Epilogue
NINE MONTHS LATER—OCTOBER
“Oh, fuck. Ro. Yes. Ugh, yes. Suck me. Don’t stop.”
Bennett dug the back of his head into the wall behind him and carded one hand through Sandro’s hair. A touch of product had been added to make it look artfully mussed for today’s event, so it wasn’t as soft as it normally—
“Ah shit,” Bennett almost yelled when Sandro began massaging his balls.
“Shh,” Sandro said, chuckling quietly. “Do you want people to come in here to investigate the noise?”
Christ, he was sexy on his knees at Bennett’s feet, that artfully mussed hair now not-so-artfully mussed. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
Sandro’s smile went charmingly sweet. “Did I rattle your brain?”
“You always do.”
“Aw. Just for that, you get to come.”
“Was I not going to come before?”
“You were,” Sandro said. “But I was going to tease it out of you. But since you said nice things about me, I think I’ll let you come now instead.”
His mouth was back on Bennett’s erection in the next second, and Bennett’s knees went weak.
“Oh my god.” Bennett let out a long moan, his toes curling in his shoes. “Ro. I’m gonna—”
Sandro pulled off and jacked him, and when he came, he saw enough stars to light up a room, spilling all over Sandro’s fist. Spent, he sank against the wall, his head floating somewhere beyond the here and now.
Sandro rose and nipped his chin. “How do you feel? Still nervous?”
“About what?” Bennett muttered, his softening dick still in Sandro’s hand.
Sandro pretended to wipe dust off his shoulder. “Mission accomplished.”
“You’re very proud of yourself.”
“Uh, yeah.” Sandro grabbed a towel from one of the nearby shelves and wiped them both off before tossing the towel into a laundry hamper.
Convenient, this supply closet he’d secreted them into.
Bennett tucked himself away. He brought Sandro in for a quick kiss, then patted his hair down. “You look like you’ve been doing exactly what you’ve been doing.”
Sandro pumped his eyebrows. “Let’s see if anyone else notices. Come on.” And circling his fingers around Bennett’s wrist, he led them out of the closet.
The lobby of Burlington’s Flynn Theater was packed with people for the premiere of Bennett’s new series.
They were premiering the first episode today to the Trailblazers’ organization, family and friends, the crew, and select hockey podcasters, bloggers, and reporters.
Influencers and members of the media would get a sneak peek at the rest of the series before every episode went live at once on a major streaming platform next week.
Bennett was still pinching himself.
Sandro muttered that he was heading to the restroom to wash his hands, leaving Bennett among his peers in the Art Deco lobby. So much for Sandro’s quick escape to the supply closet—Bennett’s nerves returned tenfold, making his hands tingly.
This series was the biggest project he’d ever worked on.
After months of . . . well, trailing the Trailblazers around, interviewing them and then reinterviewing them, horning in on team outings and private moments, sitting in on meetings, watching how dedicated every member of the organization was and how the players pushed past pain, and then spending a few months after that in post-production . . .
By the time he’d had six episodes he was happy enough with to show David, he’d been exhausted, but in a way that made his soul feel lighter. Exhausted but happy and excited and proud . . .
And so goddamn nervous.
This was no Chain of Command—critics wouldn’t pan it.
Deep down, he knew that. But he was still nervous as hell for the world to see what he’d created.
He’d left a part of himself on this project, and giving that part to friends, colleagues, and strangers alike felt a bit like asking a crush on a date and hoping not to be shut down.
“There you are.”
Bennett smiled as his mom emerged from behind Eli Parker, who was talking to one of the podcasters. He nodded at the champagne flute in her hand. “Where’d you get that?”
“At the bar over there. Want one?”
“More like a dozen.”
She smiled, and it reminded him of all the times he’d handed her crappy school artwork and she’d smiled like he was the next Picasso. “Nervous?”
“No, I’m—” He shook his head and forced himself not to hide.
If he was allowed to take up space in Sandro’s life, he was allowed to take up space in his mom’s.
“Yeah, actually. I want everyone to watch the series, but at the same time, I don’t want them to watch it.
Because what if they hate it? Then I have to live with that. ”
“Hate to break it to you, sweetie, but some people will hate it. You can’t please everyone.”
He stared at her for a long beat, amusement briefly eclipsing the nerves. “Wow. If that’s your idea of a pep talk, it needs work.”
She laughed, and it was such a joyful sound that Bennett couldn’t help but smile back. Sandro’s parents were here too, but Bennett had lost them in the crowded lobby.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier,” Mom said, straightening the lapels of his leather jacket, “but you look very handsome.”
Bennett grunted. “Thanks. David had his stylist dress me. I think he was worried I’d show up in ripped jeans and a T-shirt.”
“Would you have?”
“I mean, probably.”
Mom sighed theatrically. “You have no class. That’s my fault.”
Bennett’s jaw dropped. “Jeez. Someone’s feeling sassy today.”
“Who’s feeling sassy?” Sandro asked, appearing at Bennett’s side.
“There you are.” Mom kissed his cheek. “I was wondering where my son’s better half went.”
Sandro preened. “I knew you liked me best. And I was just in the restroom. Where’d you get the champagne?”
“Over there at the bar.” She pointed behind him. “Get some for Bennett too. He says he needs a dozen.”
Sandro’s expression softened, and he squeezed Bennett’s wrist. “You’ve got this. And hey.” He nodded over Bennett’s shoulder. “I think someone wants to talk to you.”
Bennett turned, and standing behind him was a woman wearing a lanyard identifying her as a reporter for a local news station.
“Rosa South.” She held out a hand with a smile. “And this is my camera operator, Lauren. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Of course.”
As he spoke with Rosa, Bennett kept his mom and Sandro in sight.
Watching them laugh together filled something in him that he couldn’t describe.
There was a sense of rightness to having them in the same room again that he hadn’t realized he’d missed until Sandro had accompanied him for a visit to his mom’s in Washington state a couple of months ago.
Things with Sandro were good. Really good. They’d both spent the summer splitting their time between LA and Burlington—and, in Sandro’s case, Tobermory. There’d been a week here and there where they’d been in different states—or different countries—but they’d had work to keep them busy.
Fifteen years ago, they’d been young twenty-somethings ready to take on the world. Except it turned out that Bennett hadn’t been ready to take on the world—or, at least, not the world he’d thought he’d wanted—and he’d pushed away the best person in his life.
Now? He was so ready to take on the world, and with his favorite person at his side, life would never be boring.
Last month, he’d given up his apartment in Los Angeles and officially moved in with Sandro. His work forced him to travel, just like Sandro’s, but when he wasn’t filming, he’d be in Burlington unless David needed him in LA.
Speaking of David, he ushered everyone into the auditorium. Feeling a little faint, Bennett sat between his mom and Sandro. His hands were sweaty. Hell, everywhere was sweaty, but if he removed his jacket, everyone would be able to smell his flop sweat.
“Hey,” Sandro said in his ear as the lights dimmed. He ran a hand along Bennett’s thigh. “Don’t worry. It’s an amazing series. We all told you so, remember?”
Select members of the Trailblazers’ organization, including most of the players, had already seen an early preview of all six episodes. And sure, everyone had told him it was good, but it wasn’t like they were going to tell him it sucked to his face.
Ramsey might have, but even he’d admitted that showcasing the players’ vulnerabilities and weaknesses, their pain and fears and tears, made the series stronger.
Bennett had nearly wept at that pronouncement.
And Sandro’s monologue to Eli about his rookie season, and Eli’s frustrations about how to survive under the pressure? They had made it into the first episode because the wellness initiative was a theme that tied the entire series together.
The audience quieted, eager for what was to come.
The first episode began, Trailblazing the Way Forward appearing in block letters before an animated hockey stick sent them whirling off screen with a slapshot.
Then, the opening scene, a montage of shots—a player tying his skates, a slow-motion clip of players walking down the chute, cheering fans, a player taping their stick—and over it, Bellamy Jordan’s voice.
“I wasn’t one of those kids who was constantly told he was a hockey phenom. Then scouts started coming around, and my coaches told me I had a real shot at being a pro hockey player.”
The video panned over Bellamy from behind, catching his last name on his jersey, then changed to a three-second highlight of Bellamy’s goals from last season.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m walking in someone else’s shoes. You ever get everything you want and not know what to do with it? That’s scarier than it has any right to be.”
Cut to the Trailblazers celebrating after winning the Cup three seasons ago. Two seasons ago.
Last season.
“How did we do it?” Dabbs, standing next to the Cup on his Day with the Cup in July, smiled wryly at the camera. “It’s going to sound cliché, but—”
Then came each player on the roster.
“Teamwork.”
“Teamwork.”
“Teamwork.”
“Teamwork.”
The flop sweat dried on Bennett’s skin, and he looked over at Sandro, who was already looking at him with a giddy I’m-so-damn-proud-of-you smile. Bennett smiled back, his heart beating for this man and this man only.
Yeah. Bring on the goddamn world.