Iced Out: A Rival’s Sister Hockey Romance (Heston U Hotshots Book 1)
Iced Out: A Rival’s Sister Hockey Romance – Epilogue 2

October, 3 Months Later

It’s thrilling to be at TD Garden for Easton’s first NHL game. He’s worked hard since the start of training to get to this point and tonight he’s making his debut as a professional hockey player. My heart swells, overflowing with how proud I am of his work ethic and determination.

The tickets he got us are great seats a few rows back from the glass with a fantastic view of the action. We file in next to an older man who seems familiar when it’s close to the pregame show. I think I’ve seen him around Heston Lake. He has a Bruins cap tugged low over his face and fiddles with a radio.

A nostalgic smile tugs at my lips. He reminds me of Grandpa. He’d always listen to the radio to get commentary from his favorite sports station while watching games live, too.

I miss him. It catches me off guard some days. Sometimes I’m able to laugh, then other times I need a minute to gather myself, shedding a few tears. Whenever it happens, Easton is always there to remind me it’s okay.

When Easton found an apartment in Boston, I moved in with him. I haven’t determined my next step yet. For now, I’m taking time off before deciding on grad schools and enjoying life in a new city. In the meantime, I’ve been volunteering at a local animal shelter and I scored a part-time job at a physical therapy clinic.

Asher freezes at my side instead of sitting down in our row.

“Holy crap, you’re Neil Cannon,” he gushes.

“Asher,” Mrs. Blake chides. “Sorry, sir.”

The older man adjusts his hat, giving us a better view of his face. “It’s fine.”

“It really is you.” Asher’s eyes are wide. “You’re my brother’s favorite. He has your picture on a poster.”

Mr. Cannon chuckles, surveying the rink with a knowing gaze. “Who’s your brother?”

The answer isn’t hard to guess. I’m wearing Easton’s Heston U jersey and Asher has his new Bruins number on his.

“Easton Blake. He’s playing tonight,” Asher says.

“Thought so. He’s who I’m here to see.”

Asher gasps, whispering to his mom. “He knows Easton.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says.

“He’s a good kid,” Mr. Cannon says.

His gaze moves to me, turning curious. I hold out a hand.

“Hi. I’m Maya, Easton’s girlfriend.”

He hums and nods as if this is intriguing information. “Ah, so it’s you.”

“What do you mean?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. He said things turned out right when he paid me a visit to invite me for tonight’s game.”

I’m still not sure what he’s talking about, but my phone vibrates with a notification. Pulling it out, I grin at Easton’s name on the screen.

Easton: We’ll be out on that ice soon.

Maya: I can’t wait.

Easton: Eyes on me. I’m going to score a hat trick for you.

Maya: This is the NHL, you can’t keep dedicating your goals to me!

Easton: I can and I will, baby. I’ll score all my goals for you. And then later I’m going to *score* you [wink emoji]

Maya: You’re so ridiculous [laughing emoji]

Easton: You love me.

Maya: Yeah I do. How do you feel?

Easton: Hype as fuck.

Maya: We’re cheering our favorite player on.

I send him a selfie of us in our seats, managing to squeeze in Mr. Cannon.

Easton: Love you guys.

Maya: Good luck tonight [green heart]

Easton: I need to go. Really quick though. You saw it when we picked it out, but I wouldn’t want you to miss out on the official moment.

He sends a photo of him in his suit from when he arrived earlier at the arena. I bite my lip because he looks incredibly attractive when he’s dressed up.

The lights flash and an announcer booms over the speaker system to kick things off. The players spill onto the ice one by one as their names are introduced.

“Welcome to Boston, Easton Blake.”

“There he is,” I say warmly.

He scans the crowd with an awed expression as he skates to the blue line.

When the players start their warm-ups, he looks up at our section. He spots us, grinning big enough to light up the entire arena. We wave when he lifts a gloved hand.

“Mom, you’ve taken a million photos of him already,” Asher says. “Are you watching?”

“I know. Don’t worry, I’m watching. I’m a proud, Mom, okay?” She winks at me and ruffles his hair, turning the camera to capture a shot of them together. “Of both my boys.”

At puck drop, I’m taken back to all the times I went to Bruins games growing up. It’s even more exciting now.

Me and Easton’s family get excited when he swings his legs over the boards to join the game near the end of second period. We weren’t sure if he would get play time as a rookie, but I’m not surprised to see him meshing with his teammates and seamlessly replaceing his place amongst them.

He’s more focused and driven than I’ve ever seen him in a game, not hesitating for a second to play right alongside seasoned pros. He knows he belongs on that ice just as much as they do.

There’s only a few minutes left on the clock before the next break before third period. Both teams put their all into the game.

The players bunch up near center ice along the boards, fighting for the puck. Easton provides support, then races down the ice when his teammate passes the puck to him.

My heart leaps into my throat.

“Go, Easton!” Asher and I shout.

I reach across his lap to take Mrs. Blake’s hand. Two guys converge on Easton, but he’s faster.

The opponent’s goalie dives into a split to block the shot he takes, looking around in bewilderment when the lamp lights up.

“Oh my god!” I leap to my feet, squeezing his mom’s hand. “He scored!”

The jumbotron plays a repeat of the goal, slowing it down as the arena erupts in excitement.

Mrs. Blake pulls her hand free to press her fingers to her mouth, eyes shining with elated tears. Asher throws his fists in the air, chanting his brother’s name.

Easton laps the ice. The jumbotron follows him, capturing his grin when he slows in front of our section, pointing up at us. His eyes lock on me and he blows me a kiss.

“Maya, look! We’re on the big screen.” Asher points at the jumbotron.

My cheeks heat at the sight of us shown next to the camera angle of Easton on the huge monitor hanging above the ice.

The sports commentary on Mr. Cannon’s radio filters through the clamor of the fans.

“An excellent play from promising rookie and number one NHL draft pick, Easton Blake. We got the chance to have a few words with him before the game. He told us he’s got his dad with him tonight, a longtime inspiration for him, as well as his family and fiancé cheering him on in the audience.”

My head whips to the side. Did the commentators call me his fiancé?

We’ve talked about marriage before—murmuring to each other late at night before we fall asleep, on our walks through the city to explore the area where we live together, and over chicken nuggets.

But technically we’re not engaged yet.

Neil Cannon laughs. “Not holding back anymore, kid.”

I turn my attention back to the ice, laying a hand over my rapidly beating heart. I can’t stop smiling.

To the world, he’s making a name for himself as the rookie to watch this season.

To me, Easton Blake is always going to be the cocky hockey captain that tossed me over his shoulder the night I danced on the bar and stole my heart.