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Below us, the Leopard Den glows around a sheet of untouched ice.

Yesterday, neither of us knew what came after Christmas.

Today, we walk out carrying the answer together.

Epilogue

Audrey

Two days later, the Wildcards' final exhibition game before Christmas looks like something Big Mike dreamed up after too much mulled wine.

Thousands of Christmas lights blaze above the outdoor rink, snow drifts past the glass, and fire pits crackle around the heated lounges where spectators clutch steaming mugs topped with mountains of whipped cream.

I'm wrapped in a heated blanket in the Stratton family's private lounge, wearing Miles's jersey and cradling a cinnamon coffee that Susan made from her secret recipe. The blanket has the Mistletoe Resort crest embroidered in gold near my knees, heated cushions warm the backs of my thighs and a waiter keeps circling with miniature cinnamon donuts dipped in chocolate-orange sauce.

Seriously. Ice hockey is considerably easier to understand when you're being spoiled with unlimited access to donuts.

Around me, the entire Stratton family is wearing customized STRATTON jerseys. Susan spent the last two nights decorating each of them with tiny felt Christmas trees across every shoulder, but apparently, it hasn't impressed everyone.

Beside me, Will twists his neck, examining his own shoulder with a look of disgust. "Mom. My tree is upside down."

"It is not upside down."

"It absolutely is," he squawks. "It looks like a festive penis."

"William!"

"I'm serious. It's got a—" He looks down as Hunter starts laughing. "There's a definite shaft situation happening here. Look!"

"For goodness sake. Just shut up and be grateful." Susan groans but doesn't look away from the ice where an actual hockey game is taking place. "Nobody was looking at your penis until you started announcing it."

Hunter has his phone in one hand, clutching his stomach from laughing with the other. "Hold still, Will. This is going on the farm's page. A Christmas Cock."

"Do NOT post my penis tree."

"Keep talking and I'll post the real thing. I still have that footage from the hot springs two years ago," Hunter grins, winking at me. "The one where you tried to show off a 'pro-level' cannonball and resurfaced with no bathers."

Will's eyes go wide. "You have FOOTAGE OF THAT?"

I can't help but laugh as Greg leans toward me over the chaos.

"Twenty-nine years of this," he says with a heavy breath. "You sure you want into this family?"

I giggle. "I already signed the paperwork yesterday. No refunds, right?"

I mean it, too.

Last night, sitting on the edge of my bed with Miles's hand steadying me, I finally turned my phone on. And let me tell you, there were way more than the ninety-three messages I left unattended the day I left my wedding.

I scrolled past everything like a horror movie, ignoring every single one before Miles helped me build up the courage to finally call my mother.

It was hard. Really fucking hard.

She demanded I come home so we could "repair the embarrassment."

I told her I am home.

I gave her the address of the Mistletoe Resort, confirmed I was alive, and ended the call the moment she stopped respecting the word no.