Chapter 250: She’ll Be So Proud Of You

Reid didn’t answer immediately. His thumb moved in small, rhythmic circles over the baby’s tiny shirt, his jaw setting into that familiar, stubborn line I knew all too well.

"Tell them no," Reid said, his voice flat, exhausted, but firm. "Don’t push it back. Kain earned that banner. He bled for that team, and he deserves to see #14 in the rafters, even if..." His breath hitched slightly, his fingers tightening against his knees. "...even if he isn’t here to pull the chord himself."

"Reid..." Brad stepped closer, resting a heavy, warm hand on his son’s uninjured shoulder. "You don’t have to carry all of this on your own. Fidora and I, the Evans family... we’re right here."

"I know," Reid murmured, looking down at his reflection in the blue water. "I just... I keep expecting him to walk in through those doors and tell me I’m being an idiot."

I let out a soft, wet laugh beside him, resting my ghostly hand over his back, right where Brad’s hand lay.

"I am calling you an idiot," I whispered softly into his ear, resting my chin on his shoulder once more. "You’re doing amazing, Reid. Look at her. She’s safe, she’s healthy, and she has you. Just... don’t shut them out."

Reid reached down, his fingers gently brushing against our baby girl’s soft blonde hair. She let out a tiny, contented squeak, her grey eyes blinking up at him with unconditional trust.

"We’ll go to the ceremony," Reid said quietly, looking up at his father. "For Kain."

"For Kain," Brad agreed softly, giving Reid’s shoulder one last supportive squeeze before stepping back toward the house to give him space.

As the glass doors clicked shut behind Brad, Reid leaned his head back slightly, his eyes drifting shut as the cool breeze stirred his hair. I wrapped my arms tighter around his chest, holding him close, determined to stay right beside him for every tear, every step, and every banner that would ever rise in my name.

He held her against his chest—uninjured side supporting her head—and rested his chin right over her soft, fine hair.

"Did you hear that, Sarah?" Reid whispered into the quiet air, his voice barely holding together. "We’re going to go see your daddy’s banner."

Sarah—that was our little girl’s name.

"She’ll be so proud of you," I murmured, leaning my ghostly face against his cheek, pressing as close as my lingering form would allow. "And so am I, Reid. You’re doing so well."

Reid didn’t answer, but I hoped he would at least know that.

The weeks leading up to the ceremony passed like a blur of soft lights and heavy silences.

I stayed glued to Reid’s side through every part of it. I sat beside him in the quiet nursery during late-night feedings, leaning my ghostly cheek against his shoulder as he rocked Sarah back to sleep. I stood right behind him when he packed a small suit for her and dressed himself in a tailored charcoal jacket, his hand trembling slightly as he adjusted his tie in the mirror, reminiscing how I used to adjust it for him.

When the night finally arrived, the atmosphere inside the arena was deafening yet solemn.

The stadium was packed to the brim—twenty thousand fans wearing #14 jerseys, holding up illuminated signs, their voices blending into a low, rumbling murmur of reverence. Down by the rink, the ice had been covered with a black carpet, leading toward center ice where two microphones and a draped banner frame stood waiting.

Reid walked out onto the ice holding Sarah close against his chest in a dark wrap, his posture rigid and tall despite the hollow ache in his eyes. On his left stood Brad and Fidora; on his right stood Marina, her eyes red-rimmed but her jaw set firm, flanked by the rest of my family.

I floated right beside Reid, my hand resting flat over his back, my chest aching with a profound, bitter beauty.

"Look at them all, Reid," I whispered into the chill air, glancing up at the sea of fans. "They remember. Every single one of them."

The lights dimmed, leaving a single, bright spotlight centered on us.

Marcus, the general manager, stepped up to the microphone first, his voice echoing through the massive arena speakers. He spoke of my career—the brutal hits, the clutch goals, the leadership, and the relentless heart I gave to the franchise. With every word, the crowd cheered, a rising wave of applause that shook the very rafters of the stadium.

Then, Marcus turned to Reid.

"And now, to officially raise #14 into the rafters where it permanently belongs... Kain’s husband, Reid McCoy."

A thunderous ovation erupted. Reid stepped forward to the microphone, cradling Sarah securely with one arm while his other hand reached for the velvet pull-cord. He looked up at the darkened ceiling, his dark grey eyes shimmering with unshed tears under the harsh stadium lights.

He didn’t give a long speech. He didn’t need to. He simply leaned into the microphone, his voice raspy, trembling, yet echoing with absolute devotion across the silent arena.

"You gave everything to this game, Cap," Reid whispered into the mic, his voice carrying to every corner of the stadium. "Now it’s time to rest. We’ve got it from here."

Reid pulled the cord.

The massive banner unrolled slowly, revealing my name and number—EVANS #14—bold, silver, and permanent against the franchise colors. As the banner began its slow ascent into the rafters, twenty thousand people rose to their feet, their roars deafening, chanting my name over and over again.

EVANS! EVANS! EVANS!

Reid stood there, watching my number rise higher and higher, tears finally spilling over his lashes and tracking down his cheeks. He tightened his grip on Sarah, bringing her tiny hand up so her small fingers rested over his heart.

I stepped right in front of him, floating inches away, looking straight into his eyes.

"Thank you, Reid," I sobbed, my ghostly tears glowing faint in the spotlight as I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face into his shoulder. "Thank you for loving me. Thank you for being her father."

And right then, as the roar of the crowd reached its absolute peak and my banner settled into its place high above the ice, Reid let out a soft, shuddering breath. He slowly turned his head toward where I stood, his grey eyes locking directly into mine for a split second, as if—just for a single, fleeting heartbeat—the veil between the living and the dead thinned enough for him to finally see me standing beside him.