Puck & Make Up (A Rush Hockey #7)

Epilogue

Dessie

“ A nd then,” I say, pointing at the computer screen that has my uncle squinting at the simple spreadsheet like it’s the most complicated software code on the planet, “if you fill in this cell here?—”

His bushy eyebrows drag together. “What’s a cell again?”

“The little box here. See how my cursor— No, scratch that,” I say, editing myself as I see the confusion creep into his eyes again. “See how the box has a darker outline around it?”

His scowl deepens but he leans in, squinting. Then he nods, says gruffly, “Yeah.”

“So, you click there, put the numbers in, and hit this button…” I show him the ENTER button on the keyboard. “And that’s it, the program will do the rest of it for you. Wanna try?”

I’m up in River’s Bend, playing tech support again.

Read—I’m fixing the inventory spreadsheet and teaching my uncle how to not fuck it up again.

I shift back to give him a chance, supervise as he pecks at the keyboard, hits the ENTER key and we both watch as the inventory log updates.

“And,” I add, leaning in and helping him move the mouse, “if you click here”—I navigate the cursor, my hand over his, to the next tab which I’ve set up so that he knows exactly what he needs to order. “Once you have your numbers, you can call your vendor, or even ,” I say with a flourish, waving my arm out to the side, “email it to them. Then they’ll invoice you, you pay that, and wham bam, thank you, ma’am, you’ve got your supplies.”

He’s silent for a long moment, still scowling at the computer screen as though waiting for the other shoe to fall.

When it doesn’t, his expression clears and he turns the chair, standing, and facing me. He squeezes me on the shoulder, his face softening. “When did you get so smart, Dessie girl?”

I grin, pat his hand, and joke, “Probably about the time you fired me.”

There’s guilt in my uncle’s eyes, and even though I feel like a jerk for bringing it up like this, I also know this conversation is long overdue. It’s been a month since I shouted at Fox across the driveway, blurting out my feelings for him.

A month where things have been quiet and easy. And not filled with insecurity or the past.

It’s crazy because in these last weeks, I’ve had more real , more quiet moments and stolen kisses and feeling his fingertips trace nonsensical patterns on my skin than I’ve ever had in my life.

Because, somehow, that’s become Fox and me.

Just us. Together. Learning to trust. Learning each other.

Fucking like rabbits every chance we get.

My lips curve. The orgasms are glorious, but Fox is…

Well, all I can say is that he’s been more than I’ve ever hoped for.

It’s small things—hanging at his house, alternating between romcoms and bad movies and cooking our favorite meals together. Then there are the sweet texts he sends checking on me when he’s on the road and getting his opinion on which classes I should take at the local community college when the next semester starts.

It’s all natural.

Perfect.

Us.

It’s like now that I’ve stopped fighting it…

Everything has come together.

“Sweetheart,” Uncle Roger begins, apology in his eyes.

“Hey,” I say, “you did the right thing, you know you did.”

His eyes cut away from mine, then come back. “Knowing doesn’t make it any easier, kiddo.”

“I’m going back to school,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t have even considered that if you let me keep hiding here.”

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he says then sighs. “When you came back…”

“I was different,” I say into the silence. “I…” I shake my head. “That happened for a lot of reasons, the least of which was that I was growing increasingly unhappy at work. Coming home was an excuse to avoid dealing with that and with all the other shit that was eating at me.”

“Like what?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

“A relationship not working out,” I tell him because I owe him that much. “And friends who weren’t really my friends. I needed to come back to River’s Bend for a reset, needed to be close to Rosie and Bailey again…the problem is that I got set back so far I don’t think I would have ever moved forward without your help. And…without Fox’s.”

His mouth curves. “Knew it.”

I roll my eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I knew you and Fox would make it.”

“But we fought constantly,” I protest.

“Oil and water sometimes make the best combination.”

“Isn’t that literally the opposite of that idiom?”

“Idioms are stupid.” He drops an arm around my shoulders and starts leading me from the office. “But my niece sure isn’t.”

My heart squeezes. My parents may not have been the most engaged—they’re good people, just…wrapped up in their own lives. But Uncle Roger has always been there.

“So in along vein…” I say.

He looks up at me, eyebrows raised.

“Think you can manage the inventory on your own?”

His mouth twitches. “I’ll pay for the inevitable tech support.”

“You’ll be fine.” I nudge his shoulder with mine then let him pull me into a quick hug.

“I know I will be,” he says as I grab my purse and jacket.

“And I’m a phone call away if you need me.”

“Don’t you mean you’re just upstairs?”

I still, smile. “No.”

His brows shoot up, and my smile widens.

“Well, about Fox…”

“Yes?”

“Turns out that the college in San Jose is pretty good.”

Those eyebrows shoot higher.

“And so Fox asked me to move in with him.” My cheeks hurt from smiling so widely. “You know, to make the commute shorter.”

“Right,” he says, his tone dry.

“I’m ready to go out there and live.”

My uncle nods approvingly. “I’ll make sure to save plenty of glasses for you to polish when you deign to make it back to town, kid.”

Grinning, I shake my head at him, then lean over the bar and kiss his cheek. “As long as you don’t mess with my inventory system, I’ll polish all the glasses you want.”

We exchange goodbyes, which is really just me saying the words and him waving a hand in my direction before he disappears back into the stock room, and then I head outside to my car, thinking about the offer Fox had extended last night.

You’re spending most of your time here as it is, sugar. Why don’t you just make it official?

And…

My TV’s better to watch all those crappy movies, right?

But other than that he hadn’t pushed. Just made the offer, told me to think about it.

And…I had.

And—

I skid to a halt in the parking lot, eyes going wide at the sight of a big, burly hockey player carrying a box I’d packed this morning to my car.

My heart squeezes.

I’d thought about it.

And…I’m going to go for it.

Something Fox clearly knows.

He sets the box down and crosses over to me, his eyes dancing at what must be a shocked expression on my face.

“You knew what my answer was going to be?”

His beard twitches as he smiles. “Yeah, sugar lips, I knew.” One broad shoulder lifts then drops. “It was my TV that put it over the edge for you, wasn’t it?”

“Damn straight it was.” I giggle then step into his arms, press my front to his. “I love you.”

Gentle eyes. A tight embrace. A soft hand cupping my jaw. “You’re my heart,” he says simply in return.

My own heart rolls over in my chest, exposed and vulnerable and…

Completely safe.

It’s why I can lift on tiptoe, press my lips to his, and know that the future may occasionally be messy and decidedly not bump-free, that he’s likely always going to push my buttons, and that we will definitely fight over stupid things, but what we have together is…

Real.

It’s not that my picker was broken…

I just needed a certain stubborn hockey player to realign it.

He pulls back, steals my keys, and begins loading the boxes into my car.

“Fox?”

“Yeah, sugar?”

“It was the TV.”

His mouth twitches.

“But it was also everything you are and everything that we’re going to be together.”

The box in his hands hits the pavement.

“Damn, baby,” he rasps.

“I hope that wasn’t breakable,” I say lightly.

“I’ll replace it.”

“I can be bribed with chocolate chip cook— ack!”

One second, I’m on my feet.

The next, I’m in the air, being tossed over his shoulder as he hightails it to the stairs and starts carrying me up them.

“Fox!” I squeak. “What are you doing?”

A swat to my ass. “You.” A beat. “And then I’m making you cookies.”

Laughter in the air.

Love in my heart.

And the last thing I see before the door to my apartment swings shut is my uncle scooping up the box from the pavement and shoving it into the back of my car.

Thank you for reading!