Epilogue
Brynn
Two Years Later
I flew down stairs as fast as I could on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
Chloe, now sixteen, had her head resting on Adam's shoulder while they watched a movie on her iPad on the living room couch. Pickles had joined the couple, too—the cat was a leg-sitter, and he was happily sprawled across both teens' thighs, loudly purring.
The two teens had been a steady couple for two years now. Chloe had really spread her wings in the time since I first met her. Not only does she enjoy going to her therapy sessions (imagine that!), her grades have improved, she's got a job waiting tables, and she seems to have a really healthy relationship with Adam.
The only thing that isn't perfect in Chloe's life is her relationship with her mother. Cynthia was extended an invitation to attend therapy with Chloe—but she refused. Sad to say, their relationship is somewhat rocky, but Chloe at least seems to understand that it's not her fault.
And although Shea initially claimed that he 'hated' Adam, just try to remind him of that fact today—he'll huff and puff and deny it and insist that you're remembering things wrong. Because Shea loved Adam now. It helped that Adam took Shea's ground rules for dating Chloe seriously—he always addresses Shea as 'Mr. Ellis,' he always has Chloe home by curfew and, most importantly, he's always treated Chloe right.
I stood before them, panting for air. “Chloe!” I shouted.
Chloe paused the movie and looked up at me. “Uh, what's up, Brynn?”
“Where's your dad?”
“Um, I think he's with Nick and Cam.”
“Where?!”
“The garage, I think?”
“Thanks!” I spun around and raced off to the other end of the house.
“Hey, Brynn!” Chloe called after me. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes! Everything's great!”
I hurried through the house, ran outside and found Shea and the boys lying beneath his black 1981 Corvette. The car was as old as he was, and he'd bought it as a retirement project two years ago. And talk about a project—it was a major one, since the car was badly rusted and needed to be totally rebuilt, inside and out. But every weekend Shea had the boys, they got under the hood, and he taught his sons how to work with a wrench.
I walked over and tapped my foot against Shea's. He was lying on a mechanic's creeper seat, the kind with wheels that glide under a car, while the boys laid on the garage floor.
“Shea!” I yelled.
There was a mechanical cranking of a ratchet and a series of Shea's manly grunts before he answered. “What's up, honey?”
“Got a minute to talk?”
“Sure. Just give me one sec.” Shea addressed his sons. “Alright, boys. The spec on the rest of these bolts is 480 inch-pounds, got it?”
“Got it, Dad,” Cam answered.
“Then go ahead and set your torque wrench and tighten her up.”
“Okay.”
Shea glided out from beneath the car. I didn't wait for him to climb to his feet; I knelt down instead and planted my lips on his, surprising him with a full and deep kiss. The metallic tang of motor oil only made his salty lips taste even manlier and better.
“What's this about?” he laughed, wiping the sweat from his brow with the crook of his elbow. “Normally, you won't let me anywhere near you when I'm this greasy.”
“I know. But right now, I don't mind one bit.” I smiled at him.
His eyes narrowed. “So what's this about?”
“Come. I'll show you.”
His big, rough hands were black with grease, but I didn't mind. I reached for his hand and he clasped it and I hurried him into the house.
“You're not going to tell me what this is about?” he asked. A smile was quickly spreading across his face—I figured he knew well enough what the surprise was, but I wanted him to see it in person.
“You'll see soon enough,” I said as I led him through the living room, past Chloe and Adam, and upstairs to our bedroom.
… But I guess, before I tell you what happened next, I should tell you what happened in the days and months before that!
***
After the Boston Brawlers won the Stanley Cup, Shea officially retired from hockey and rode off into the sunset as a champion. About a week after the team's big victory, the Brawlers general manager actually came to his front door with a contract in hand, trying to lure the captain back for one more year to try to repeat their championship season.
But Shea didn't even need to think about it. He'd already announced his retirement, and he didn't want to be one of those guys who went through the whole retirement ceremony, only to come back a year later. He didn't mind that he still had some gas in the tank when he left the game—as Shea put it, there wasn't anything worse than seeing an aging guy's body break down until he couldn't keep up anymore. He didn't want to go out like that. Plus, he said Lance was ready to lead the team.
Besides all that, Shea was ready to start his journey into retirement and, really, into a new life. But Shea only stayed retired for two weeks before he started to go stir crazy. His job search was short—he found a job coaching hockey at Chloe's high school. You'd think she'd be embarrassed over it, but she had apparently outgrown that phase of teenage rebellion. Anyway, the twins were sure excited—once they started high school in two short years, he'd be their coach.
Speaking of new jobs, after the playoffs were over, I officially quit as the Ellis family nanny. I reached out to Eloise's parents and found out that not only had Mr. Gibson found a new job, they wanted to bring me back.
But while I went to work for the Gibsons, Shea never hired my replacement. He said he didn't need a nanny now that he was home instead of always traveling. He also told me that he hated the idea of putting someone else in my place. Not because he was afraid he'd make me jealous or worried that he might actually fall in love with a new nanny—but because he said he knew no one could fill my shoes, and he didn't want to be disappointed when someone tried and failed.
If I had any worries that our relationship might flame out once we weren't living in the same house and sneaking around together, they were quickly put to rest. We might not have lived in the same house anymore—but we ended up seeing each other more than before.
Shea was always texting me sweet nothings, always seeing what I was up to and trying to make plans and take me out to dinner. He pestered me to ask for more time off work, so he could take me on vacations to other countries and 'enjoy retirement' … I had to keep reminding him that I wasn't retired!
When Shea had custody, I made sure to come by the house and visit with the kids, and it was as if nothing had ever changed. The only difference was that Shea and I were boyfriend and girlfriend now, and at night, I went home to sleep at my own apartment—which was something Shea and I agreed on, so we wouldn't confuse the kids.
When Shea didn't have the kids, we spent a lot of nights at my tiny apartment after I got off work. I loved those nights more than anything—I don't know why, it just made our connection feel so real, that the famous hockey player wouldn't turn his nose up at my cramped apartment or complain about sleeping on my shitty mattress.
Day after day and night after night, I fell deeper for Shea. Our lovemaking never slowed—it only grew more intense.
And one year ago, on a regular day, I went to the bathroom. When I wiped, I saw a spot of red.
Never thought I'd be this happy to have my period.
I quickly booked an appointment with my doctor and underwent a barrage of lab testing. The longest week of my life ensued while I waited for the results. The whole time, I never said a word about it to Shea—partly because I couldn't believe it was real. And partly because, if it was real, I wanted to surprise Shea.
Finally, the lab results came back, and the doctor gave me the best news of my life: my body was healthy and finally working again.
I called Shea right away and gushed that I had great news to tell him—but he told me to wait. He said that he'd arrange for a dinner date at my favorite restaurant in town and I could tell him later that night.
I thought it was a bit strange, and I was a little disappointed because I wanted to tell the good news now, but I agreed. We met, and over dinner at Peasant, I told Shea the news.
“That's fantastic, love,” he said. “You were so excited. I just figured it had to be.”
I could feel my expression straining. This was the hard part, where we had to figure out what came next—and if Shea really was serious about being a father again.
“So … er … what do you think?” I stammered.
Shea's smile grew. “I think we've got some work to do, Brynn.”
Then, suddenly, Shea stood from his chair, sidled next to me, and went down on one knee. He held up a box, popped the lid, and a giant diamond sparkled with the candlelight.
“Will you marry me, Brynn?”
“Shea—oh my God! Yes!”
Our wedding was six months later. The whole Brawlers team was there, and my brothers finally got to meet their childhood hockey hero, Shea Ellis. My husband.
The Gibsons were sad to see me leave a second time—but moving back in with Shea was like going home.
***
With his oil-slicked hand on mine, I led my husband through our bedroom towards our bathroom.
“Is this what I hope it is, Brynn?” he asked.
“I don't know,” I sang, “what do you hope it is?”
He didn't say. He only smiled. “Brynn … you're getting my hopes awfully high …”
I took him into the bathroom. “Before I show you, I want a kiss.”
He pressed his mouth against mine urgently, impatiently.
“Now tell me,” he growled. “I need to know.”
It'd been a year of trying-to-get-pregnant sex—which was always so raw, so hot, so emotional and loving. But in the end, it always ended up disappointing, because our efforts hadn't been unsuccessful.
Until now. Finally, finally, I had something to show him.
I held the pregnancy test up to his face—or rather, all three of them, because I couldn't quite believe the first two.
“Oh my God.” Shea laughed, pure and joyously. His rough hands gently went to my stomach and reverently held my belly. “I can't believe it, Brynn.”
“Me neither! That's why I took three of 'em!”
“You're gonna be a great mom.” He leaned his weight against me and kissed my mouth again. “And I love you so goddamn much, Brynn.”
I melted in the arms of my first-ever crush, and the father of my baby.
“I love you too, Shea.”