Chapter 26 Choosing Horizons
February slipped into March with the soft hush of late-season snow. The rink lights across the street glowed every evening like a promise, and inside the Kane house, the college decision had become the quiet heartbeat of every day.
Lily’s final three folders lay on the kitchen island like three different futures:
\- Boston University – scarlet and white, full-ride academics, club hockey, city lights, and a business honors program that would let her graduate debt-free and ready to take over Heartstrings one day if she wanted.
\- Northeastern – black and red, co-op at the Bruins front office already lined up, real-world experience, and a campus that felt like a grown-up version of Evergreen Hollow.
\- University of Denver – crimson and gold, D1 women’s hockey roster spot waiting with her name on it, half-tuition scholarship, thin air, high mountains, and the chance to chase national championships the way her dad once had.
Every night the family circled back to the same gentle conversation.
Everett voted loudly for Denver (“Because the jersey is coolest and they have mountains!”).
Rowan stayed carefully neutral, though his eyes lit up whenever Lily talked about skating under the Magness Arena lights.
Holly simply asked questions and listened, her heart secretly tugging toward Boston because it was the closest flight.
One Thursday evening, after a long practice where Lily had scored twice and assisted once, she came home flushed and quiet. She dropped her gear bag, kicked off her skates, and went straight to the back deck without a word. Snow was falling in fat, lazy flakes.
Rowan found Holly watching her through the kitchen window.
“She’s close,” he murmured, sliding his arms around Holly’s waist from behind. “I can feel it.”
Holly leaned back against him. “I just want her to be sure.”
Rowan’s lips brushed the side of her neck. “She will be. And then we’ll love whichever version of our girl she becomes.”
His hands wandered lower, slipping beneath the hem of her sweater, palms warm against her skin. Holly sighed and let her head fall back on his shoulder as he kissed along her jaw. They stayed like that for a long minute (soft kisses, gentle touches, the snow falling outside) until Lily’s footsteps on the deck brought them apart, both smiling like teenagers caught necking.
That night, after Everett was asleep and the house was quiet, Lily knocked on their bedroom door.
“Can I come in?”
She was still wearing the Denver hoodie, but the BU scarf was wrapped around her neck like a hug.
Rowan sat up against the headboard; Holly patted the space between them. Lily crawled onto the bed like she had when she was six and afraid of thunderstorms.
“I think I know,” she whispered.
They waited.
“Denver,” she said, voice trembling with certainty and terror in equal measure. “I want to play D1 hockey. I want to see if I can be great at something the way Dad was. And their entrepreneurship center… Mom, they have a real startup incubator. I could build something while I play. And the coach—she watched my film and said I remind her of Meghan Duggan when she was eighteen.”
Holly felt tears prick instantly. Rowan’s eyes were shining too.
“Baby,” Holly managed, “are you sure?”
Lily nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again. “I’m scared. But it feels like the kind of scared that means it’s right.”
Rowan pulled her into a fierce hug. “Then we’re scared with you, Captain.”
They stayed up another hour (talking logistics, scholarship details, the fact that Denver had a direct flight from Minneapolis and that Holly had already quietly looked at frequent-flyer miles). When Lily finally padded back to her room, the BU scarf still around her neck like a promise to come home often, Rowan closed the door and turned to Holly.
She was crying quietly.
He crossed the room in two strides, cupped her face, and kissed the tears away.
“She’s going to be incredible,” he whispered against her lips.
“I know,” Holly whispered back. “I just… I love her so much it hurts.”
Rowan’s answer was to kiss her deeply, slowly, until the hurt turned into something else entirely. He undressed her with the same reverence he’d shown the first night they ever admitted this was real (buttons undone one by one, kisses pressed to every inch of skin revealed). When she was bare, he laid her back on the bed and made love to her like a vow (slow, deep strokes, whispered I love yous, his hand laced with hers above her head). They moved together until pleasure crested gently, rolling through them in long, sweet waves, leaving them wrapped around each other, hearts racing in tandem.
Afterward, Holly traced the scar on Rowan’s shoulder (an old hockey injury) and smiled through the last of her tears.
“She’s choosing her own ice,” she said softly.
“And we’ll be in the stands for every game,” Rowan promised.
The next morning Lily committed to Denver with shaking hands and a grin that lit the entire house. She FaceTimed the coach wearing her new Pioneers hoodie, signed the letter of intent on the kitchen island while Everett filmed it on Holly’s phone for posterity, and then (because she was still Lily Kane) immediately started a group chat titled “Kane Family Denver Takeover 2025” and added her parents, her brother, Aunt Mia, and even Grandma Clara.
Spring arrived in a rush of celebration. Lily’s senior night at the rink ended with her scoring the game-winning goal in overtime, the entire town on its feet roaring. Rowan (coach of the boys’ team) skated out with a bouquet bigger than she was, and Holly stood in the bleachers crying happy tears into her Heartstrings scarf.
That night, after the arena emptied and the family came home smelling like ice and victory, Lily disappeared to pack for her senior trip to Costa Rica with friends. Rowan found Holly in the bedroom folding laundry, quiet and thoughtful.
He closed the door, turned the lock, and crossed the room in three strides.
“Hey,” he said softly, tipping her chin up. “Talk to me.”
Holly’s smile wobbled. “Empty-nest practice in four months.”
Rowan kissed her gently. “Then let’s practice something else.”
He lifted her onto the dresser (same one from the cabin weekend), pushed her sundress up to her waist, and knelt between her thighs. His mouth was warm and slow and perfect; within minutes Holly was trembling, fingers tangled in his hair, biting her lip to stay quiet. When she came, it was with his name muffled against her own wrist.
He stood, freed himself, and slid into her in one smooth stroke. They moved together unhurriedly (her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands cradling her face, eyes locked). It was tender and deep and a little desperate (the kind of lovemaking that said we still have this, we’ll always have this).
Afterward, they stayed joined, foreheads touching, breathing each other in.
“Four years,” Holly whispered.
“Four years,” Rowan echoed, “and then she comes home for holidays, for summers, for every championship run we fly out to watch. And in between… we get to rediscover date nights.”
Holly laughed through happy tears. “I like the sound of that.”
Spring turned to summer. Lily’s graduation was a sun-soaked blur of crimson caps and Pioneer gear. She gave a speech about choosing the ice that scares you the most because that’s where the magic lives, and half the town cried.
That night, after the parties and the backyard fireworks, Rowan and Holly stood on the deck watching Lily and her friends dance under string lights. Rowan slipped his arms around Holly from behind, hands splayed over her stomach.
“Remember when she was small enough to fall asleep on your chest after games?” he murmured.
Holly nodded, throat tight.
“She still fits there,” Rowan said softly. “She always will.”
Later, when the house was finally quiet, they made love on the living-room rug under the glow of the graduation lanterns Lily had forgotten to take down (slow, laughing, a little teary, utterly theirs).
In August they flew to Denver for orientation. Lily skated her first official practice with the Pioneers while Rowan and Holly watched from the stands, holding hands like proud, slightly terrified parents. Afterward, they helped move her into her dorm, stocked her mini-fridge, and took a hundred photos in front of the “Welcome Class of 2029” banner.
On their last night, the three of them walked campus at sunset. Lily stopped in the middle of the quad, looked up at the mountains turning pink, and said, “I’m really doing this.”
Holly pulled her into a hug that lasted a long time.
“You already are,” she whispered.
Back at the hotel, after Lily was safely tucked into her dorm with her new roommate, Rowan ordered room-service chocolate cake and champagne. They ate it in bed, wearing nothing but hotel robes and matching smiles.
“To horizons,” Rowan toasted, clinking his glass against hers.
“To our girl chasing hers,” Holly answered.
They made love slowly, reverently (champagne forgotten, cake smearing a little on the sheets, laughter and tears mingling). When they finally fell asleep tangled together, the Rocky Mountains stood sentinel outside their window, and somewhere across campus their daughter was already dreaming in crimson and gold.
Four hundred miles away, Everett was probably stealing Lily’s leftover graduation candy, the rink lights were glowing, and Evergreen Hollow waited (quiet, golden, and ready) for the next chapter of the Kane family to begin.