Epilogue
Josh
Five years later
Damn it, I was going to be late. I shouldn’t have taken that last call, but the new shift wasn’t on for another twenty minutes, and they’d requested Flight For Life, so we’d gone. I’d call later and check to make sure the little boy had made it.
I parked my Jeep in the closest spot available and grabbed my bag from the back, sprinting into the practice rink at the World Arena. She’d never forgive me if I was late.
I threw open the glass doors and raced toward the locker room to see Ember coming out with Noah on her hip, her cheeks pink from the cool air in the rink. “Josh! You made it!”
Our lips met, and that same lightning ran through me, bringing every one of my nerves to attention. I kissed her again just because I could, until Noah pulled on my bag strap.
“Hey, Hulk,” I said, lifting our seven-month-old son into my arms. He had his mother’s eyes and disposition, and after the hell-raiser Quinn had been, and still was, Noah was the perfect second baby. I kissed his soft cheeks and caught his giggles while Ember adjusted the baby carrier, and then I helped her get him situated, running my hand over his little bald head before pulling his Colorado Tigers hat over it. “How was work?” I asked.
“Good! I edited that article for Archaeology Magazine, graded a stack of papers, and put in the grant paperwork for the new dig site.”
“You put me to shame, December Walker.”
“Save any lives today?”
“A few, I hope. How is our little hockey player?”
“Annoyed that Coach Dad isn’t here on time.” She smiled. “Seriously. I’m not even allowed to tie skates. Apparently I’m not cool enough, because Daddy does it better. You’ve created a monster, Josh, and you must now tame the beast. And seriously, with the fight over the number?”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with wanting your old man’s number.”
“Uh huh.” She smirked. “Because Quinn was definitely the one fighting, right? Or wait…that was you and Mr. Parkins.”
“Hey, Quinn was just as entitled to that number as the Parkins kid was.”
“Uh huh, you’d better get in there before the beast shreds you.”
“I will don my armor.”
“Game starts in fifteen minutes.” She smacked my ass and wiggled her eyebrows. “Looking good today, Walker.”
I shot her a look that told her this wasn’t over. “You just wait until we get home. Noah may sleep through the night, but you won’t.”
“Promises, promises,” she said with a laugh and headed toward the stands.
I came through the locker room doors and searched the benches full of squirming kids for mine.
“Thank God you’re here, because I got shot down when I offered to help Quinn,” Gus said, shaking his head, which was almost level with mine.
I’d never known anyone as particular about hockey equipment, and who put it on, as Quinn was.
“No worries, I got caught up at work, but I’m here. Thanks, Gus.”
“No problem.” He bent down to help one of the dozens of boys who took up the benches. Quinn’s arms were waving, and I picked my way to the back of the locker room.
“You’re late!”
“I know,” I said, crouching down to grab one tiny skate. “But Daddy had to help save lives. I’m here now. You wouldn’t let Mommy tie your skates?”
There was a tiny headshake under a massive helmet. “She doesn’t do it tight enough. She’s scared of hurting me, but I’m tough.”
“I know you are,” I assured our firstborn, finishing up the other skate. “Are you ready for your first game?”
“I’m ready.”
“What do we do?” I asked, careful as those tiny skates met the padded surface of the locker room so we could walk to the ice.
“Skate fast, shoot steady, and don’t hog the puck.”
“Good job.” We fist-bumped before we stepped into the bench.
“Daddy? My helmet feels weird.” Quinn plopped onto the bench with as much grace as a four-year-old decked out in gear could.
“Okay, let me peek.” I unhooked the snaps and then pulled it off.
A tumult of red curls fell from the helmet, and I stared into eyes that mirrored my own with the attitude to match. “That’s better,” she said.
“You didn’t let Mommy braid your hair?” I asked, pulling an extra hair tie out of my coaching jacket.
“None of the boys have to,” she argued.
“None of the boys have Princess Merida hair. Now turn.” I straddled the bench behind her, divided her hair into three sections, and braided it with practiced fingers. “Done.”
She ran her hand down the seam. “Mommy does it smoother.”
“Then you should have let Mommy do it, you imp.”
She burst into laughter and grinned up at me. “I’m not an imp, I’m Quinn!”
I kissed her on the forehead, and then secured her helmet. “Yes, you sure are. Now get on the ice, and we’ll go out for hot chocolate if you score.”
“Daddy,” she whispered.
“Quinny?”
“What if I don’t score?”
I grinned at her perfect little face, so like her mother’s, and thanked God again for this life I’d been given. “Then we’ll go out for hot chocolate.”
“Okay.” She nodded, then turned to where Ember sat in the stands. “Hi, Mommy! Noah!”
Ember waved, and then lifted Noah’s hand from her hair to do the same as Quinn took the half-ice that was set up for the Mites-level game. How was she already four? How was this already her first game? How…had my daughter just stolen the puck from that massive six-year-old?
Quick on her feet, she skated past the lone defenseman and scored on the goalie-less net, throwing up her arms in victory as if Lundqvist himself had been in goal.
I clapped for her, and then turned to Ember, who had covered Noah’s ears and was cheering loudly against the glass for our daughter.
I had never loved December more than at that moment—though I thought that just about every day.
All these years, and we were back here, at the same rink, cheering on the jersey with number thirteen and the name Walker emblazoned across the back.
And now it was our daughter who was terrifying every boy on the ice.
Ember raised her hand to the glass and smiled at me with a slow nod that let me know her thoughts were along the same line.
We weren’t in high school, or even college, but one thing remained the same—I was head over heels in love with December Walker.
And I always would be.
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