Epilogue

Seven months later

April

It’s more than a door.

Though Georgia had visited the Empty Net several times over the last seven months—she would never feel in the know enough to call it the Net —it still gave her a thrill to pull that big oak door open and walk on through.

Like stepping into her future.

Tonight was a good night to be a Rebels fan. The team had made the playoffs, the bar was heaving, and a still height-challenged Georgia could barely make out anyone she knew. That blond crown in the distance might have been Erik Jorgenson, the Rebels goalie, or maybe a different Viking lookalike hockey player altogether.

She should have met Banks in the dressing room right after the game, but she had been called away by a Georgia’s Godmothers emergency. One of their clients was on a date night with her husband when some miscommunication snafu had resulted in their reservation being canceled. No other restaurant would do because this was the one they’d gotten engaged in twenty three years ago—wow!—so Georgia made a personal call to the chef-owner, Tony DeLuca. When he didn’t answer because he was in the middle of service, she had paid a visit to DeLuca’s in Wicker Park herself. The couple were soon seated at a chef’s table in the kitchen, and all was well again. It might have seemed trivial— boo hoo, they couldn’t eat in a fancy restaurant —but not to Georgia. These were the moments that mattered.

So, she was late to the celebration. But she hoped she would add to it with news of her own.

She arced her gaze again over the crowd, and that’s when it happened, just like that first night. Parting the crowd like the Red Sea, her husband moved toward her like she was the mission. He scooped her up and kissed her deep and she thought, how lucky am I?

“Everything good?” he asked when he let her up for air. “You fix it?”

“I did.”

“Course you did.”

“You won.”

“Course I did.” He grinned. “So glad you’re here. Last year when we qualified, I was miserable.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, I’d just kissed you in the kitchen and you weren’t quite ready to fall for my charms. Bonus: O’Malley was rubbing it in with his uber-successful love life.”

She sighed. “We were such dummies.”

“A lot of stupid choices needed before the light bulb goes off.”

What about stupid non -choices? Would he be okay with her news? Or would he think of it as another distraction when he needed his focus more than ever? While his shoulder was still holding its own, there was only so long he could stay at this peak level.

“Could we go somewhere private for a sec?”

His face fell. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing! Just need to run something by you.” Doubts assailed her. She changed tack. “You know something? It can wait.”

But her husband knew better. He was already moving toward the rear of the bar, half-carrying her, her feet hardly touching the ground. “Comin’ through!” Of course they all made room, because that’s what you did when a man like Banks forged a path through any and all obstacles. That’s what he’d done with her.

“Georgia!” Tara tried to give her a hug, but Banks had her all wrapped up.

“Hi! Just got here.”

“Perfect timing. We just opened the champagne.” Tara took a quick look at Banks, then her. “Everything okay?”

“Fine, fine!”

Banks got the attention of the bar’s owner. “Tina, okay if we use the office?”

She waved them through with an eye roll. The Rebels players were known for taking liberties with the staff spaces at this bar, so this was par for the course. “Sure, mi casa and all that.”

“Georgia, you made it!” Ashley kissed her on the cheek, then Mia tried to get in on the action.

“I just need a sec and then I’ll be?—”

Banks had been waiting semi-patiently during the greetings of the WAG squad before deciding patience was overrated as he removed her mid-sentence.

Once in the office, he took a seat in a large swivel chair, pulled her into his lap, and got her settled. “What’s up, Peaches?”

Here goes. “So, this is probably the worst timing but … I’m pregnant.”

No expression change. Still her gloriously glowering Banks.

“Uh, say something?”

“Should’ve known.”

“What? Why?”

He grimaced. “Baby, you’ve stopped drinking coffee?—”

“It made me sick.”

“And your tits are fuller. Don’t get me wrong, I love your sweet little beauties, but …” He cupped her left one gently. (He claimed it was his favorite.) “These are giving me all sorts of ideas.”

She snatched a breath. “That’s the problem. The ideas that suck up your focus while you worry about me. This is going to be like last year when I moved in right before the playoffs with my poisonous cat and dubious cooking and then I got hit by that puck and?—”

He kissed her, his usual tactic to calm her down. It worked. Sort of.

“Peaches, why would this be a problem? Unless you don’t want it?”

She blew out a breath. “I-I do. More than anything. I just thought we’d plan for it after you retire. When things are more settled.”

“When have Dylan and Georgia Bankowski ever ‘planned’ anything? I’d say this is very much in keeping with how we roll.” He smiled, giving her all the sun she needed to warm her through and chase away the doubts. “Never thought you could make me happier than the night I married you or the day you told me you wanted to keep my name. But here we are.”

She blinked. “You’re pleased?”

“Baby, I’m fucking ecstatic.” But because this was Banks, he wasn’t whooping or hollering or going overboard. He was just being his stoic, solid, enduring self. This was the man who would be the father of her child—of all her children—and she had enough drama for the two of them.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered, the reality and dream colliding to produce the perfect sensation of peace and joy.

“You are.” The grin broke free at last. “We’re having a baby.”

They stared, drinking each other and the moment in. Finally, he said, “The families are gonna be stoked.”

“About that. Can we keep it to ourselves for now? I took a test, but I still need to see a doctor. I’m pretty sure it happened six weeks ago, though.”

He squinted, thought on that for a second. “The morning after the New York game?”

“Yeah, I have a feeling that was it. You were extra, uh, spurty. Nothing was going to stop your powerful boys.”

Color flushed his cheeks, and his nostrils flared. “I came twice, Peaches, because that’s what my gorgeous wife does to me.” He tilted his head. “How you feelin’?”

“Okay. Relieved. I know I’ve been here since but standing outside that door had me thinking about the first time I came into this bar. How my life was about to change, but I had no idea, really, of just how much. And here we are again.”

“More life changing.” He nuzzled his nose against hers. “Thank you, Georgia.”

“For what?”

“Bringing color into my life. Giving me another reason to strive for glory outside of the game. But mostly, for being my compass and always guiding me home.”

She sniffed. “Baby hormones.”

His warm, brown eyes took on a suspicious shine. “Me, too.”

He kissed her again, and the fear vanished in the warmth of that connection. Because she had this man, fighting for her. For them. Lucky? No, blessed—and happy to count each of her blessings every single day.

Thank you for reading!