Epilogue
DECLAN
One year later, Jace woke me by stealing my breath.
Not on purpose at first.
At first he was just warm weight and restless sleep, one knee hooked over my thigh, one hand shoved under my T-shirt like he had been searching for skin in the dark and found it. His hair was smashed on one side, his stubble rough against my shoulder, his mouth slightly open against my collarbone.
Then he made a low, irritated sound, shifted, and rolled directly on top of me like gravity had personally offended him.
I grunted. “Morning.”
He didn’t answer. He kissed my chest once, badly, eyes still closed. Then my throat. Then my jaw. By the time he found my mouth, he was more awake and I was significantly less interested in starting the day like a responsible adult.
His lips moved over mine, slow and sleep-warm. No urgency. No hiding. No adrenaline because we had ten minutes before we had to become strangers in a hallway.
Just Jace in our bed, kissing me awake like he had nowhere else to be.
His weight settled over me, solid and familiar. He had one hand braced beside my head and the other at the back of my neck, thumb rubbing absently under my ear. He always touched like that now, even half asleep. Like some part of him was still checking that I was there.
I slid my hands under the hem of his shirt and up his back.
He hummed into my mouth.
“You taste like sleep,” I said.
He lifted his head an inch. “Romantic.”
“You started this with one eye open.”
“I was aiming for sexy and mysterious.”
“You drooled on my shoulder.”
His blue eyes narrowed. “That was vulnerability.”
I laughed, which made him smile despite himself. That smile still had the power to rearrange me. A little crooked. Too bright. Less guarded than it used to be. Not carefree, because Jace was not built that way, but easier. There was room in him now. Space around the noise.
He kissed me again, deeper this time, tongue sliding against mine, hips shifting down in a lazy grind that made my hands tighten on his back.
“BBQ,” I reminded him against his mouth.
“Hours away.”
“You set three alarms for prep.”
“I did that because future me is ambitious and present me is horny.”
“Present you promised Tessa we would not be late to our own house.”
His mouth paused on mine. “I hate that woman’s influence on our household.”
“You invited her.”
“She brings good potato salad and emotional surveillance. It’s complicated.”
I was about to respond when a crash hit the hallway.
Jace froze.
So did I.
The bedroom door flew open hard enough to bang off the wall, and one hundred and sixty pounds of bull mastiff launched himself into the room with the grace of a collapsing shed.
“Tiny, no,” I said, already knowing it was useless.
Tiny hit the bed like a natural disaster with paws. The mattress bucked. Jace shouted as the dog landed half on his back, half on my ribs, then shoved his enormous head between us with a delighted snort.
“Jesus Christ,” Jace wheezed, pinned facedown against my chest. “We need to install a moat.”
Tiny licked the side of his face.
Jace sputtered. “No. Absolutely not. I am loved enough.”
Tiny disagreed and put one paw squarely on Jace’s ass.
I laughed so hard I lost my grip on both of them.
“Help me,” Jace said, voice muffled because Tiny had decided his neck required cleaning. “You’re the authority figure.”
“He outranks me in this house.”
“He does not.”
Tiny sneezed directly into his hair.
Jace went silent.
Then, very calmly, he said, “Your son is disgusting.”
“Our son.”
“Do not put legal responsibility for this creature on me while he’s committing a hate crime.”
Tiny flopped sideways, taking Jace with him. Jace rolled, got trapped between the dog and me, and gave up with a dramatic groan. His hand found mine under Tiny’s chest. He linked our fingers and squeezed.
That was how we lay for a minute, laughing, breathless, crushed beneath the animal who had once been my only company in this house and now had more opinions than either of us.
A year ago, this bed had been mine alone most nights.
Now Jace’s phone charger lived on my side table because he liked that outlet better.
His sneakers crowded the closet even though we had built extra shelves.
Protein powder appeared in places no reasonable adult would store protein powder.
There were sticky notes near the coffee maker, on the garage door, inside one kitchen cabinet because he kept forgetting where the bowls went despite insisting the system was wrong.
He had moved in eight months ago after three separate conversations, two lists, one argument about whether he needed a backup apartment “in case I become unbearable,” and a final quiet night when he admitted he already felt like he lived here and was scared to name it.
I had not fixed that fear for him.
I had made room for it.
Then I made room for his clothes.
The first few months after disclosure had been worse than either of us admitted at the time.
The review had dragged on for six weeks.
Every line combination I set was documented.
Every disciplinary note involving Jace went through Whitaker and Kepler.
HR meetings became a recurring part of my calendar.
For a while, the building felt like it had too many eyes and not enough air.
The team found out in pieces, then all at once.
Some were awkward. A few were angry. Most were confused and trying not to say the wrong thing.
Benny made one terrible joke, saw Roman’s face, and immediately apologized to three different people.
Roman stayed close to Jace without making it obvious, which meant everyone noticed.
Tessa controlled the public messaging with such ruthless competence that half the league should have sent her flowers.
There were headlines. Of course there were.
Coach and star player.
Conflict of interest.
Questions of power.
Speculation about our marriages and relationships and timelines from people who knew nothing but spoke anyway.
I served a short suspension during the review. Not long enough to become a martyr. Long enough to hurt. Long enough to remind everyone, including us, that truth did not erase consequences. When I returned, the oversight stayed. Some of it still existed now. It should.
Trust rebuilt slowly.
Not because anyone gave us permission to be happy, but because we showed up and did the work.
Jace played through it with his teeth clenched and his notes app full of reminders.
He was late twice in the first month because stress shredded his routines, and both times he owned it before anyone else could.
He had bad days. So did I. We learned that living honestly did not make everything simple.
It only meant we stopped bleeding energy into secrecy.
Tiny lifted his head and barked directly in Jace’s ear.
Jace flinched. “I’m awake, you giant loaf.”
“He wants breakfast.”
“He wants custody of my entire body.”
Tiny barked again.
I patted Jace’s hip. “Come on. We’ve got people here at two.”
He rolled off me with a sigh that belonged to an old man, not a twenty-four-year-old NHL center. “If Owen touches the grill again, I’m calling the fire department on a firefighter.”
“He’s better now.”
“He set asparagus on fire last time.”
“He said it was the marinade.”
“It was charcoal, Dec.”
Downstairs, the house already looked like Jace had started four tasks and completed one and a half.
There were burger patties in the fridge, three bags of ice in the sink because he had meant to put them in the cooler and gotten distracted by reorganizing condiments, and a handwritten list taped to the island.
He had checked off two items.
Then drawn a small angry face beside “slice onions.”
I kissed the back of his neck as he stood staring at it. “You okay?”
He leaned back into me. “Yeah. My head’s loud, but normal loud. People-coming-over loud. Not life-is-ending loud.”
“Want a timer?”
“Already set. Three of them.” He lifted his phone. “Also Harper texted me a threat about forgetting the veggie tray, so I’m emotionally supported.”
I smiled against his skin.
By two fifteen, the backyard was full.
The team came in waves, players and partners and kids and dogs and noise.
Roman arrived first because he claimed early arrival was a symptom of maturity, then took over a cooler and complained about everyone’s beer preferences.
Benny brought his girlfriend, Mia, and a cheesecake he tried to pass off as homemade until she said, “He carried it from the bakery to the car, and that was his contribution.”
Owen showed up with my parents and immediately hugged Jace hard enough to lift him off his feet.
“Favorite Reid,” Owen announced.
Jace pointed at me over his shoulder. “Hear that?”
“I hear betrayal,” I said.
My mother kissed my cheek, then Jace’s, then inspected the food like she had been asked to judge a county fair.
My father and Cal Holloway ended up near the grill within ten minutes, talking like they had known each other for years.
Cal had one beer, a steady voice, and a way of looking at Jace that still made Jace pretend to need something inside whenever it got too tender.
Harper found the veggie tray immediately.
“You remembered,” she said to Jace.
He tapped his temple. “Elite mind.”
“You wrote it on your arm.”
He glanced down at the faint ink near his wrist. “Elite system.”
She hugged him anyway.
Olivia arrived at three with her hand linked through a woman named Camille, who had kind eyes, short curls, and the calm confidence of someone who did not need to prove she belonged anywhere. Seeing Olivia in my backyard still hit a place in me that would probably always ache a little.
Not regret for where I stood now.
Regret for how long we had both lived lonely beside each other.