Page 62 of Speed

“The future. I mean, I've always had a plan,” Noah admitted, his voice steady. “Hockey, kids, family, marriage, a home with my partner.” He didn’t fumble over his words; he knew what he wanted. DidIknow what I wanted? “But we've never talked about our forever.”

“I never thought I'd have one,” I managed to say. I'd grown up with people dying in motorsport. I had the thing in my head. I’d always imagined I'd die young. Noah's eyes brightened with emotion, and I swallowed past the sudden lump in my throat. “Now… I-I have… rest of my life.”

“With me,” Noah said with a nod.

“Of course.” We exchanged smiles. “Kids?” I said.

Noah nodded without hesitation. “My sisters were adopted. I want that too. I want to create my own found family. Maybe surrogacy as well. And dogs. As many dogs as my dad has. I want a house we can fill with everything that matters. I want you.”

Emotion thickened his voice, his eyes searching mine, waiting for a response.

I exhaled slowly. I’d never thought about it. I’d never imagined a future beyond racing. It was always about the following season, the next race, the next championship. There was never room for anything else. Noah’s grip tightened.

I thought about it.Reallythought about it. For the first time, I let myself picture a life that wasn’t only about speed and trophies. I imagined a house that wasn’t a sterile penthouse or a temporary place between races. I imagined a yard filled with dogs; a home filled with laughter. Kids.

I tugged on his hand, motioning for him to sit beside me on the bed. He moved without question, curling into my side, and I wrapped my arm around him, pulling him close. His warmth, his certainty—it settled something in me.

“I want… children,” I whispered. “Dogs. Big house… for family. I want you.”

Noah pressed his face against my shoulder, his arms winding around me. “Then, that's what we'll have,” he murmured. “We'll make it happen. Together.”

I kissed the top of his head, inhaling his scent. “We can have that?”

Noah lifted his head to look at me, his expression fierce and unwavering. “Yeah. We can, and I want it with you, Brody. Every single part of it.”

I swallowed hard, my chest tight, but in a way that felt full, rather than constricting. “I'm not… running… from e-everything.”

He smiled, soft and knowing. “Good. Because I’m not letting you run anymore.”

I held him closer, letting his words sink in, allowing the idea of a future to take root in my mind for the first time.

We sat like that for a while holding each other, and neither of us needed to say anything more. We already knew.

The private ambulanceride home was quiet. The hum of the tires on the pavement lulled me into a strange in-between state, where I felt awake, but not fully present. Noah sat beside me, his hand on my knee, steady and grounding. Logan rode up front, making calls and handling things I didn’t have the energy to process yet.

Noah only had one more day before returning to Harrisburg for one last practice and a home game against a Washington team.

I sat on the sofa, Avery curled up on my lap, her tiny body warm and heavy against me. She was supposed to be in bed, but I’d used my operation as leverage, claiming I wanted her to stay. Apparently, I could get away with anything for now.

The Washington game played on the TV; the arena alive with energy. Noah stood out even on the small screen, his skating fluid, his focus intense. The cameras lingered on him more than once, the commentators talking about the rookie season, his famous dads, and, of course, his new relationship—his boyfriend, who used to date Jemima Wren. I rolled my eyes at that.

Noah struck in the third period with the Railers up by a single goal—a perfect shot, clean and fast, hitting the net with a satisfying snap. The commentators erupted in excitement.

Four-two, Railers.

I tried to stay calm, but my heart pounded as the seconds ticked. When the final buzzer sounded—a win—I smiled like an idiot.

Later, with Avery finally in bed, my phone buzzed. Noah’s face filled the screen, still flushed from the game, his grin wide and breathless.

“I love you! I love you!” he exclaimed, and his teammates cheered in unison, their voices echoing behind him.

“He loves you!” they all chorused, laughing.

Then, a tall, serious-looking guy stepped into the frame. Jack O’Leary, the captain. He gave a firm nod. “Your boy did good, Brody.”

“Can you get us a date with Jemima?” someone called.

There was a chorus of groans. “Shut up, Nik!”

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