Epilogue
Becca handed Leo a casserole dish before he’d gotten both shoes off. “Counter by the stove,” she said, already turning back toward the living room with Henry on her hip, her free hand directing traffic. “And don’t touch the food table yet.”
Leo carried the dish through a kitchen that had too many people in it and not enough counter space.
One of the aunts was slicing a coffee cake.
Ethan elbowed past him with a stack of paper plates.
A kid Leo didn’t recognize ran between their legs and out the back door into the yard, screen door banging shut behind her.
He set the dish down and found a corner near the back window. The yard beyond the glass was freshly mowed, the fence line trimmed, dandelions already pushing back at the edges. He held his coffee and watched the room.
Wyatt was by the fireplace, talking to a man Leo didn’t recognize, arms crossed, the same angle Dawson stood at when he was listening and didn’t want to look like he was.
The brothers shared that. They shared the jaw too, and that stillness when they thought something through.
Wyatt hadn’t said much to Leo when they came in.
A nod, a handshake, enough to pass. It was the most he’d offered since Dawson had told come out to him.
Leo understood that it wasn’t easy for the eldest brother to process this new information about his sibling, but some days he wanted to knock some sense into Wyatt to make him see how he was hurting Dawson.
Ethan, on the other hand, had quickly become Leo’s first friend who wasn’t also a teammate. He’d been spending more time at the house, and it turned out Ethan was a good guy. A bit of a hot mess when it came to relationships, but he was Dawson’s biggest supporter.
Dawson was across the room, near the hallway that led to the kitchen, listening to one of Becca’s aunts with a red plastic cup in his hand and the patient expression he wore when someone was telling him a long story.
Becca held court from the couch with the authority of someone who’d been up since six with a four-month-old and had earned the right to stay seated.
Henry was sprawled across her chest in a white onesie with a cross embroidered on the chest, the collar damp where his mouth had been, and she patted his back as he fought sleep.
She’d hugged Leo when he came in, careful around the baby, which he hadn’t expected.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she’d said, and she’d meant it. She, too, was getting tired of Wyatt’s cool attitude towards Dawson, but Leo didn’t expect her to say anything. She had more than enough on her plate.
He drifted toward the food table and got waved off again.
He circled back to his corner. The house filled up over the next half-hour — Mercer aunts and Wyatt’s bowling league and three or four couples Leo couldn’t place — and Leo worked the room the way he always had, the way that used to be armor and now was just something he was good at.
He learned that Becca’s mother had driven up from Kenosha and had opinions about how Becca was holding the baby.
He learned that Henry had slept through the actual christening, which Becca’s mother said was a sign and Becca said was a relief.
He talked hockey with Wyatt’s bowling league long enough to make himself useful.
Dawson appeared at his elbow. Close enough that Leo could smell the Irish Spring soap on his skin, and underneath it, something warmer, and Leo let himself have that for exactly one second before he spoke.
Leo looked down at his plate. The room was loud and warm, half a dozen conversations layered on top of each other, and he didn’t need to carry any of them. He could just sit here.
His agent had called two weeks ago. Not with a trade.
A contract. The Syndicate wanted him for another year, which meant Port Haven, which meant the same apartment and the same ice and a whole summer with Dawson before the season started again.
If he was lucky, he’d get called up to Chicago, but they’d already talked about how they’d make that work if he did.
He’d signed before Phil had finished explaining the terms.
After the plates were cleared, people spread back out through the house.
Leo ended up on the couch with Ethan’s latest girlfriend, who was telling him about the county dispatch system in more detail than he’d asked for, and he was nodding and asking follow-up questions.
Dawson came out of the kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee and sat next to him.
Not across the room. Not in the chair by the window.
Right next to Leo, close enough that their knees touched, and he didn’t adjust.
Leo kept listening to the dispatcher, and Dawson’s knee stayed where it was.
Outside, the light was lasting longer every day. The yard had gone full green, the oaks had leafed out, and the neighbor’s garden was staked and planted. Main Street would still be bright when they drove home, the lake would be blue and flat, and the marina would have boats in it by the weekend.
Leo wasn’t a guy who’d ever expected to find belonging in a small Wisconsin town, but here it was anyway.
This was home, and he hoped he could spend the rest of his career either here or in Chicago, where he’d be close enough they could split their time between the city and the small town.
He sat on the couch in the Mercer house with Dawson’s knee against his and let the room be loud around him, and for once, he actually felt like he was right where he belonged.
PICK UP MAN ADVANTAGE to find out what happens when Cole’s temporary room in Ford’s house turns into pancakes with Charlotte, secret kisses in the hallway, and a reason to stay.