Page 360

“Details.”

He grins and reaches across the bench seat for my hand.

The last twenty-four hours have been a blur. Game Seven. Overtime. The puck finding the back of Chicago's net instead of New York's.

I'll never forget the silence in Ignite Arena.

Neither was watching Bishop shake every opposing player's hand before skating over to his teammates.

He'd wanted that Cup.

God, he'd wanted it.

And after everything he'd given the Phoenixes this season, I wanted it for him.

The truck slows as we turn onto a narrow gravel lane. Tall pines surround us, their branches swaying in the warm June breeze. Through the trees, sunlight glitters off a small lake.

Morgan's Pond.

Bishop parks near a clearing and cuts the engine. “Welcome to the middle of nowhere.”

I look around. “It's beautiful.”

“My grandfather bought this land before I was born. Always talked about building a cabin here.”

“Did he?”

Bishop shakes his head. “Never got around to it.” He looks toward the water. “Thought maybe I would.”

I turn toward him. “A cabin?”

“Eventually. Somewhere we can escape when Chicago gets too loud.”

We.

I smile. “I'd like that.”

He reaches for the glove compartment, pulling out the familiar collection of matchbooks.

He sorts through them until he finds one with a handwritten date.

November 11, 2026.

I recognize it immediately. Our first kiss?”

He nods. Then shows me another.

December 25.

And another.

January 6.

I laugh softly. “You really kept all of them.”

“Every important one.”

He takes a blank matchbook from the pile and writes today's date across the front.