Epilogue

All of the Delta North men are having trouble, this holiday season. No matter where they’ve ended up in life, after the war—insanely wealthy, getting by, or with a grim secret gnawing at them—nothing is going quite right in a very important part of their lives…

…their love lives.

After risking themselves to keep others safe in the war effort, with the ideals of family, life and liberty bright in their hearts, each of them is yearning to have the thing they made sure others could have.

A partner, and a family of their own.

And that one thing they’re yearning for, so strongly…is eluding them.

* * *

Dante Knight scowled as he paced around the Toronto hotel room. The hockey game—Leafs against the Avalanches—had been grueling, and once again, he hadn’t been able to play. Fucking exhibition game…wasted. The doctor who’d suggested he show up and come, just like he had before the injury, was a wing nut. Certifiable. None of this made things better, or helped him improve.

Strike three for the damn shrink. And…good riddance.

Dante Knight stopped pounding the carpet and sat heavily on the bed, the remnants of a Stanley Cup Big Burger Feast with all the trimmings abandoned on the side table. His gaze took in the scene around him, one that had once been the mainstay of his privileged life.

No more.

A pair of black hockey skates leaned against the bureau. A few months ago, any of the puck bunnies would have been thrilled to hold them, even to touch them, for fuck’s sake. Swing them in the face of the other women, grappling for the prize.

Dante Knight’s hockey skates. Can you believe? And I’ve got them.

Now they lay, forgotten. Ready to be packed up again…or discarded.

His jersey, screaming his number, lay on the chair in the corner. The rest of his gear on another side table, still unpacked. His high-tech phone beside him, the latest batch of team communications barely glanced at.

All things he had absolutely no use for anymore.

It hurt. That damn shit hurt, but all of this was stuff he’d have to get used to. His gaze narrowed as he panned the life he no longer had, the emptiness hollow inside him.

He’d handle it. He’d handled worse, in the war.

But there was one thing he couldn’t look at. One thing he’d taken to all his games. Never shown anyone but had tucked away deep in whatever luggage he took with him, or his gear bag, if necessary. It never left his stuff, on the road…or off.

A thin, home-made, grey fabric pencil case, with a zipper stitched into it. Gramm had made it. With treasures stuffed in it that only a boy of nine, then eleven, then older, could amass…for safe keeping.

Treasures a grown man now recognized for their true worth.

Some years, he’d barely looked at the items crammed in it. Other nights—more of those, lately—he took each one gently from the case, held them carefully. Looked over each article, pulled strength and resolve and answers from every one.

His first email from the talent scout, way back when. Printed out and folded so many times, it was ripped. His call-up for the military, then for Delta North Team. His hockey career had been stopped, put on hold. A photocopy of the sport contract, after his military service…one that had paved his life in gold.

Until…it didn't.

Then, one last item, on the bottom. The one he almost never looked at, because if he did...

…well, he just damn well couldn’t.

He swallowed with difficulty, and remembered. Written in her familiar script on the back of one of their class essay sheets, he knew it by heart.

“I know what the question was you wanted me to answer, Doofus, though you wouldn’t tell me. Jerk. But I know. And Yes, I do, Dante. I do I do I do. Love You, with all my heart.

I know you’ll be a famous hockey player one day. And me? I’ll be there, by your side, whatever you do. If you play, or if you pick up garbage. I’ll stay by you, Dante. Always.”

And she’d added, tellingly, “Forever.”

None of his buddies in Delta North had women waiting for them. Rand Peters didn’t, and was drinking his life away. Ruf Richardson, the gentle storekeeper in Jack’s Bay, Ontario, was cutting meat and serving his tiny community every day—solo. Parker Bowles was protecting all the wild and domestic animals as a Parks Canada officer—but he too, cheerful though he was…wanted more. Needed more. A lot more.

Sven Golden was still single, the expert in search and rescue, back to his job as ski patrol in British Columbia. Christian Carter, the artist made good now, on the same mountain as Sven, ditto. Excruciatingly alone.

Even Og had no partner. The tough, burly ex Delta North soldier had cut off all his emotions and was doing business in Refuge Bay, just off Chesapeake Bay, in the States. A boxer, and a businessman. Also solo.

It all made his own neglect of sweet, endlessly loving Kelly Dunham even more ludicrous. He’d had it all.

The recollection just about made him gag. Because he hadn’t appreciated her love, her support, her anything. The gift of her teenage body bestowed upon him, that one night, under the bleachers and in the setting sun, amidst the hot dog wrappers and discarded popcorn. None of it.

Instead, he’d left her behind the very next morning. Jumped headfirst into the shiny new career, along with the busy warren of puck bunnies, all over the world.

Puck bunnies that were splashed across every tabloid, and on ENT, every week, hanging onto him. Laughing.

He brushed a hand raggedly through his hair, got up, and resumed his pacing. Things had changed, gone from gold to fucked, in a second. Abruptly. Fast.

So damn fast, his head was still spinning. This had never been the plan.

Yet, through all the soul-withering mess, he’d hung on to one, last, lone ray of hope.

Her. She was that ray of hope. Kelley Dunham. The woman who’d loved him when he was nothing. When he hadn’t had the platinum card or the spare coins to jingle in his thousand-dollar, tailored pants pockets.

He stopped, hauled in a deep breath. It would take guts for a man to do what he was about to do.

He noted the feeling of worry. The ever-present sheen of sweat when he thought about it. But he was the man to do it, right? Former Delta North Team special ops…hell. He and his buddies, they’d been up for anything. They’d done anything and succeeded. Mostly.

This was the most special mission of his life.

He was done with the one-nighters. With the panties tossed on the ice. Done with the five-minute grabs, stuffed into a closet with a wiggling, eager woman, baring her body for him, no names needed.

Hell. He was done.

He was going back home. To the woman who’d loved him, for him. And if she’d have him, they’d finally be a couple.

Dare he hope it? A family.

He took the old note out, held it, felt strength seep into his exhausted, too much damn rehabilitation shit, frame.

She’d loved him once, and hell, she’d said forever. The Kelley he’d known—she’d been strong, out to make her way in the world. Since he’d last seen her, she’d made a name for herself in PR, had a fancy Vancouver condo. Cute dog, too, he’d heard.

She’d done well, and truth be told? She’d become his secret pillar of strength. Which was also why he’d thought of her, all those long nights when no one had come to help, in the hospital. Where earth-scorching fame hadn’t meant a thing.

Yeah, they were going to be a thing. Finally. He was on his way, tomorrow. She’d said forever, he reminded himself. They were meant to be.

Right?

He could hardly wait to go now. Back to Terrence Point, B.C. Tell Kelley Dunham that if she still wanted him—he was hers.

Yep. He’d decided.

Game on.

He caught his reflection in the mirror. There it was—the million-dollar smile that had lit up the GC cover, a few months ago. The golden man, they’d called him. Only he hadn’t stayed that way.

But he was good, now. Right?

Damn right, he reassured himself.

What on earth could possibly get in the way?

***

Kelley Dunham looked down at her phone and the email on it, in dismay. There it was.

Gramm said you can have the cabin. Move in anytime, for as long as you need. Her and Gramps won’t be back from traveling for months.

Great. One less thing to worry about, seeing as she couldn’t pay her damn rent anymore.

She flicked to another email, this one from HR. Termination, the subject line read.

She muttered to Boo, pulled the little white dog in close to her, on the couch. “Yeah, no reason to go back to that place. Right, Boo? Done there, like a bloody dinner. And done with the boss’s son, too. Jerk.”

Her phone dinged, a text from one of her besties, Emily. Her friend who was now seeing a certain Delta North soldier, in Jack’s Bay, Ontario.

Newsflash. Dante’s on hiatus from the Avalanches. Not sure what’s up.

Emily still followed Dante’s life, bless her heart. Most of Terrence Point did. Hell, all of Canada did, too. She didn’t, not anymore. She texted back.

Who the eff cares.

Emily persisted. But what if he comes back to Terrence Point, for Christmas?

Kelley leaned back on her couch and tucked her feet under her, forced the weird feeling down. Dante Knight, back in Terrence Point. And at Christmas, too. One of her favorite times of year, in the past.

What, indeed, would happen?

Her insides rioted, even as her brain spit out an analysis.

Yeah, no. He’d never come back, unless he had some slimy, self-promoting agenda. Would never happen.

When a guy had the whole world at his feet, why the hell would he come back to a little mountain town with no cash in its coffers?

But Emily didn’t give up. She was on this Dante kick and hadn’t gotten off it yet. What the hell was up with her today?

Well, Kelley was putting an end to it. Stupid conversation, stupid speculations. Her stomach was already uneasy. Or…something.

More important, it was time for her to get on with the big changes in her own life. One thing she knew, she was going to stop living like a saint. Like a good girl, always pleasing the boss, and her stupid ex-fiancé, both now solidly in the past. She was going to get out there. Start living. Things were going to change, and do so…

…immediately.

No time like the present, right?

She thumbed the message, still disgruntled, but lighter, too, somehow. She’d decided. She clicked the keys, then hit send, with a huge rush of satisfaction.

If he comes back here to Terrence Point, anywhere within twenty kilometres of me or my sweet self, babe?

Heaven help his sorry ass.

* * *

Ruf Richardson jammed his foot against the bottom of The Butchery’s door to make sure it fit into the frame, then pushed on it again, and locked it.

“No one here, really, to lock it against,” he muttered to himself. He tried to forget the fact that he’d been trying not to talk to himself lately—it made him feel as if he didn’t have enough people in his life. He sighed and gave up. He probably didn’t. “But if someone drives through, wants to bust in? No reason to make it easy for ‘em.”

Satisfied the butcher shop was secure, he stood in the storefront window area, lit by the streetlamp outside, and glanced at his cellphone.

Tasha.

Sorry, Babe, but I’m staying in the city the next few weekends. Okay? I’d love to see you but can’t deal with mosquitoes now. Or those other creepy, crawly things. But if you want to come down…

He grimaced. A trip to Toronto, a weekend, was always fun. He loved heading to the old neighborhood in the Beaches, letting Mama Diba at the restaurant heap his bowl with seconds, and thirds, no charge for any of it. Fattening you up, my adopted son, she’d croon, as she dished the sloppy, fragrant lentil soup out, a smile on her wizened face.

Seeing Tasha, too? It was a definite draw.

Only he had a big order coming in and needed to be here for it. He’d organize it all and come Monday, the place would be ready for business. His assistant Jake would be thrilled it was all done, and they only had to focus on customers.

There was that. But more than that, something had been bothering him of late.

Tasha hated the cat and dog fur on his clothes. She tried to ignore it, but he caught her picking at it, all night. Yeah, the evidence of Petey and Sasha-it wasn’t easy to get rid of.

“I don’t want to get rid of it—she does.” He strode to the rear, checked everything one last time, then went out the back, and locked the big steel door. Before he got in the truck, he took his customary few moments and gazed off toward the pine forest that encroached on the street at the far end, their wispy tops reaching for the moon. It was one of his favorite sights every morning, and every night, as well. Stunning.

The town of Jack’s Bay all quiet and peaceful, tucked in for the night, warm. Safe.

And his girlfriend was in Toronto…and he was here.

He swallowed.

Christmas was coming, in a few months. The town did special things as a community, not the least of which was their special night together, known as the Eve. He’d been so looking forward to sharing it with Tash.

He also had a special tradition he’d established well before he’d served in Delta North, and he’d been hinting around about it to her, hoping against hope…she’d be with him.

Damn it all. It was special. He so wanted to share it with someone. Someone who could see it for what it was. Someone who…

“Um,” he caught himself. “With Tasha. Tasha. I want to share it with Tasha.”

Only he hadn’t been able to lose the feeling that Tasha really didn’t love his life up here, and more?

Wasn’t really that into him. At all.

He hauled himself up into his truck. “It’s a few months away, right? It’ll be good. It’s the last year I’ll do it alone, if I have to. Right?”

He sighed. Best not to think of what he’d hoped for all those nights with his buddies, far away on the other side of the world, in the service. He had a good life, and he was damn proud of having served, ensuring those he loved and their families would all be safe.

Only damn it all. He still wanted one of those, too, though he’d really have to stop focusing on that. Do the cold turkey thing, and just stop. Forget.

The truth that was deep in his heart, and soul.

He wanted a family of his own, too.

* * *

Rand Peters held up the current month on the wall calendar. Flipped to the next one, the one after that. Muttered. “Shit.”

New Year’s Eve wasn’t that far away.

He winced. First year without Dad. Mom was going to her sister’s in Brooklin, outside of Toronto, and the family had invited him, too.

Only I’ll have just gotten back from Christmas in Jack’s Bay, and with the new job in Toronto, I’ve got to be available.

Who the hell was he kidding. He couldn’t face it this year…as the third wheel.

And fourth, fifth, and sixth wheel, too. Sure, he was grateful for the invite, and grateful for the family he still had. His aunt Jessie’s family was large, and what’s more, it was always extended. Welcoming. There was always room for another, and another, and damn it all?

He wanted to be there once…with his own person. His own family.

A love…of his own.

He felt like such an ass as the words reverberated through him. For fuck’s sake, he was ex-special ops with the revered and feared Delta North Team. He’d been good at it, too. Not the fuckup he’d been elsewhere, in life. He’d curbed the drinking, he’d been so full of the mission of it all.

Now he was back, on probation at his new job, and desperately still trying to stay off the booze. Thank goodness he had Starr—the sweet dog made up for a lot of barely thawed frozen dinners and the crappy bedsitter he lived in.

Yeah, New Year’s Eve was the big one for him. This year was also the biggie for him, the first year after Dad’s passing. The Dad who’d been the best father in the world…only he’d recognized it too late.

“Well, you said you’d watch out for me.” He spoke to his Dad now, something he rarely did, but looking forward to the uncertain last quarter of the year, somehow, he needed to. “So…find me someone, will you Dad? Someone…” he almost choked on the words. “…as great as mom. And when you do, whatever year it is, I promise I’ll have the eyes to see her. And…appreciate her.”

He added hastily. “And by the way, extra kudos for you if it’s that hot chic I’ve been fantasizing about for over a year now.”

He shook his head as the fantasy popped into his mind again. Alex Jordan, at the machine shop he worked at, in the back. Alex Jordan…anywhere. She was hot. Sizzlin’. Came from big money, he’d learned.

And was working as a delivery person, 24-7. WTF?

“Yeah, there’s a story there, Pops. Anyway, letting you know. If she’s the one, I’m open to it. All the way.”

He shook his head. “Enough of this.” He still had a damn good life, and to celebrate, he was going to take Starr for a walk around the neighborhood. Let her nose the garbage on the route, scare some mouthy Toronto squirrels. All her favorite things. He called out. “Let’s go, pup.”

The pup in question barreled into the room and almost knocked him over. Ran around him a dozen times once he’d attached her leash, then shot out the front door, yanking him along.

He almost fell over, then righted himself, laughing, as he followed her. She leapt in front of him, eager to get out and meet everyone.

And oh yeah. Let the squirrels know who was damn boss.

He had a good life and wasn’t going to forget it. Even if he was alone.

But he couldn’t help it. Once he had a moment to himself, he was cracking that fantasy open…

…for another good, long go. Again.

What the hell else did he have to do? The chick in question was probably with some rich guy tonight, having the time of her life.

She sure damn well wasn’t with him.

* * *

So this was what Christmas felt like.

Og Reiden glanced around the small living room of the old home known as Hope House. The tree, decorated with homemade ornaments, in front of the window. The mass of presents under it, mostly inexpensive, but wrapped with love. Best of all, their daughter, Trasher, laying on the couch asleep, her head in his partner’s lap, who was gently stroking her hair, as if she would break.

Precious gifts…all around him.

They’d gone all out for Trasher’s first Christmas with them. As a newly adopted child who’d seen too much trouble in her short life to date, they’d done everything they could to let her know she was safe and would continue to be so, from now on.

They’d also wanted her to know…Christmas was for real.

But now, the old question swirled in his gut. The worry he’d pushed down reasserted themselves.

Where the hell are you, Michael? Are you okay?

Sure, he’d finally found the love of his life, and they were starting their adventure together. He, the burly, closed off ex-Delta North Force special ops military man, and Nathan Gentael, the sensitive artist who’d closed himself off to love of any kind.

They were a team now. A thing. And completely committed to their little family.

They were also committed to helping others—those that needed a place, and time, to recuperate. Hope House, Nathan’s home, was an old family manse with incredible bones, and there were plenty of rooms to house those who needed a respite. It was a worthy mission, one they’d already started.

But despite all the good they’d already accomplished in such a short time, the knowledge of one thing burned, deep in Og.

Once their parents had died years ago, he’d tried to be a good older brother to Michael. A parent, even though he was young himself. But the truth was…he’d failed. The kid had gone rogue, fallen in with a bad crowd. Now, he was paying for it. Horribly.

And until Og could track the kid down in the South American hellhole he was currently a prisoner in, neither one of them would ever have a real Christmas. Never, until Michael was home again, in this very room, with his new family.

Trasher stirred, and Nathan’s gaze locked with his. His love whispered to him, as the lights twinkled softly around them.

“Time to take her up to bed. Tomorrow will be full, for her. Her first real Christmas.”

Og smiled, softly, and meant it. “I can’t wait, sweetheart. She so deserves it.”

But his partner knew him all too well. “So do you, Love. After we’ve tucked her in, we’ll work on that thing that has you tied up in knots. Don’t worry. We’ll find him, and we’ll bring him home, if it’s the last thing we do.”

Og swallowed, his throat thick with emotion. Of course Nathan knew what he was thinking. Sensitive artist types always had big, arrogant bastards like him beat.

Thank goodness for that. He rose, and gathered the sleeping child into his arms, relishing the warmth of Nathan’s hand gentle, yet firm, on his waist. “Let’s go tuck her into bed. You bid the sugarplums come and dance in her head, and I’ll make sure everything’s safe for them to do so.”

Nathan smiled. “Our protector,” he murmured. “Let’s go.” He quickly rose on his tiptoes and breathed into Og’s ear. “P.S. I love you.”

The security of ancient Hope House on Christmas Eve shrouded them as they took their little girl up to her bed and dreamt of a future of all those they loved, by their sides.

Home…where they belonged.

Only Og still had no clue how it was going to happen…