and then hugged Conner and Marcel, their lips moving in rapid succession. The rest of the guys mobbed them, and she held her breath when it looked like Oliver might take a stumble.

But they righted themselves and him, and then there was nothing but smiles and pounding each other on the back…

And the Cup being brought onto the ice.

Oliver got it first.

She watched him lift it over his head, the crowd roaring. He held it up as he moved around the ice, taking the traditional circle in a way that was slower because he didn’t have skates, but one that perhaps meant more to him than anyone else in the history of winning it.

Then he passed it onto Conner, who gave it to Marcel, who gave it to Luca, Theo, Raph. Everyone got their turn, and she knew that it was like they were getting their first-time celebration, too.

Because a year ago, it had been marred by Oliver’s injury.

Because this year, there was only joy.

She leaned on the bench, saw that she wasn’t the only one with wet eyes. All of the Gold players had stayed on their bench, were cheering just as loud. Including Brit, who had her helmet propped on top of her head, cheeks rosy, blond strands of hair gathering around her face.

And she was crying, too.

Because she got it. The players on the Gold got it.

Hell, everyone in the arena got it.

This was a painful loss and coming full circle, becoming whole when it seemed impossible.

It was endings and new beginnings.

And it was love…for a fellow player who’d been through a lot, for a teammate who’d lost what seemed to be everything, for a man who was so damned good despite having been through more than anyone should have.

Oliver came back over to her, cupped her cheeks, and kissed her tears away.

Then she did the same for him.

Thenshe stared into his eyes and said, “I am so going to marry you.”

She didn’t find out until later that the moment was caught on the Jumbotron, that a mic was nearby, and her words had been captured on camera, replayed on the game coverage, on the local news.

She wasn’t aware of any of that.

Not until her mom sent her samples for wedding invitations.

With a date set less than six months away.

With a Post-It stuck to the front of them that read simply, Grandbabies.