Page 109 of Penalty Kiss
I flash Levi a grin, half-joking, half-daring him to picture it. Totally enjoying the idea of a blank slate.
“Idiot.” Levi chuckles. “Well, before you become the next internet sensation, how do you feel about minor league hockey?" He asks casually.
I snort. “Play for the minors? Come on, if I wanted to keep playing, I wouldn’t have just walked away from a captaincy and a pile of cash.”
"Not play, jackass. Build. Us. A team." He stops walking and turns to face me.
“Cedar Falls is ripe for an ECHL franchise, and we’ve got the resources to make it happen. Together.”
I blink, the idea hitting me like a puck to the chest. “You mean… own the team?”
For a second, I just stare. Us. A team. Not me grinding shifts, not him stuck in net—but the two of us building something from the ground up.
My pulse jumps like I’m back on the ice, except this isn’t adrenaline from a rush. It’s possibility. The kind that shifts the air, the kind that feels bigger than both of us.
Levi’s voice lowers, steady as always. “My contract’s up in a year. Then what? Lindon’s growing, and Lily and I want more kids. I don’t want to just be there for the making. I want to raise them. Be there for their recital and dentist. And Lily’s empire? She’s got that handled. I want home. I want to be present. If there’s anyone I’d do this with, it’s you. You get the ball rolling until I’m out, and then we build it together.”
“This isn’t just business—this is building a life that lets us be present. We build it together so home stays home.”
The idea hits me like a perfectly timed check—hard, unexpected, and completely exhilarating. Hockey on my terms. In Tara's town. Building something real instead of just performing.
"The Cedar Falls what?" I ask, already picturing it.
"That's up to you. Though I had a few ideas." His grin turns wicked. "The Cedar Falls Chaos has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
I throw back my head and laugh—the kind of laugh that starts in your chest and takes over your whole body. "Tara's going to love that."
"I figured she would. So, you interested?"
"Yeah," I say, clapping my best friend on the shoulder. "I'm interested."
The smell of fresh paint fills Tara's kitchen as I push through the front door. Tara must be busy painting our renovated kitchen—new cabinets, appliances, floors, and an upgraded new vent hood with enough capacity and power for wok cooking—a skill I can’t wait to show off to Tara.
She's perched on a stepladder, rolling soft yellow paint across the wall that was bare when I left this morning. Her brown hair is twisted up in a messy bun, secured with what looks suspiciously like a paintbrush, and there's a streak of yellow across her cheek that makes my chest tighten with something that feels too big for my ribcage.
This. This is what I chose over million-dollar contracts and magazine covers.
"Honey, I'm home," I call out, and she turns with a smile that could power the whole town.
"How'd it go?" she asks, climbing down from the ladder with the kind of grace that shouldn't be possible while holding a paint roller.
"Well, I'm officially retired from professional hockey." I cross the kitchen and wrap my arms around her waist, breathing in the scent of vanilla and paint fumes that somehow smells like home. "And possibly about to become a minor league coach and general manager."
Her eyebrows climb toward her hairline. "That was fast. Also, explain."
So I do. I tell her about the meeting, about Levi's proposal, about the Cedar Falls Chaos and building something from scratch. Her eyes get brighter with every word, and by the time I finish, she's practically vibrating with excitement.
"The Cedar Falls Chaos?" she repeats, laughing. "Oh, that's perfect. Absolutely perfect."
"We’re not fixed on the name. Could be the Cedar Falls Rookies," I laugh.
Watching her, I have to ask. “You're not disappointed? About me retiring, I mean. No more glamorous NHL girlfriend life."
She slips her paint-stained hands into mine, and the look in her blue eyes makes my knees weak.
"Cam Wilder, I fell in love with you when you were suffering from post-concussion syndrome and entering pie-eating contests. You think I care about your job title?"
"I might have been showing off a little with the pie thing," I admit.
