Offside: Rules of the Game Book 1
Offside: Epilogue

BAILEY

Grad school was brutal. Every student in my cohort was cultured, experienced, and basically brilliant. With impressive professional backgrounds covering topics like foreign affairs abroad, reporting from the campaign trail, and even medical journalism. I was no slouch—I’d carved out a respectable niche for myself in the sports writing world—but it was intimidating. The pressure to keep up was insane. And not just to keep up; I wanted to be at the top of my class like I had been in undergrad.

Possible in theory; grueling in practice.

I groaned, slumping over my open Numbers, Statistics, and Data Journalism textbook. I’d been studying for so long that the words were blurring together. The more I reread it, the less sense it made. Like staring at a word so long that it no longer looked like a real word.

And sadly, schoolwork waited for no woman—or her birthday, which was today.

Downstairs, the front door slammed. I glanced at my phone to discover I’d completely lost track of time. Chase was a couple of minutes late, and I wasn’t even dressed. Footsteps sounded on the hardwood, and moments later, he appeared in the doorway to my office, his keys in one hand.

He flashed me a heart-stopping smile. “Sorry I’m late. I had to make a quick stop.” His smile faded, and he studied me with a frown. “Have you been studying all day?”

“Maybe.” I hated to admit it, because he already felt bad about being gone all day for training camp.

“James.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Did you at least eat something? Take a break?”

Chase had left for the arena early, and I’d rolled out of bed not long after, taking a quick shower before shuffling directly to my office down the hall. I’d even set up a Keurig machine on a side table near my desk so I didn’t have to leave to make coffee. It was a brilliant, if dangerous, move on my part.

And I hadn’t exactly eaten breakfast. But I did eat lunch, so that counted as “something,” right?

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I ate lunch on the deck and studied out there for a bit.”

Or I tried to until our neighbor’s kids and their friends got into their pool and yelled Marco and Polo at the top of their lungs. After moving out of an apartment complex full of people in their twenties who threw ragers every weekend, I thought we’d be guaranteed some peace and quiet in the suburbs. I never imagined it would be noisier here, but that was absolutely the case between the hours of three and eight p.m. Guess that’s what we got for buying in a family friendly neighborhood.

Chase always laughed and said it’d be our kids making a racket soon enough. Fair point. Especially if our kids were anything like him—based on what his mother said, I was going to have my hands full.

Or maybe our kids would end up being quiet and studious like I was a child. But probably not.

“Did you take a break?” Chase repeated, raising his dark eyebrows.

“Yeah, I took a few study breaks in between.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Uh-huh.”

Chase, still standing in the doorway, was freshly showered post-training and wore a fitted black tee and newer jeans. I, on the other hand, was barefoot in black yoga pants and a random pink tank top, with wild, wavy hair. He’d kept my birthday present a secret, but regardless of what it was, my current hair and outfit situation probably wouldn’t cut it.

I flashed him an apologetic look and stood. “Can you give me a few minutes to change? I’m a mess.”

“You look cute.” He stepped in front of me and put his hands on my waist, angling in for a brief kiss. “But I’ve gotta grab something to eat anyway.”

No surprise there. The man was always eating. Our grocery bill was astronomical.

“Oka—”

Instead of releasing me, he ducked his head, captured my lips, and kissed me again, deeper. I dug my fingertips into his shoulders, my breath turning shallow. Just as I was starting to lose myself in the kiss, he pulled back, giving me a knowing look. If we kept going, we wouldn’t be leaving the house anytime soon, if at all.

“Now,” he said, steering me out of the office and into the hallway. “Go get ready. I’ll give you fifteen minutes.” He smacked me on the butt before turning and strolling away.

I paused for a moment, my burned-out brain trying to catch up from the kiss and a full day of studying. It wasn’t until he was out of sight that I remembered my question.

“Can you give me a hint about how to dress?” I called.

His voice echoed from in the kitchen. “Wear pants.”

Pants. Okay. Vague, but better than nothing.

I headed into the all-white master bathroom and quickly washed my face before applying a little makeup and a spray of my new perfume. Then I stood in the middle of our oversized walk-in closet, staring at the rows of clothes aimlessly. After changing three times, I finally settled on broken-in jeans, a white tank top, and a lightweight tan knit sweater—it was fall, and I had turned into such a wimp about cool weather that I could pass as a native Californian.

Inside his black SUV, the air conditioning blasted full force—as always—and I quickly turned the fan down and the passenger-side temperature up so I didn’t freeze to death en route to our destination. Chase shifted into reverse and placed a hand on the back of my seat, shoulder-checking before he backed out of the driveway.

“How was camp?” I asked, sliding on my tortoiseshell sunglasses. They were another early birthday present from him. It was like birthday week in our house.

Chase shrugged. “It was good. Always a little rough to get back into the swing of things.”

“A little rough?” Now he was the one telling white lies about his day. He was tired, and he looked it.

“Fucking brutal,” he admitted. “But I hate to complain when you’ve been working so hard and I’ve barely seen you.”

Between his pre-season training and the start of my journalism grad program, quality time together had been scarce. It was an abrupt change from our leisurely summer, the majority of which we had spent lounging lakeside a few doors down from Dallas and Shiv, taking out the boat, and sleeping in late. Having zero real-life responsibilities to worry about had been a nice reprieve, but they’d come crashing down again in full force lately.

Plus, now that we were back in LA, and Dallas and Shiv were in Colorado, I was going through best friend withdrawal. I’d made some friends in LA, especially other girlfriends and wives from the team, but it wasn’t the same. Neither was drinking wine via video call.

“This program is intense.” I raked a hand through my hair, which I’d recently cut to shoulder-length. It still felt bizarrely short, like I was missing a limb. “It’s already kicking my butt.”

“Hey.” He placed his hand on my knee, warmth from his skin radiating through the denim fabric. “I understand the little fish, big pond feeling. But you’re there for a reason.”

“You have to say that.”

Chase had been intimidated for all of five minutes during his first NHL game. Then he skated around the ice like he owned it and had ever since.

“Doesn’t make it less true.”

Outside the window of the SUV, the freeway sped by, but I still had no idea where we were going.

“When are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?”

Chase shot me a sidelong glance, his lips tugging. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Three exits later, a huge gray structure appeared in the distance. The lettering on its oversized red sign grew clearer as we drew closer. We were headed to the same place he’d been only hours earlier.

“Are we going to the arena?”

“Skating,” he said. “Birthday tradition.”

The new arena in downtown Los Angeles—a modern architectural marvel comprised of steel and glass—had been completed two years prior.

Chase held the door open to the players’ entrance and followed behind me. The enormous facility was almost eerily quiet, save for the distant echoes of the custodial staff. He navigated us through the winding hallways like it was his second home, brought us to a stop in front of a metal door, and keyed in the pin code.

In keeping with the rest of the world-class facility, the Los Angeles Blades’ dressing room put the one at Boyd to shame. Solid wood benches filled the players’ changing area, with long windows placed high along the outside walls to let in natural light.

Down an attached hallway to the left, there was a players’ lounge, complete with leather couches, fireplace, and a snack bar. To the right was a video room with black leather seats for thirty, and a second-story mezzanine held a track and training area, plus hot and cold immersion tubs.

It was a one-stop shop for recovery, meals, and workouts. There were only one or two others like it in the league—I couldn’t imagine the disappointment players who’d been traded must have felt when stepping into a standard facility after calling this their home. I’d seen it before, but it still wowed me every time I stepped foot inside.

Chase led me over to his cubby and set our bags on the floor in front of it. I sank onto the bench and watched him expectantly.

The sight of Chase on his knees, rooting through his black equipment bag, brought about a memory of the time he took me skating at the Boyd arena. Things were so new between us then. It felt like a lifetime ago. I was nervous just being around him then. Those butterflies were still there now, but in a comfortable, easy way.

“We aren’t going to get busted like last time, are we? There’s no Roy lurking in the wings?”

“This time, I got permission.”

“Did you, though?” I nudged him with my foot.

He glanced up at me with a grin, messy dark hair tumbling in his face. “For real.”

Still kneeling, he handed me my skates. I slipped my foot into the left, but when I put my foot into the right, my toes hit a solid barricade. Probably a roll of tape that had been floating loose in his bag.

“Hang on.” I stuck my hand into the skate, replaceing a small square object wedged in the toe. “There’s something stuck in my—” I tugged it free, revealing a small polished wooden box.

My heart skipped a beat or three. Was this what I thought it was? I didn’t want to get ahead of myself, so I sucked in a deep breath to compose myself.

“There it is,” Chase said. “I was looking for that.”

He took the box from my hand and opened the hinged lid. I let out a woosh of air when my eyes landed on what was inside. The center stone from his mother’s ring, re-set into a plain gold band.

“Carter,” I whispered. My breath snagged, and tears flooded my eyes, threatening to overflow. This was it. My love, my life, my future. My everything.

The slightest hint of nervousness crossed his face, so faint that no one but me would have noticed it.

“I’ve made lots of mistakes along the way, but you’re the one thing that’s always been right. Will you marry me, James?”

“Yes.” A warm tear escaped and traveled down my cheek. I sniffled, wiping it away with the back of my hand. “Of course I will.”

He slipped the ring onto my left ring finger, and only then did I notice his hands were trembling. Cupping my face, he leaned in and kissed me like I had never, ever been kissed before. It was gentle but firm, asking but claiming, a promise of forever.

We pulled apart, and he rested his forehead on mine, dragging his thumb along my jawline. My heart was speeding, violating some law of nature. Time stopped, like a flashbulb moment I’d remember forever.

“I’m so fucking pumped,” he said. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

“Won’t that make me a Carter, though?” I teased.

“You’ll always be my James.” He heaved a heavy sigh, and his posture relaxed, his broad hands still wrapped around my waist.

“Were you nervous?” I whispered.

Chase’s lips tugged into a half smile, his dark eyes holding mine. “Little bit. You’re my once in a lifetime.”

He was right. I never thought I’d replace someone like him.

“You knew I’d say yes.”

“Yeah.” He broke into a full grin. “Like I’ve always said—we’re endgame.”