Epilogue
CONNOR
“Queer Collective is taking over the owner’s suite!” The loud, booming voice comes from the entrance, and I don’t need to look to know who it is.
“You’re going to regret letting Ezra Palaszczuk into our space,” I mutter to Parker.
I’m getting used to the Collective guys. Slowly. They’re a lot, and they go against every PR-trained thought I have, but they’re not my problem. They have their own PR managers and agents for that.
Parker smiles. “One, I love that you call my suite our space now, and two, look at me, I have friends now.”
And I love that for him.
If it were anyone else in the league, I would question their motives behind their move to be friends with him—not because Parker isn’t loveable, but as he even admits himself, he’s not good at the friend thing. Something about trust issues from when he was a teenager. Have no idea what he’s talking about with that. But while the Collective are a lot of big personalities, they’re a great group of guys underneath all of that. The entire reason they got together in the first place was to make sure queer players in the league had a support system .
Parker turns to Ezra and Anton. “Welcome. Help yourself to food, beer, whatever you want.”
They both glance around the suite, from the large table of food in the center to the fridges and counters around the sides to the tiered seating below, and Ezra says, “Can I fuck our owner to get my own box like this?”
“Question,” Anton says. “Theoretically, if you fuck our owner and get a suite … when will you use it, exactly? You can’t watch the game and be on the ice at the same time.”
“Don’t ruin my fantasy with logic. Maybe I could live in it. Turn it into our sex den. You don’t know. Or maybe I could be like Con here and reti—” Ezra gags. “Retir—” He gags again. “Nope, can’t even joke about that.” His icy blue eyes meet mine. “I don’t know how you did it, but it looks good on you.”
It feels good too. Though the whole not coming back hasn’t been announced publicly yet. Coach and I have had a lot of talks about it, and while I know he hopes I’ll change my mind, he also respects if this is something I need to do. “No idea what you’re talking about. I’m injured. So, so injured.”
“I heard,” Ezra says. “What injury is it? Upper body, lower body …”
“Yes. All of them.”
Anton puts his hand on Ezra’s lower back. “I’m getting food. You want anything?”
“Sure.”
I expect Ezra to go with him, but he doesn’t. He stays standing in front of me, arms now folded, and I get the impression he’s waiting for something from me. He studies my face but says nothing.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re an anomaly, and I think you should be studied. Like, in a lab. Or a zoo.”
See? Supportive all the way …
“You’re a peculiar kind of grown-up. ”
“He’s not a grown-up at all.” Oskar, another Collective member, joins us and pats Ezra’s back.
“And why should I be studied in a lab?” I ask.
“Oh,” Oskar says, “if that’s what you’re talking about, then I agree with Ezra.”
“What? Why?”
“The official story is you’re on long-term IR because Novi hit you so hard you had a ruptured spleen or your brain flew out of your head or whatever lie it was, I can’t remember, but we all know the truth. You’re not injured at all. You wanted out. And now, here’s your team playing in the Stanley Cup Final, and you could technically be back out there and get your name on that Cup. Yet, you’re up here. With us. Instead of on the ice with your brother.”
I bite my lip because that same thought has crossed my mind many times over these playoffs.
Even though I played on the team this season, I didn’t hit the qualifying forty regular games to be included on the Cup should they take it out. I’d only have to play one game in the final to qualify, which is why I’ve been thinking about it, but when I really assess why I’d want to be out there, the reasons don’t hold enough weight for me.
I’d be doing it just so I could say I’m a Stanley Cup champion. To almost prove that doing as I was told for decades was somehow worth it because my name was on a trophy. That’s not enough for me. There’s a reason I wanted to stop playing.
“I didn’t like the person I was when I put the whole importance of my existence into hockey, so I don’t want to be rewarded for it.” It’s as simple as that, but apparently, it doesn’t appease them.
“I will never understand,” Oskar says.
“Does not compute,” Ezra adds.
I look to Parker to defend me.
All he does is shake his head and say, “Hey, I’m with them. I think you should be playing. ”
He does, and I know he’s trying to be supportive, but the thought of going out there and not winning? Not getting him that Cup that he so desperately wants for his dad? I can’t do it. I can’t be a part of his disappointment. Maybe it’s a superstitious thing or a self-preservation thing, but I’d rather not have that hanging over my head for the rest of our lives.
Instead, I’ll be by his side to reassure him it will happen next year or the year after that, and I’m certain of that because there’s one thing I’m sure of, and it’s that Easton Kikishkin has Stanley Cup champion written all over him. I know it’ll happen for him one day.
I just hope today is that day.
“And I told you that Easton has got this.” I wrap my arm around Parker and kiss the top of his head.
Anton comes back with some food for him and Ezra, and his gaze snags on us. “Wait, are you two out as a couple? Did I miss that?”
The entire Collective knows about Parker and me, thanks to coming out to them at Easton’s birthday party, but we’re still on the DL when it comes to the team. Though kissing his head where there is an arena full of staff coming and going in the suite probably isn’t the smartest, sometimes I can’t help myself. I release him and put a gap between us. Reluctantly.
I want Parker by my side always. “We’re not out yet. But soon. I’m announcing that I’m not coming back during the off-season, and we figure next season sometime, we can start being not so careful.”
Ezra turns to Anton. “If we weren’t allowed to be together, would you quit for me?”
Anton’s eyes practically bug out of his head. “Umm …”
“It’s not love if you don’t quit your job for your partner,” Oskar says. “Lane did it for me.”
“Would you ?” Anton asks Ezra.
They stare at each other, neither willing to admit that, no, they wouldn’t, and I feel the need to step in .
“The good news is, neither of you have to, and neither did I. I didn’t quit so I could be with Parker. I was going to be with him either way. I left because of my own shit. I walked away myself.”
“Gun to my head …” Ezra says. “Yes, I would give up hockey for you.” His delivery needs some work because it totally sounds like he’s lying.
Anton swallows hard. “Same.”
“But we don’t have to do that, right?” Ezra looks so scared it’s almost comical.
“Hell no,” Anton says.
“Good. We should, uh, not talk to Connor anymore. He makes no sense and scares me into thinking thoughts I really shouldn’t.”
“I’m really feeling the Collective love here,” I say dryly as they walk away from us.
Oskar stays.
“You don’t want to run away too?” I ask.
“Nah, I get it. Expectations, playing, retirement … sometimes I think it would be easier if I retired after my contract too.”
Thank fuck there’s no one else around us to hear that. I could see the dramatics now. It’s surprising, but there comes a time in every athlete’s life where they have to reassess their priorities.
“You’re thinking about leaving?”
“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet. But you know what they say, once these thoughts start popping up, it doesn’t take long for them to take over.”
I scoff. “Understatement in my case. Once I thought it, I was on board.”
“Don’t let Ezra and Anton make you second-guess yourself,” Oskar says. “I think they’re going to keep playing until no one wants them anymore. They’ll be in their eighties with walking frames in front of a cardboard cutout crowd with a three o’clock puck drop so that they’re in bed by the time the real game starts.”
“That sounds like them. But they’re not getting to me at all.” It’s the opposite even. Because while they’re acting like retiring is the worst thing in the world, all that’s going on in my head is wanting to ask them if they’re aware it is literally a game .
I won’t though. Because being thrown off this suite’s balcony is low on my bucket list.
But my point stands. Despite what I was told growing up, hockey doesn’t hold much meaning to me. Winning doesn’t hold the honor they think it does.
Making a difference in the world is what I want to do.
And while the Collective and everyone in it is doing their part—they’re out queer athletes in the public limelight—I want to be more involved than that. I want to see the results firsthand by working with future generations.
I haven’t started yet, but I have a plan. It will involve traveling all over the country and even Canada, and for most of it, Parker will be right there by my side. There will be some times where he’ll need to be with the team to work on the glitches in his new training program. I might be done with hockey, but he isn’t, and he doesn’t have to be.
He does it to feel closer to his father, and I will never deny him that.
More Collective guys arrive, as well as Knox, who looks more nervous than Parker. He so desperately wants this win for Easton, and so do I.
The team made it so far last season, but not this far. And for it to be a game seven, the stakes are so high tonight. The series has been going one for one until Tampa led into game six. Our guys fought tooth and nail to win the last game, and now, here we are.
For some reason, I’m eerily calm about it all. I’m confident. For whatever reason, the pit in my gut tells me Colorado is going to win this one. Or maybe I’m merely hoping for it for Parker’s sake. For his dad.
While the suite fills with Collective members and their partners, I’m reminded of how close everyone in this group is. It reiterates to me that no matter what I end up doing with my life, Easton will have these guys watching over him.
He may hate my overprotective side, and even though I’ve tried to shut it down, it turns out being protective of what’s mine is a true Connor trait. I have learned, though, that not every protective move or thought needs to be said out loud. I can worry about my brothers, but I have no right to try to run their lives. I understand the balance now.
“Is Little Kiki coming?” Dex asks me.
“He’s here, but he’s sitting with Mom and Dad.”
Tripp frowns. “Because he’s still not technically out, and they think hanging out with us would be bad for his career or what?”
Tripp is almost as overprotective of my brothers as I am because of what our parents and I put on them, and I think he always expects me to be defensive over it, but I’m not. Because in the end, both Tripp and I want the same thing—for my brothers to be happy.
I smile. “Nope. Lachie chose to sit with Mom and Dad because, in his words, he can’t trust himself not to screw up by offering to get on his knees for anyone in this room. Apparently, you’re all too hot or whatever. I personally don’t see it, but …”
Tripp ignores my dig at him. “Just because he offers doesn’t mean we’d take him up on the offer.”
I can see now how the overprotective thing can get annoying. For the millionth time, I send up silent apologies to my brothers.
“Did someone just offer a blowjob?” Oskar calls out from where he’s now sitting and watching warm-ups .
Tripp points in Oskar’s direction. “Okay, he might take up that offer, seeing as Lane is still in California.”
“No, I wouldn’t! I would watch though. I’m allowed to do that.” Oskar says this so proudly and without shame.
I guess Lane can tame some of that man’s old ways, but not all of them. I think about Parker saying shit like that, and it makes me want to hold on to him and never let him out of my sight. Connor Kikishkin doesn’t share.
Even if it’s only voyeurism and Parker wouldn’t do anything but watch. Nope. Fuck that noise.
He’s mine.
And as if proving how perfect he is for me, Parker leans in close and asks quietly, “Are people actually okay with being watched? Or being the watcher, for that matter? Do you keep eye contact? Do you pretend you’re not blatantly staring at two people having sex? I’d be so self-conscious I’d probably have my hands up the whole time like ‘I’m not doing anything with my hands.’“
I laugh. “Good thing we will never have to worry about that because there’s no way in hell you’re going anywhere near other couples having sex.”
“Thank God.” The tension leaves his shoulders. “Wait, and no one will ever be allowed to watch us?”
I growl. “No one gets to see you naked but me.”
Parker smiles. “So possessive.”
“You love me this way.”
He doesn’t falter. “I do. I love all of you.”
“I love all of you too.” I didn’t know this kind of love existed. The kind that has the word forever floating around in my head. The type of love where he not only makes me a better person but is supportive in whatever I want to do. Where that feeling is reciprocated and not just taken.
We’re in this thing called life together, and I never want that to change.
I so badly want to lean in and kiss him, but we still have to be patient about that. Soon, it won’t matter if we’re seen together, and I can’t wait for that day. Until then, we’ll have to settle with being side by side, looking like we’re friends and nothing more.
“Pregame is starting,” someone says while at the same time, Westly Dalton arrives with his husband, Jasper, and brother Asher. Asher and Jasper greet us but move on quickly to get food and drinks. They seem close for brothers-in-law, and I can’t help picturing a day where Lachie or Easton will be like that with Parker. Pouring him a drink. Grabbing tongs and putting a salmon puff on his plate.
We’ll never have to worry about that kind of thing with Knox because he’s already like one of our family. But I want that for Parker. I want my brothers to be his brothers, and even though he has a mom, I want my parents to be like a second set for him. He’s been alone for way too long. There’s nothing wrong with that if he wanted it, but he craves affection and closeness. He just never got the chance to let himself be vulnerable with anyone.
“Good luck tonight,” West says to Parker. “It’s nerve-racking even for me, and I have no skin in this game.”
While West talks, Novi walks into the suite.
“Did I miss puck drop?”
“Hey, you made it,” I say. “You’re here.”
“I am.” And even if he looks like he’s about to shit a brick, this is a big step for him.
Parker and West continue with their conversation.
“Maybe you’re still recovering from your own Frozen Four loss,” Parker says. “That’s why it’s so nerve-racking for you.”
West throws his head back. “Don’t remind me. Colby Kessinger is way too good a coach to be stuck coaching D1 hockey.”
Novi’s head swivels so quickly in West’s direction I’d worry it would fall off if his neck wasn’t so thick. For a forward, he’s built like a defenseman. No, a linebacker. For a hockey player in general, he’s bigger than average, yet even at thirty-eight, he’s still fast out on the ice.
“Uh, did you say Kessinger?” Novi asks, his voice thick and raspy. Almost like he’s trying to talk around a swollen tongue or dry throat.
“Yep. Though rumor is he’s been offered a job in the NHL.” West cocks his head. “For your team, I believe. Do you know something we don’t?” West’s eyes light up. “Please tell me he’s your new coach and he’s leaving college hockey? My guys might have a shot of actually winning next year if that’s the case.”
I want to point out that a coach doesn’t make a team win or lose, but nope, no more being that “ Actually … ” guy. No one likes that guy.
“I goddamn hope not,” Novi mumbles under his breath. I don’t think he wants any of us to hear it, but we do anyway. Or, at least, I do. When he sees we’re still staring at him to elaborate, he says, “We used to play in the AHL together. Back when we were first drafted.”
“Ah. So you’ve met the ‘I’m so confident it’s borderline cocky’ guy yourself.”
“Met him? I roomed with him on the road. He was a top ten draft pick back in the day, you know. Want to know how I know that? He’d tell me. All. The. Time.”
West laughs. “That sounds about right, but hey, look where you are and where he is. Did he even ever play a game in the NHL?”
“No. I got called up before he did, and then …” Novi pauses. “I don’t know what happened to him after that.”
I get the feeling there’s more to the story there, but I’m not going to be the one to ask for more from Novi.
He really is the most terrifying man I’ve probably ever met. If it hadn’t been for all the anger and adrenaline passing through me that day on the ice with him, I never would’ve thought fighting him was a good idea. But I’m glad I did because since then, we’ve kind of become friends.
When I’d invited him here, I told him there was absolutely no pressure, especially considering outside of his family, I’m the only one who knows he’s gay, but he’s doing it.
“You want to get a drink?” Parker asks West. I’m so proud of him for putting himself out there like he is. Yes, deep down, he’s still that insecure guy from high school, but he’s masking it well. He’ll be exhausted later from all the socializing, and if it was my choice, I’d be happy to be up here by ourselves with only my family, but he wants this. It’s like he’s had a taste of what a vast support network looks like, and now he can’t get enough.
The introvert inside him hates him for it though.
I’ll be sure to give him an all-body massage later to help him relax and get over the people exhaustion.
With those two getting drinks, it leaves Novi and me standing somewhere between the entry to the suite and the seats where everyone is getting ready for the puck to drop.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
He shifts his weight to his other foot. Glances around like he wants to make sure no one’s looking at him. I’m guessing the answer to my question is a no.
“You want to meet everyone or?—”
“I know everyone. I kick their asses on the ice every day.”
I snort.
“Novicov?” Ezra asks as he walks back from the bar area with another drink. “Are you lost?”
It’s not judgment in his tone, more confusion, and I get it. To outsiders, it would look like Novi wouldn’t want anything to do with the Collective.
“Palaszczuk.” Novi gives him an up-nod.
Ezra’s eyes soften, and he places his free hand over his heart. “I don’t even care if you’re lost. Your perfect pronunciation of my name means we’re already best friends. ”
Novi leans in closer to me. “Do I want to be best friends with him?”
“That depends on how much attention you want to bring on yourself.”
“I’m right here, you know,” Ezra says. “Besides, that’s a common misconception. When I walk into a room, it doesn’t matter who’s with me. Everyone’s eyes go to me.”
Somehow, I think that’s the misconception. They’re all probably wondering how in the hell Anton got slutbag Ezra to stop sleeping around and what’s wrong with Anton to want to be the guy on Ezra’s arm.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have come here,” Novi says.
It’s slowly but finally sinking in with Ez.
“Oh. Ohhhh. New blood. Nice. Umm, okay. Wow. Okay …”
“You’d think he’d be used to this moment by now,” Novi says. “Isn’t he captain of this queer … what does Little Dalton call it? Babysitter club?”
I’m sure Asher Dalton is off snickering into his drink if he can overhear us. I also love how when Novi wants to be snarky, his Russian accent comes out thicker, and he thinks no one knows what he’s doing.
He’s been in this country for seventeen years. He knows the English words for things. He just pretends he doesn’t so he can get out of awkward situations.
I’m not bitter about it. Just jealous.
Meanwhile, we’ve been so busy talking the three of us miss the puck drop. And the first entire minute of the game.
“Easton scored,” Tripp yells out.
Only a minute and twenty seconds in and little bro has already scored? That’s amazing, but the team can’t get complacent. A one-goal lead is good, but it’s so easy to have it go bye-bye. Parker appears back at my side. “We’re missing the game.”
He pulls me away from Ezra and Novi and drags me to the front row of seats where Knox is sitting .
I watch as my brother and former teammates fight like hell to widen the lead. They spend almost all their time in our offensive zone, and Tampa’s poor goalie looks like he’s already exhausted.
I turn to Parker. “I bet your dad is looking down on us, so fucking happy for you.”
Parker slaps his hand over my mouth. “I thought hockey players were superstitious.”
I pull his hand away. “In the words of Michael Scott, I’m not superstitious, but I am a little stitious. Besides. I’m not a hockey player anymore.”
“Still. Don’t jinx my team, dude.”
“Aww. Dude . Team . Next thing you’ll be like Miles and Bilson calling everyone bro .” I run my hand over Parker’s neat hair and mess it up. “My little jocky dude bro.”
“Shut up.”
“Easton scored again,” Tripp yells out.
What the hell?
We turn our gaze back to the ice and the giant screen above the arena.
The camera zooms in on Easton, and he looks right up at us and gives Parker a salute.
Smart-ass.
“He really is going to do it,” Parker says.
“Now who’s jinxing them? We’re in the first period and only up by two. Anything could happen.”
“Nah. I feel it. Like you said, Dad’s up there watching. It’s going to happen. But even if it doesn’t, just getting to share this with you, being in a place mentally where I’ve never been happier, where I’m moving in the right direction with my software, with the team … Cup or no Cup, I’m where I’m supposed to be.”
I nudge him with my shoulder. “And that’s with me, right?”
“With you is where I belong.”
“Damn straight. ”
Parker nudges me back. “Or not so straight.”
I want to lean over and kiss him so badly, but I’ll have to settle for the shared smile instead.
I’ve never felt something so right.
That is, until Colorado dominates all three periods, and I watch my brother hoist that Cup over his head.
Okay, now everything is right.