Chapter Thirty-Three

Bex

Tonight, I can say that I have reached the pinnacle of this chapter in my life and the one that has defined me for decades. It’s the Stanley Cup win, the crowning glory of a long, brutal career on the ice, and behind me, I can feel Rowan’s gaze, steady and confident in me, a reminder of everything good that’s come to me since she’s been by my side.

I take a deep breath as I settle into the seat at the press table, the bright lights from the media room flashing in my face, intensifying the heat of the moment. Press conferences have never been my favorite, but tonight isn’t about me, and for once, that makes sitting here almost bearable.

Next to me, Sam leans forward in his chair, resting his hands on the table. To his right sits Penelope Roberts, her poised expression masking what I can only imagine are nerves at the weight of the announcement we’re about to make. This moment is monumental—not just for Sam or Penelope but for the entire Hawkeyes organization.

Rowan stands at the back of the room, just beyond the reach of the cameras. My eyes flick to her briefly as she exchanges a reassuring smile with Penelope. That’s Rowan—always the first to support the people she believes in. It’s a quality I’ve come to depend on and exactly what we all need right now.

Reporters call out questions, and cameras flash, but Sam waits until the noise dies down. Sam clears his throat, and the room falls silent. The flashes stop for a breath as every reporter waits, ready to catch the first words.

“Thank you all for coming,” Sam begins, his commanding voice filling the room. “This season has been one for the books. Watching this team fight their way to another Stanley Cup win, and being able to watch from my spot in this stadium has been the kind of moment a GM dreams about in this business,” He pauses, glancing at Penelope with a proud nod. “But as all of you know, nothing in hockey—or life—is permanent. And though it doesn’t always feel like it for the players and coaching staff that make this great sport their life, there is life after hockey,” he says, glancing over back at Rowan who smiles at him and then turns her eyes to me, her hand resting on her growing belly.

Curious chatter starts around the room, reporters reaching their mics out further to make sure they catch every word that Sam has to say. Sam’s always had a way of commanding respect without trying.

“After much thought and consideration,” he continues, “I’ve decided that this season will be my last season as the General Manager of the Hawkeyes.”

The chatter from reporters turn to gasps, and the clicking of cameras starts anew. Sam holds up his hands to settle everyone.

“It’s been an honor to be a part of this organization, to help shape it into what it is today. I will stay on next year in a support position to ensure a seamless year. And as I step away, I’m proud to announce that Penelope Roberts will be stepping into the role of General Manager starting next season.” He gestures toward Penelope, whose steady confidence doesn’t falter, even as the press surges forward, desperate for a better angle.

Penelope leans into the microphone, her voice calm and assured. “I’m deeply honored to take on this role, and I want to thank Sam, Mr. Carlton, Coach Townsend, and the entire Hawkeyes team for their unwavering support. This organization has always been like a family to me and my father, and I promise to continue building on the legacy that all the great GM’s before me have created.”

Sam speaks again, cutting through questions as reporters try to sneak them in. “This decision wasn’t made lightly. But I leave this team in the best hands, knowing that the players, staff, and fans will thrive under Penelope’s leadership. And I want to thank Coach Bex Townsend and Phil Carlton, who have both been instrumental in making this transition as seamless as possible.”

All eyes shift to me, and I lean into the microphone, my voice calm but firm. “Penelope knows this team better than almost anyone in this franchise. She’s been behind the scenes for many years and there are few people who want the best for this franchise more than she does. She’s got the full backing of the team and the staff, and I look forward to next season, working together to make the Hawkeyes organization stronger than ever.”

Sam gives the room a nod as if to signal the questions and the room erupts with questions, flashing lights and camera shutters firing off in a frenzy. Reporters shout, trying to get details, and Tessa moves forward to settle them down, but Autumn takes over since Tessa is about due with her baby. Autumn does her best to hold the press at bay.

I stand, pushing back my chair, ignoring the barrage of voices calling for more. The noise doesn’t matter now. All I care about is getting to Rowan, about pulling her into this moment. I step to the side, gesturing for her to walk in front of me, shielding her from the frenzy.

We exit the media room together, and I can hear Autumn’s calm, commanding voice, trying to redirect the press, herding them back as they try to snap photos and shout questions.

“Big day,” she says softly, her hand brushing mine as we fall into step together, heading toward the corridor.

“Bigger for Penelope,” I reply, though my voice betrays a hint of relief. The transition feels like the start of something new—not just for the Hawkeyes but for me, too. A chance to reassess, to figure out what comes next. And for once, I know it’s not just hockey that’s on my mind.

As we move through the throng of people, Drew steps into our path, his smirk firmly in place. For a brief second, my old irritation flares, but I push it aside. Tonight isn’t the night for old grudges.

“Townsend, Congratulations. Big changes ahead. Hope you’re ready.” he says, holding up a pen and a Hawkeyes jersey with my name on the back. “Mind signing a jersey for a fan?”

I glance at him, then at the small line forming nearby, true fans who’ve been waiting with jerseys and memorabilia of their own.

Maybe he plans to sell it, or give it away, I have no idea. I doubt he plans to display it on the wall in his office, or godforbid, wear it, but there are too many witnesses to blow him off like I would like to.

“Right, didn’t realize you were such a fan,” I say, barely able to contain the sarcasm in my voice.

His gaze shifts to Rowan, standing beside me, her hand resting protectively on her belly. His eyes glide over the old jersey she’s wearing. Drew’s brows furrow, clearly surprised.

“You’re still on this side of the media line, Rowan?” He smirks, arching a brow. “They know you’re not with The Seattle Sunrise anymore, right?”

His attempt to insinuate that Rowan doesn’t belong here doesn’t sit well with me, and I pull Rowan in closer, wrapping my arm protectively around her waist. “She’s not here to work, Drew. She’s here so our baby can have a front-row seat to watch the Hawkeyes win the Stanley Cup.”

I catch his shocked expression as he glances between us, his mouth hanging open. “Your baby?” His voice wavers, and I can see him trying to process what I just said.

I reach for a marker, ready to add my autograph to Rowan’s jersey in the most obvious spot I can think of. Rowan’s eyes widen, her hand catching my wrist, a quiet question in her gaze.

“What are you doing?” she whispers, her face flush with surprise. “You don’t like people knowing your personal business.”

“That doesn’t apply when it comes to you,” I say, giving her a soft smile. “I want everyone to know the baby you’re carrying is mine and that you’re coming home to me every night.” I pause, letting my words sink in. “That is what you want, isn’t it?”

A smile blooms across her face as she nods, her hand releasing mine. I bend down, resting one hand on her belly, my thumb brushing the fabric over our growing baby as I sign my name right across her belly. I want everyone to see that Rowan, and the life we’re building, is more important than any title or career milestone.

As I straighten, Drew stammers, glancing from Rowan to me. “Wait—you’re pregnant?” His voice is thick with disbelief.

Rowan glances at me, a beautiful, proud smile on her face. “Sixteen weeks,” she says, glowing with happiness.

Drew’s jaw practically hits the floor, his gaze darting to her stomach as he stumbles over his words. “But… I thought… the doctors said…”

I pull Rowan closer to my side. "It's not your fault, Mate. Your shit isn't top-grade baby batter. Don't beat yourself up about it. She had to bring in the ringer."

Rowan chuckles, leaning into me, and I feel her hand slide down my back, an unspoken message of thanks. It’s clear now, in this moment, that we’re moving forward, leaving the past behind and starting fresh with the family we’re building.

I dip down, planting a kiss on her belly for good measure. Rowan’s hand slips to the back of my head, her fingers warm and gentle as I press a kiss against the fabric covering our child. I love how she finds little ways to reassure me, to remind me that we’re in this together, no matter what.

Drew stands there, floundering, unable to mask his shock. But his reaction is irrelevant now. As I straighten, there’s a sparkle in Rowan’s eyes for me.

She doesn’t need words to tell me what I already know. This moment is ours, and together, we’re unstoppable.