Epilogue #2
"Hi everyone," Sarah said brightly. "These are our special guests—Theo Callahan and Luca Moretti from the Chicago Storm."
A few kids clapped. Most just stared.
Luca stepped forward, his captain voice steady and warm. "Thanks for having us. We know you probably have questions, so we’ll do a short talk and then open it up. Sound good?"
Nods. Nervous energy filled the room.
We spent ninety minutes talking about our journey.
We kept it appropriate for the younger kids, but honest about the fear and the hiding and the moment we’d decided to stop pretending.
Luca talked about spending sixteen years closeted, about how coming out had felt like stepping off a cliff but the landing had been softer than he’d imagined.
I talked about being out young, about how my family and college team had supported me, about how I’d still been terrified coming into the NHL because it was different when your entire career could be affected.
The questions came fast after that.
"Did your team freak out?"
"No," Luca said simply. "They were amazing. Better than I expected."
"Do people say mean stuff?"
"Yes," I answered honestly. "Some people do. But way more people have been supportive. And the mean ones—their opinions don't matter."
"Are you scared someone will hurt you?"
Luca’s jaw tightened but his voice stayed steady. "Sometimes. But I’m more scared of going back to hiding."
A girl in the back—maybe sixteen, wearing a goalie jersey—raised her hand tentatively. "How did you know it was worth it? Coming out?"
Luca looked at me. Something unguarded passed between us. Then he turned back to her. "Because living a lie was slowly killing me. And I met someone who made me want to be brave."
My throat went tight. The kids were watching us with naked hunger, like we were proof that happy endings existed.
"You all deserve to be yourselves," I said. "Hockey doesn't belong to people who want to make you small. It belongs to everyone who loves the game."
When we finished, kids swarmed us for autographs and selfies and whispered confessions. A boy who couldn't have been older than twelve grabbed my hand and said, "Thank you for being brave," and I had to blink back tears.
Luca handled it with perfect composure, signing jerseys and answering questions. But I saw the way his hand shook slightly when a kid thanked him for making them feel less alone.
In the parking lot afterward, he sagged against the car. "That was..."
"A lot," I finished.
"Yeah." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "God, some of those kids—they looked so scared."
"You gave them hope."
"We gave them hope." He pulled me close, burying his face in my neck. "I keep thinking about how different my life would have been if I’d had this at fourteen. If I’d seen even one out player and known it was possible."
I held him, feeling the tension slowly drain from his shoulders. This was the weight he carried now—not secrecy, but responsibility. We had become symbols whether we wanted to or not. Role models. Proof.
"You’re doing exactly what you needed back then," I said quietly. "You’re showing them it’s possible."
We drove home in comfortable silence, Luca’s hand resting on my thigh, the city lights streaking past.
Back in the apartment, we changed into sweats and curled up on the couch with takeout Thai food and a documentary about Antarctic explorers that I pretended to pay attention to. Mostly, I watched Luca’s face in the television glow.
This was my favorite version of him—unguarded and soft, his mask completely gone. Just Luca. Not the captain. Not the media personality. Just the man who hogged the blankets and did the crossword in pen and looked at me like I’d hung the moon.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked during a commercial break.
"You."
"Sap."
"You like it."
"I really do." He kissed me slowly. "Want to go to the practice rink?"
I pulled back, surprised. "Now? It’s almost ten."
"I know." His smile went crooked. "I was thinking about that night. After the game, when we both showed up."
"The night you kissed me and then ran away?"
"I didn't run. I retreated strategically."
"You ran."
"Okay, I ran." He stood, pulling me up with him. "But I want to go back. With you. Properly this time."
Twenty minutes later, we parked outside the Storm’s practice facility.
The building was dark except for security lights. The parking lot was empty. Luca had a key card for after-hours access—captain privileges—and we slipped inside like we were breaking in even though we had every right to be there.
The rink was cold and quiet. The ice gleamed under the emergency lighting. Our breath fogged in the air. I grabbed my skates from my locker and Luca did the same. We laced up in silence that felt heavy with memory.
The ice was perfect—freshly resurfaced, smooth as glass.
We glided out together. My body remembered this, muscles falling into familiar patterns, edges sharp and sure.
Luca skated beside me, matching my pace, our movements synchronized from months of practice and games and the kind of chemistry that made us lethal on the ice.
"Run the drill?" he asked, pulling a puck from his pocket.
"Which one?"
"The one from that night."
I knew which one he meant. The drill we’d run that night three months ago, when everything had been secret and terrifying and new. When he’d body-checked me into the boards and I’d challenged him and he’d kissed me like he was drowning.
We set up. Luca at center ice. Me defending.
He dropped the puck and accelerated, coming at me fast and controlled. I angled to cut him off. He deked left, stick handling impossibly quick. I pivoted and caught him with a solid check—controlled, nothing dangerous, just pressure.
He grinned, breathing hard. "Again."
We ran it five times. The physical contact was charged with muscle memory and unspoken promise. On the sixth run, I checked him into the boards—carefully, playfully—and pinned him there with my body, both of us breathing hard.
"You’re getting better at defense," he said.
"Good teacher."
His eyes darkened. "Theo..."
"Yeah, Cap?"
He kissed me then. It was urgent and claiming. I kissed him back just as hard, my gloves hitting the ice, my hands finding his face.
This was where it started. This was where everything changed.
When we finally broke apart, Luca was smiling—the real smile, unguarded and bright, the smile I’d worked so hard to earn.
"Are you going to keep pretending you aren't planning to propose?" I asked.
He went very still. "What?"
"The ring box I found when I was looking for your spare phone charger last week." I raised an eyebrow. "Were you planning to tell me or just carry it around until you worked up the nerve?"
"I..." He laughed, sharp and surprised. "You’re impossible."
"You love me anyway."
"I really do." His expression turned serious, vulnerable in a way that still made my chest tight. Then he dropped to one knee on the ice.
My heart stopped.
"Theo Callahan." His voice shook slightly but his eyes were steady.
"You made me brave when I’d forgotten how.
You loved me when I was too scared to love myself.
You make every day feel like winning the championship.
I don't have the ring with me because I’m an idiot who didn't expect you to call me out. .."
"I’m good at face-offs," I said, my throat tight.
"...but I love you more than I thought I was capable of loving anyone. Will you marry me?"
"Yes." I pulled him to his feet, kissing him hard. "Yes, obviously yes, you ridiculous man."
He laughed against my mouth, bright and free. His arms came around me like he was afraid I’d disappear. "I was going to do this properly. Dinner reservation, the actual ring—"
"This is better." I cupped his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "This is us. The rink where everything started. Just us and the ice and the truth."
"The truth," he repeated softly. "I like that."
We stood there for a long moment, just breathing together, the rink silent except for our combined exhales fogging in the cold air. Then Luca skated backward, pulling me with him toward center ice. That wicked smile I loved played at his mouth.
"So," he said. "My fiancé."
"Your fiancé," I agreed. The word felt right. Perfect. "Take me home, Cap."
"Here first."
And then he was kissing me again, skating us in a slow circle, the ice beneath us solid and sure. His hands slid under my jacket, mapping skin he’d memorized, touching me like I was something precious.
We shed layers slowly—jackets and shirts hitting the ice, skates abandoned at center ice. The cold bit at bare skin but Luca’s body was furnace-hot against mine, his mouth trailing fire down my throat as I worked his belt open.
"Someone could see," I managed, even as my head fell back.
"Don't care." His teeth grazed my collarbone. "I want you here. Where it started."
We made love at center ice—the territorial heart of our home rink.
Our bodies fit together perfectly, every touch familiar and new all at once.
Luca moved over me with a controlled intensity that shattered into desperate need.
His mask was completely gone, his face open and vulnerable and so beautiful it hurt.
When we finally collapsed together, breathing hard, my back cold against the ice and Luca’s weight warm on top of me, I felt like I was exactly where I belonged.
"I love you," Luca said against my neck. "God, I love you."
"Love you too." I carded my fingers through his hair. "Even though you proposed without the ring."
"I’ll make it up to you."
"I know."
We eventually dressed and drove home, hands linked across the center console, the city passing in streaks of light. In our apartment—our home—we showered together and fell into bed tangled and exhausted and perfectly content.
"When should we tell people?" I asked, half-asleep with Luca’s arm heavy across my waist.
"Tomorrow," he said. "Or next week. Whenever you want."
"Your parents..." I stopped. Luca’s mother had been tentatively supportive in the months since his coming out, texting occasionally, trying. His father was still blocked. Still silent. A wound that wouldn't fully heal.
"Your mom should know."
"I’ll call her tomorrow." He kissed my shoulder. "But tonight it’s just ours."
"Just ours," I agreed.
I fell asleep thinking about the ring Luca would give me eventually. About the wedding we would plan. About the life we were building together.
A life without secrets. Without fear. Without masks.
Just us and the ice and the truth.
Home ice advantage.
The best kind.