And the thing that I remember most about that night? It wasn't the lights or the loud noises or even the pain. The thing I remember most was not being able to get to Julie. I couldn't move from my side of the crumpled car, pinned underneath the dashboard as I was. I had to sit there and watch her go into shock, just shaking like a leaf and staring at her bloody hands, her head matted in red. I tried to use my voice to soothe her, but there was no getting through.

The whole time the firemen were carving me out of my car, the whole time the cops were trying to keep us calm I had to listen to Julie's scared little whimpers; feel her fear and her shock rippling through my broken bones. Every second knowing that I was the one that did that to her.

We were both brought right into the ER, and before I could even ask what was happening, everything went black again. I woke up dry-mouthed in a clean hospital bed, a shitload of tubes and wires sticking out from various parts of my body, a leg raised in a metal contraption, surrounded by a steel cage.

The first thing I did was ask about Julie, and thank God, it turned out her injuries were pretty minor. A few stitches in her forehead, some scrapes and bruises, but that was all. Not even a concussion. I was so relieved about that that I hardly registered the bad news the doc was giving me. My knee was shattered and there had been some irreversible nerve damage. Most likely a career-ender, the doc told me, but then, he didn't exactly know me very well, did he? He didn't know that hockey was my fucking life, and that of course I'd do everything in my power to come back stronger than ever.

Bash had been sent down to check on us, and he reported back to our parents and Julie's family with uncharacteristic regularity. At the time, I was confused as to why Bash had been sent down instead of Mom or Dad coming to see me themselves. I remember him looking away uncomfortably when I asked, but I was so drugged up that I didn't really think much of it until after I went home.

After a seemingly infinite stay at Parkland Hospital, arrangements were made for my conditional release, provided I continued my rehabilitation back at Kessler, which was a hell of a lot closer to home than anywhere down in Texas. I'll say one thing for the Stars franchise; they sure knew how to send a guy off in style. Bash and I found ourselves on the corporate jet which had been modified for my transit and outfitted with an on-board nurse. Not too shabby.

I was still in denial about my inevitable return to the ice, and it was hard to stay in a bad mood whenever Bash was around. Yet, I spent those hours on that private jet in miserable silence, playing the accident over and over in my mind.

As banged up as I was, I should have been reveling in that plane ride. Because while I was busy beating myself up with guilt and feeling sorry for myself, what I didn't know is that those were the last moments of peace I was going to have for a very long time.

Because once we made it home, I found out about my father: The chemo wasn't working. The cancer had spread. He had six months to live.

He only needed two.

Those days are such a blur to me, an endless stream of time divided between my own hospital stays and my dad's. I kept up the brave face for him, but whenever I was out of his earshot, I'd lash out at anything and everything within my sights. Most of the time, the closest target was Julie. I was such a dick over those months, just a snarly, bitter asshole flying off the handle, ranting about the unfairness of it all. She really tried her best to help me through the pain, but was eventually forced to put some space between us. I can't say as I blamed her. I was a black hole of bad luck and misery, a time bomb waiting to explode. Who the hell would risk sticking around for that?

That summer, when the Stars went on to make an appearance in the finals, I hardly even noticed. I was sitting in my father's hospice room, for godsakes, and couldn't really give two shits about the game playing out on his TV, much less the fact that we were winning.

That they were winning. I didn't contribute a goddamn thing to their victory. My father knew how frustrated I'd been during my run with the Stars.

So, you want to know the kicker of it all? Want to know the last fucking words my old man said to me before he never said another word ever again?

"We'll get 'em next time."

We'll get 'em next time. He had said those same five words after every game I'd ever lost in my life. It used to ease my mind some, take the sting off a devastating loss. Now he was trying to take the sting off a win, knowing I felt I had nothing to do with it, reminding me that I'd have another chance someday.

Problem was, there would never be a next time. There was no more "someday." Not for me and not for him.

In the immediate aftermath, there was Dad's estate to settle, his final arrangements to be made. There was the inevitable squabbling with my brothers about every detail, the collective consoling of our mother to bring an end to it.

It was decided that I'd take over the bar (considering I had no other career options and I'd essentially purchased the place anyway), but those first months were really a team effort. Since Dad had kept all the pub's financial records in spiral-bound notebooks, we spent countless hours transferring all that data to the computer. My brothers and I had bought him the thing a year prior, but it was still sitting unopened in its box in the corner of his office. Apparently, he'd been using it as a table to display his scrapbooks, all the newspaper clippings and photos of his sons from over the years. When we flipped through them and saw the pride emanating from every page, the meticulous care with which he cataloged our accomplishments, it broke our fucking hearts.

That summer was absolutely the lowest point of my entire life. My career was over. My father was dead. But even then, I knew that if I let the events of my present consume me, I wouldn't have any sort of future at all. And I owed it to my old man to find something to salvage from the wreckage.

I'd been in limbo ever since.

Until Avery.

Because of her, I learned that you can't change the past. Shitty things are going to happen; you're going to make mistakes; life is going to knock you down at every turn. The important thing is that you get back up. The only thing that counts is what you do from here on out.

You can choose to let the past define you, keep going down a miserable road until you eventually shrivel up and die. Or you can blaze a new trail in life, set your sights on a brighter future, and just keep moving forward until you find out where your happy lies.

Maybe it's down a path you never thought to travel. Sometimes, it's right in front of you. Whether you choose to see it or not is up to you.

You always have a choice.

And I knew that I'd made mine.

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

I came down to the floor way too early the next morning. There was a ton of stuff to get done before the wedding, but obviously, I only started my day at such an hour because I was hoping to run into Avery as soon as possible.

Only, she sent an assistant to precede her arrival.

I didn't know where she found the guy or how he knew where to put everything, but the dude was racing around the place as if his nuts were on fire.

Avery showed up a few hours later to put the finishing touches on the room. I was surprised that she'd waited so long to show up-let's face it, the girl was obsessed with details-but was happy she was even here at all. There was the smallest part of me that thought she'd back out and not show.

I gave her a wave from my post behind the bar, and she waved back before immediately shifting her focus to the task at hand. Seeing as she had a job to do, I left her alone so she could do it. I knew she was stressed out enough about pulling together a proper wedding, and I wasn't looking to add to her anxiety by cornering her just yet.

But I wasn't going to wait one extra minute once she finally finished.

She'd transformed my modest sports pub into a winter wonderland. She left the white string lights and the paper snowflakes on the ceiling, which, I gotta admit, really worked. Especially since she'd had a dozen potted trees, hanging lanterns, and yards of tulle all lit up, too. There were white tablecloths over every table and white slipcovers over every stool. The hightops had been removed to allow access to the dance floor, which had a layer of fake snow scattered across the entire surface.

I thought all the white would just highlight the crappy brown wood in this place, but Avery managed to strike a great balance between rustic and pristine.

Oh shit! Shabby chic! I totally got that now.

The band was warming up with a Fastball tune, and I hummed along as I double-checked my liquor stock. A bunch of my old teammates would be attending the reception today, and if the party back in June was any indication, I figured I'd rather be safe than sorry.

I took a look at Avery, busily fluffing flower arrangements, going over her lists, ordering her assistant around and the sight made me smile. She was already dressed in a silver gown, and seeing her in that color surrounded by all this winter white, she looked like an ice princess-in the best possible way, of course.

A far cry different from the angry business-gal with the huge chip on her shoulder that walked into my bar seven months ago.

I guess we'd both changed over the past months. Funniest thing was, her transformation was in recalling the dreams of her past, and mine was in learning how to forget them. Somehow, we met in the middle. She helped me become a guy I never even knew I was supposed to be.

She taught me how to let go.

She taught me how to give.

And I got it now. I got why my father spent his life slaving away at this nothing pub. Because when you can bring people together-change their lives, even-you don't think about the money you could be making somewhere else. You can't save everyone, but sometimes, you can save someone. And when you have the support of the woman you love on top of that, the woman who challenges you to be the best version of yourself that even you didn't think you could be you're a success.

Enough was enough. I pulled a white rose out of a nearby vase and walked right over to the woman in question. "Ave."

She turned, seemingly unaffected by my presence as she put her hands to her hips and answered, "Yeah, what's up?" Her brows were raised, trying to look casual, as if everything was fine.

"I didn't know if you were going to come," I said, holding out the flower. She took it, but she didn't seem won over by it.

Despite her attempt to seem impassive, there was no denying the bite in her voice as she said, "I was hired for a job. I know how to stay committed to something."

"Me too." I raised my eyebrows and dipped my head, attempting to meet her eyes.

No dice.

"I tried to call you," I continued. "Numerous times."

"I know."

"So, you're just avoiding me?"

"No," she lied, crossing her arms over her chest and gnawing on her bottom lip.

"I think I deserve a chance to explain."

She gave out a huff and started picking at the rose petals. "Explain what, exactly? That now that we've hooked up, it's time for you to check out again?"

"What you saw yesterday isn't what it looked like."

"Famous last words."

I knew she was pissed, but I found myself trying to fight a smile. She thought she wanted to stay mad, but we both knew there was no reason for it. We both knew the truth. "C'mon, Ave. The other night? You and me? You know that was real."

She wanted to believe it was true. She had to know that it was. But if she was afraid, if she needed me to convince her, I could do that. After all these years, I owed her at least that much.

"I know it was real," I offered, my heart beating out of my goddamn chest. "You know how I know?" I stepped closer and put a palm against her jaw. "I've never wanted to give anyone forever before." My thumb was moving on its own, tracing small circles against her cheek as I watched her raise her incredible topaz eyes to mine. "I could give my forever to you."

"Zac"

"No. Stop fighting it, Ave. We're in love with each other. I know that now. I may have been an idiot about it for a long time, but I know I love you. You're it for me."

Her head dropped as the tears fell, her shoulders shaking. I pulled her against my chest, wrapped my arms around her, and just let her sob.

"I was trying to play it cool," she mumbled against my shirt. "I was trying to pretend that I could handle another one-night-stand with you. I was treating you as the guy you used to be, instead of the amazing man you've become." She raised her teary eyes to mine, adding, "And I'm sorry for that."

"You didn't want to leave?"

"It took everything I had to walk out that door."

"Sure didn't seem like it."

She offered a sheepish smile through her tears. "I can be a pretty good actress when it comes to protecting my heart."

"Ave," I scratched out, my voice unrecognizable to my own ears. "I promise you'll never have to protect your heart from me ever again." I bent down and stole a soft kiss from her perfect lips, amazed at the incredible woman in my arms. "I'll protect it for you."

My words brought a genuine smile to her beautiful face as she slid a hand up my chest and aimed those gorgeous eyes at mine. "Well, I should hope so. You know, considering it's yours and all."

She loves me. Was I the luckiest bastard in the world or what?

"Dammit, Ave. I can't even I love you. God help me, but I do."

PART THREE.

ZAC AND AVERY.

2005.

EPILOGUE.

St. Patrick's Day was always a madhouse at The Westlake. I'd only experienced one of them prior to tonight, but this one was even crazier than last year.

Zac had added some new drinks to the menu board for the occasion, and was offering up an altered version of my Vodka Seven which he named "Thrown for a Loop," or "Loopies," for short. It had been on the board for over a year, but tonight, they were green, thanks to a few drops of Creme de Menthe. The girls seemed to like them.

I was sipping on mine while I looked over the buffet table. Felix had made about fifty pounds of corned beef which was sliced and heaped into Sterno pans along with a million pounds of red potatoes and bags upon bags of rye, compliments of Roy Bread himself.

He and the other regulars were already half in the bag, singing songs from the Emerald Isle and downing their beers. Zac's brothers were all here, too, which always made for a great night. It was awesome that they were all in the same room at the same time. That didn't normally happen unless a big game or major event was going down.

Mercifully, the river dancers showed up, temporarily calling a halt to their crooning. Thank God. If I had to hear "Danny Boy" one more time, I might have gone insane.

The girls were adorable, with their green velvet dresses that swished as they danced and their ringlets piled on top of their bouncing heads. Seeing their talent-at such a young age-made me regret dropping out of ballet class at the age of nine.

Though, I suppose if I were going to be honest, I couldn't imagine I'd want to make a living as a ballerina when I was doing the one job that made me happiest. There was just something about the orderliness of my work that appealed to me.

Even if I took pride in the joy my parties brought others, I knew it wasn't the type of work that changed the world. That's what my sideline gigs at The Westlake were for.

When the dancers were through, I thanked them and handed their instructor a gift card, a donation from The Celtic Shop across town. The Westlake had become the hub of philanthropy in this town, and it seemed Zac couldn't go more than a month before people started sniffing around, wondering about our next event.

Which worked out great for everyone.

I always made some new contacts, Zac always gained some new customers, and the bar always made a ton of money for some really great charities.

When the guys saw me handing over the gift card, they all started their familiar chanting.

"Give-a-way! Give-a-way!"

Zac hopped up onto the bar and rang the triangle which always got everyone's attention. "Okay! Alright!" he laughed, shooting a good-natured eyeroll at me.

He was so damned good-looking, that boy. Especially when he was wearing such a goofy grin.

Once everyone settled down, he started in with his schpiel. "I've got a very special giveaway planned for tonight. I wasn't planning on doing it until later, but I guess there's no better time than the present."

He pulled something from his shirt pocket and twisted it around in his fingers as all eyes turned toward me. My eyes went wide and my mouth dropped open as I saw the diamond ring he was holding in his hand. He smiled that perfect Zac smile in my direction, and I felt my knees go weak.