Epilogue
TREY
December
Mexico, or maybe just a Mexican food truck, smacked me in the face when I slid open the loft door. I loved when he made fajitas. Everything he made was fucking amazing, but this was our meal. The first one he cooked for us. The one we ate while we became an us.
“Hey!” I said, moving into the kitchen, my keys twirling around my finger.
Slone stood at the gas stove, stirring onions and peppers in a large black skillet that sat over the blue flames. Another skillet, this one square instead of round, sat on the other burner, steaks searing loudly. I loved that he cooked the steaks to order instead of with the vegetables.
I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Smells delicious,” I murmured against his skull before pressing my lips to the place I found behind his ear that made him, and then me, sigh every time.
“Thank you. I just showered.”
I set my chin on his shoulder and laughed, giving that spot another kiss. “Good to know, but I meant the food, Daddy.”
“I’m wounded.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am. Fatally. You think I smell bad.”
“You’re ridiculous, and if anyone smelled bad, it would be the hockey player.”
“God, don’t get me started on how bad your fucking gear smells. I don’t know how you drive around with that shit in your truck.”
I tossed my keys onto the counter next to the stove. “It goes—”
“Those do not go there.”
“Hmm,” I muttered, distracted by the sexiest fucker…
“Come with me—”
“I plan to,” I interrupted.
“Fuck you’re a brat,” Slone said, twisting the range knobs to turn down the flames under the food.
He snatched up my keys then pushed me back as he stepped from my arms. Our fingers threaded together when he grabbed my hand, dragging me along behind him to the entryway.
“What—”
“Keys,” he said, holding mine up before dropping them, “go here from now on.”
My eyes followed the keys’ descent. When the metal hit the wooden bowl with a muted thunk, I looked back at him with what had to be a weird, confused look if the pinched feeling of my face was anything to go by.
“Umm…”
“Don’t um me, kid. You missed class the other day after spending thirty minutes looking for your keys because you tossed them on the coffee table before scarfing down your weight in Chinese food. And I’m still vacuuming up grains of rice and peas and carrots, by the way.”
“That’s on you. It was your foot that knocked it off the table.”
“And the rule…”
“UGH! There are too many rules.”
He laughed. “Keep that up, and there will be more.”
There weren’t too many rules. And even if there were, they were rules I either suggested or agreed to, and I loved every one of them just as much as I loved Slone because he cared enough to give them to me.
My lips rolled between my teeth, and I bit down as my eyes darted around, making him laugh even harder. I really loved making him laugh. He kissed my mouth, then swatted my ass on his way back to the kitchen. I stood there looking at the bowl and my keys and my keys in the bowl.
This wasn’t the first time he casually and thoughtfully made space for me in his life and home, but somehow this felt different. And I didn’t know how to feel about it. So, I shoved the emotions into the back corner of my mind and headed back to the kitchen.
I found him in front of the stove again. Kissing his neck with one eye on the pan, I reached forward to sneak an onion from the pan only to pull my hand back when he smacked it.
“You know better.”
I did, but that didn’t stop me. Smirking, I kissed and sucked his neck while making another attempt.
“You’re gonna burn yourself.”
“I’m a D1 hockey player with excellent spatial… Fuck!” I yelled, popping the injured finger in my mouth.
“You were saying?” he asked, turning around.
He flipped on the sink faucet, then guided my hand under the water. “Leave it there until I tell you to remove it. Understand.”
I nodded. “It hurts.”
He pressed a kiss to my temple with a soft hum. “I’m sure it does. I’ll be back shortly.”
“Where are you going?”
He kept walking, but he called back, “To get the first aid kit. You have a morning skate tomorrow.”
Burn ointment and a bandage later, we were sitting at the table, facing the living room, a game playing on the large wall-mounted television. Plates of steaming fajitas sat before us, our phones charging on the docks Slone had in the living room.
His rule for dinner together: No devices. We compromised on the television since we experienced it together.
“How was practice?” he asked.
“Good. I hate the new kid…” My voice trailed off, not yet ready to share the phone call I received.
I still couldn’t believe Charlotte Hamilton Richmond, the billionaire owner of the NHL’s New York Wardens, actually listened to me. No one did that. Well, no one other than Slone, really. And Coach Grigor. But for her to let me pitch my idea to her, that blew my mind.
“Let’s celebrate!” Ethan Ruggers screamed through the locker room several weeks later after a win.
The season was in full swing, and we were playing well.
Really damn well. All of us were excited about the possibilities none of us could give voice to.
I felt what they felt—excited anticipation, elation, and all the other emotions that came with coming out of October leading our division.
However, it also triggered some emotions that I had a horrible time keeping from Slone.
My time with the Maulers could end at any moment.
I shook my head while everyone else joined in with the yelling. I knew what was coming. The team loved karaoke. They’d shower and change, then head out.
Crammed into various cars.
Phones lit up.
Fingers flying over screens.
Texts sent.
Pushing and shoving and stumbling into Bear’s Den.
Beer and liquor flowing.
Hookups circling each other.
It was always the same. And I…loved it. Or I used to. Now, I wanted something different. I needed something different.
What I wanted was to climb Slone like a tree. Get something to eat. Then, crash. We had morning skate, and then we had to pile on the bus for a week-long road trip.
Maybe. The anticipation ate at me. I hated not knowing.
Tuning out the chaos—and the post-game celly planning—going on around me, I stripped out of my gear and base layer, then headed to the shower.
Guys filtered in, the room filling up quickly, and with them came the pressure to be the guy they were used to.
The guy who went out, got wasted, and hooked up with one or more people.
But I wasn’t that guy anymore, and I refused to pretend to be. I had an amazing man waiting for me.
Mumbling to…probably myself since the volume in the room competed with Taylor’s ERAS tour in an indoor arena, I grabbed my phone and moved out to the hallway, tapping the notification from Slone.
Correct that. Notifications. There were so, so many texts.
Slone
Stay out of your head. It’s just the first faceoff.
Fucking slick.
You’re a motherfucking beautician.
I laughed, remembering Ewen laughing with me. Ewen called me a beautician, and we’d laughed our asses off at Slone’s confused face, trying to make Slone understand hockey.
There were…
I scrolled. And scrolled. The number of texts soared into the double digits.
I loved that he texted me during the game, even though he knew I wouldn’t see them until after.
He wasn’t the first man or woman I dated, but he was the first who actually watched games they didn’t attend.
Hell, one guy admitted he didn’t pay attention even when he sat in the stands.
Slone
Okay, now you’re just making me horny.
You score like that again, you’ll get a prize.
HOLY FUCK! That hit looked nasty.
I’ll set up the polar pack.
If you’re coming here, that is. No pressure.
The man always said that after commenting on me coming to his place.
Even after months together and saying I love you to one another, he still seemed hesitant about us sometimes.
I spent more time in his bed than I did in my own.
But he never took my showing up at his place for granted.
I should probably tell him, but, I wanted to see how long it took him to realize we’d basically been living together since I approached him after Nashville.
Slone
He deserved 5 the fucker.
Slone wasn’t wrong. Marsden hit me after I passed the puck. So long after, I saw Ethan snag it before Marsden crashed me into the boards. He’d known it was a bad hit, too, if the apology after they let him out of the box was anything to go on.
Smiling, I waved at the guys and left the locker room ignoring the protests behind me. I wanted to get home to my man.
I settled behind the wheel of my truck and started the engine, blowing into my hands to help ward off the cold. My phone dinged with a text message. Glancing at it as I attached it to the phone mount, my stomach dropped, and I felt numb.
Charlotte
It’s done. Good luck in Minnesota.
“Holy shit.” The words were barely audible. Before that could settle, my phone rang.
I swiped the screen, the cold no longer bothering me since my whole body when swallowing before saying, “This is Trey.”
“Hello, Trey. This is Craig Sorenson, with the Minnesota Norsemen. I’m here with Doug Halvorsen.”
“Hey Trey. Exciting game today.”
I cleared my throat. “Hello. And thanks. The team is really clicking right now.”
They chuckled. “No need to be nervous, Trey. Or modest. You were a beast today. We’re freaking ecstatic when New York offered you in the trade. Do you have time to stop by the office to talk about your contract?”
Holy shit. “Um…yeah. I’m just leaving the barn. I can be to you guys in half an hour?”
“That works for us.”
The phone disconnected, and I immediately sent Slone a message.
Me
I’m going to be late. Something came up.
Slone
Yeah, I got wrapped up in something downstairs. There are meals prepped in the fridge.
Me
You’re too good to me.
Slone
Not possible. I love you. Drive safe.