Epilogue - Callum

Four months later.

We made it to the fucking championship.

In the past three years of playing with the Lynwood Monarchs, we haven’t even come close. Stone likes to say it’s all because of him because, well, he’s arrogant like that. He’s certainly one reason. The team plays better with him on it.

But I’m pretty sure another reason is we all wanted to give Coach a big “fuck you” after everything he did. Nothing stayed secret. Truth and rumors spread through campus like wildfire that next week.

He’s rotting in the ground, and we made it to the championship without him. He never deserved to experience this with us.

Stone was out for our next few games. His leg and hand healed quickly, so he didn’t have to stay out for long. Eric, on the other hand, withdrew from Lynwood completely and went back to school in Pennsylvania. The only reason he was here was because of Coach. I’ve heard from him a couple of times, and he’s said he’s trying to give his dad a chance to patch things up. I’m glad he’s trying.

We’re in Michigan for the championship, and both Stone’s family and my family are here. Stone was surprised his mom took the time off from work, but I could tell he was happy she did. I tried to tell my aunt she didn’t need to haul her family all the way out here, but she wasn’t having that.

My aunt and uncle and cousins all met Stone over Christmas. They loved him, of course.

For a serial killer, he’s incredibly charming.

We spent part of the holidays with them and the other part with Stone’s mom and sister. It was…really fucking nice.

Even though I moved in with my aunt’s family when I was sixteen, I spent more time at Jesse’s place than I did there. I never let myself feel like they were my family too.

I miss my mom everyday. I always have. Just in these past few months, I’ve been reminded of what it feels like to have family.

“Hey.” Stone throws a ball of tape at me, snapping me back to the present inside the locker room. “You better be thinking about the game.”

“I’m thinking about a lot of things,” I admit as I pull my sweater on over my pads. I turn to him and let my gaze rake over his body. He’s in only his base layer, tight fabric clinging to well-defined muscles. I still can’t stop myself from looking at him every chance I get. “Like how we’re going to win this one. How we have to win because we won’t have you out there with us next year.”

After pulling on his hockey pants, he turns to me with that smirk of his that’s both beautiful and arrogant. “Gonna miss me out on the ice, baby?”

I pick up the ball of tape that fell to the ground and throw it back at him. “You know I will.”

“Is anyone going to miss me ?” Brooks asks from a few stations down.

Teasing “nos” get thrown back at him. More tape flies across the room in his direction while he pouts.

As laughter rings out, Nate hobbles over on his skates, fully dressed.

“Before this game, you should know something, Cal,” he says, his helmet tucked under his arm. His grin is a little different from those of the rest of our teammates. “The team and I have talked already. It’s unanimous. They want you to be their captain next year.”

My jaw goes slack. “Me?”

“If you want it.”

I peer over at Stone who’s smiling like he already knew. When I glance around the room, I find the rest of the team’s eyes on me, all smiling too and looking back expectantly.

Clearing my throat because I know my voice would come out all choked up otherwise, I nod. “I’d be honored.”

A chorus of hoots and hollers sings throughout the locker room, and a few of the guys come over to pat me on the pads of my shoulders and tell me congratulations.

After everyone goes back to getting ready, I turn to Stone. “Now I’ll miss you even more. Would’ve been fun having you call me Captain.”

He leans over and drops his voice. “I could always call you Captain in bed,” he says with a suggestive hike of his brows.

I laugh and shake my head, shoving him away.

Once the team is ready, we grab our sticks and head out through the tunnel toward the raucous noise of the crowd. Our assistant couch—well, our head coach now—is waiting for us at the bench. He’s already given us our pre-game pep talk in the locker room, but he looks between us as though he wants to give another.

“You guys got this,” he says, his voice carrying above the blare of shouts and cheers. “No matter what happens out there, play for yourselves and no one else.”

He ushers the first line out onto the ice, and we gather at the red line with the team from Maine for the puck drop. The noise in the arena grows. Blood rushes in my ears. The puck drops, and it’s slapped away by Stone’s stick, right to my tape.

I take off, blades carving the ice as I weave past a defenseman before passing to Nate. He passes to Stone who takes a shot at the goal. The puck bounces off the goalie’s pads, and I pick it up, barely avoiding getting barreled into by an opposing player, our pads brushing as I skate back toward the blue line.

The puck gets passed around, intercepted, bounces off the ice. We’re once again applying pressure in Maine’s defensive zone when Nate gets checked hard and goes down. They take it back across the red line and score on an odd man rush.

We’re trailing by one at the end of the first, but the energy in the locker room between periods hasn’t dwindled from before. It’s still buzzing, our spirits still high.

Whether we win or not, we made it here.

But we will win. Because we want it more.

Early in the second period, Maine finds a loose puck in front of the net and slips it past Fitz to take the lead two to zero.

Instead of letting that slow us down, we’re all out for fucking blood.

Stone and I sit side by side on the bench as our second line goes out. Maine applies pressure in our defensive zone for nearly a full minute, players crashing into each other all around the goal, before Fitz slaps the puck away from the crease. Our right winger takes it back across the red line and attempts a shot that bounces off the post. Brooks finds his way in front of the net and puts home the rebound.

As the lamp lights up, all of us on the bench stand and cheer.

The rest of the period is filled with penalties on both sides as the war rages on. Both teams take turns on power plays that come up empty due to strong goaltending on both sides.

At the end of the second, it’s two to one.

We still have some catching up to do, but Brooks’s ridiculous celebration of his goal during the period break keeps the energy up. I’m pretty sure he was doing an impression of the Hulk, but it was so bad I can’t be certain.

It helps that Coach comes in and congratulates him first before telling us where we need to tighten up our plays. Actual guidance and strategy advice instead of just shouting and shaming.

Stone and I are the first out of the gate at the start of the third. We take control of the puck, and the two of us pass it back and forth as we fly into Maine’s zone.

I’m reminded of the drills we ran with Nate back when I was starting to question my hatred toward Stone. We’re able to keep it away from the opposing defensemen like we finally figured out how to do with Nate that day. But, this time, I feed our captain the puck where he’s waiting in the slot. He catches it on his blade and shoots a wrister at the net.

Nate ties up the score less than a minute into the third.

We converge on him, slapping him on the back and shoulders, before the first line skates off the ice.

As the clock begins winding down, our nerves ratchet up a notch. There are more penalties and power plays and blocks at the net. When I’m called for a minor after tripping an opposing player on a scoring chance, Stone shakes his head disappointedly at me on my way to the penalty box. However, I don’t miss his playful grin.

I watch nervously from the sin bin as the player takes his penalty shot, worried my penalty would be in vain. Fortunately, Fitz blocks it, and the other team’s power play ends without a goal.

Once my penalty is killed, I rush back out onto the ice. Nate feeds me the puck, and I carry it up the left wing. I can feel a presence coming up beside me. I see him in my periphery, coming at me at full speed. I pump my legs faster, harder. Just as he’s nearly on top of me, he’s impeded by another body crashing right into his back and throwing him up against the boards behind me. The ref’s whistle blows.

I spin around to see the player I tripped earlier in a heap on the ice and Stone standing over him, glaring down.

The guy didn’t even clip me, and Stone looks ready to murder him for the attempt.

I’m no longer surprised.

He gets a major penalty for checking from behind, and it’s my turn to give him a disapproving look. Mine is without the playful grin.

There are six minutes left in the third, and now Maine gets a five-minute power play.

While Stone has been a lot better about showing some self-restraint on the ice, he still occasionally slips. It’s never been as bad as the game where he wouldn’t stop until that other player’s blood was sprayed across the ice, but he’s at least been able to control himself more since.

“Really?” I ask as I skate next to him on his way to the sin bin. “Couldn’t even help yourself during this game?”

He spins and skates backward to smirk at me. “It’s my last game. If I had to choose between taking a penalty for you and making one last shot, I’d choose the penalty.”

Shaking my head, I watch him skate away and step into the penalty box.

The first line heads to the bench, and Brooks’s goes out. They manage to hold the tied score, as does our third line. I’m reenergized by the time I get back out there, determined to make sure Stone doesn’t regret choosing his protectiveness for me over the last game of his hockey career.

Maine is applying pressure. A fucking lot of it. Nate and I skate around the slot, doing what we can to help our defensemen protect Fitz and the crease from the puck. The moment it whizzes straight past my shoulder, I swear it takes my heart with it.

When I turn, I expect to see the puck in the back of the net. Instead, Fitz stands there with it in his glove.

We all tap our sticks against our goalie’s pads before skating out to the circle. Nate takes the puck drop and manages to snatch it away from the other team’s captain. He snaps it to me, and I take it back into Maine’s zone. I weave around a defenseman and loop around the net along the boards. In the corner, I peer back in search of an open man. Nate is fully covered, and I’ve got defensemen rushing my way.

Then Stone breaks out of the penalty box and skates out to the blue line. I hadn’t realized how much time had ticked down, that we actually managed to kill his five-minute penalty.

I feed him the puck, straight down that invisible force that connects us stronger than ever.

It hits his tape, and he skates back, passing it to one of our defensemen. It gets passed to Nate, then back to Stone. I’m circling around the slot, watching him. Waiting.

Our eyes meet.

He slaps the puck across the ice. I catch it on my blade and snap it toward the net. The goalie gets a piece of it, but it slips past, just inside the post.

It hits the back of the net, and the lamp lights up at the same time the buzzer sounds.

Cheers erupt throughout the stadium, both on and off the ice. My teammates all rush at me, the rest of them jumping over the wall from the bench and skating out toward us.

Stone finds me first, his strong arms wrapping around me as he lifts me up until my blades leave the ice. Gloves and sticks get thrown all over. Stone lowers me, then removes my helmet before taking off his own.

Before I have any idea what he plans on doing, his lips are on mine.

For a brief second, the noise of the crowd grows louder. Our teammates whistle and holler.

And then the noise just kind of…dies.

The world fades away.

All I can feel is Stone’s mouth moving against mine, his arms holding me tight.

I don’t care that there are thousands of eyes on us. I don’t care what they think.

The only thing on my mind is how madly I’m in love with Stone.

When he pulls back, there’s a brilliant smile stretched across his face. His eyes shine bright. More forest, less fog.

“Marry me?”

My lips part. Giant hooks immediately sink into the corners of my mouth and yank, broadening the smile I already had even more. My chest heaves as I stare into his beautiful eyes. “What?”

“I have a ring in the locker room,” he says breathlessly. “But I couldn’t fucking wait.”

“Yes,” I answer without another moment’s hesitation. “Fuck yes.”

I get a glimpse of a wetness in his eyes before his mouth is back on mine.

Our little bubble breaks shortly after, our teammates all pulling us into their celebration. However, even as we’re ripped apart, our gazes barely leave each other.

We may have just won the championship, but Stone is all I see.

My fiancé, the killer.