Epilogue
NIKKI
“I’m so excited I get to go to Uncle Ernie’s.”
It’s three days after the season ended for the Storm when they lost to Denver in the Stanley Cup final.
So close… so, so close but in the end heartbreaking.
Talk about a rollercoaster ride of emotions, the wild highs of the wins, moving on in the playoffs, and again and again…
and then the soul-crushing low of losing.
The final game was in Denver so they flew home that night.
The last couple of days have been media interviews, exit interviews with their coach and GM, and cleaning out their lockers for the summer.
With that done this morning, a bunch of us are getting together at Uncle Ernie’s for pizza and beer before most of the guys go home for the summer.
“It’s not that exciting.” Marek smiles at me, his eyes crinkling into that so-attractive squint and his dimples appearing. I want to jump him, just over a smile.
“It is for me. I haven’t spent that much time with your friends because of the playoffs, and I’m weirdly excited about having lunch in public.”
He laughs. “Okay.”
We walk into the restaurant. The décor isn’t fancy or even particularly Italian, but it’s nice, with an old brick wall along one side, black painted woodwork on the other wall and behind the bar, oak tables and black chairs.
Some of the guys are there already and have arranged a few tables together in front of the black banquette running along the brick wall.
“What’s kickin’, chickens?” Marek greets them.
We slide onto the banquette, and I scoot over.
I’ve met these guys… I’ve been going to their games, although I’ve been mostly watching in the family lounge rather than sitting in the stands.
I’m still leery of being in a big crowd but just going to the arena a bunch of times started to ease that anxiety.
Marek introduced me to everyone after the first game I went to.
“Hey, Nikki,” says Nash Wilson, who the guys call Crusher, distinctive with his shaved head. I have to say, he has a nicely shaped head. He’s also sporting a bushy playoff beard.
“Hi.” I smile at him, then exchange greetings with the others: Eduard Lafond (Eddy) and his boyfriend Sebastian, their goaltender Ford Archibald (Archie) and his girlfriend Andi, Dillon Landry (Dilly), and of course Mabel and Ben.
A waitress approaches our table and smiles. “Hey, guys.”
She’s super pretty, her pale blonde hair a little shaggy and just short of shoulder length with long bangs that emphasize dark blue eyes. But her smile is… guarded. I think she’s genuinely happy to see the guys, though.
I feel the vibe shift to cautious.
“Hi, Ayla,” everyone says, also with real warmth.
I know this is Ayla Alford. Her husband Carson is the guy who asked Marek about staying with him for a while because he and Ayla had split up. Marek told me about their baby dying and how hard it’s been for them.
“Hey, Ayla,” Marek says. “Meet Nikki. Nikki, this is Ayla. Ernie is her grandpa.”
“Hi,” Ayla greets me with a tilt of her head. “I heard a rumor that Marek had a famous new girlfriend.”
I laugh. “I guess that’s me.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I love your music.”
“Oh, thank you!”
“That was really awful what happened in Berlin. I hope you’re doing okay.”
Her words touch me. Most people won’t even mention it. “I’m doing better, thanks.”
Our eyes meet and I know this is someone who understands pain and loss.
“I’ll tell Grandpa you’re here,” Ayla says. “He wants to see you guys and meet Nikki. Sorry,” she adds to me apologetically.
“No worries.” I smile at her.
“What can I get you guys?” Ayla asks. “Drinks?”
We order, the guys and Mabel all getting beers. I feel weird ordering a whiskey sour here, so I ask for a glass of red wine.
“What’s the bacon beer like?” Ford asks Ayla.
My eyes go wide.
Her lips twitch but she answers seriously. “It’s a brown ale infused with smoky bacon flavor.”
“I love bacon,” Ford muses. “It has to be good. Okay, I’ll have that.”
“Bacon beer,” Andi mutters, wrestling with a smile.
Ford gives her a nudge and a fond look, and they exchange a warm glance full of laughter.
“Archie has unique tastes,” Marek says to me. “In a lot of things.”
“Not women, though,” Ford says. “I have great taste in women.”
Andi grins.
“That is true,” Nash says with a smile at Andi that gets him a glower from Ford.
“Hey,” Ford says. “How come you can grow so much hair on your face, but not the top of your head?”
“It’s all the testosterone that affects the hair on my head.” Nash runs a hand over his skull. “But it doesn’t affect my face.”
“Bruh,” Dillon says. “That’s weird. And is that really true? That bald guys have more testosterone?”
“It’s not the testosterone itself,” Sebastian says. “It’s also genetics.”
Nash shrugs. “Could be, I guess. You know what I say… with a body like this, who needs hair.” He sweeps a hand down in front of him.
I grin.
“Apparently hormones can affect hair on different body parts differently,” Sebastian adds. “You can lose chest hair, too, but your facial hair growth can actually improve.”
“Which supports the argument that I have a lot of testosterone,” Nash says.
“How do you know so much about this?” Eddy asks his partner with a grin.
“I was researching for a friend,” Sebastian deadpans with a deliberate look at Eddy’s hairline.
“Hey! I’m not losing my hair!” Eddy lifts a hand to his head.
“Why is everyone here obsessed with their hair?” Marek says. “Archie thought he was going bald from taking creatine.”
“I have great hair.” Ford runs a hand through his shaggy locks. “It would be a shame to lose it.”
“You do have great hair,” Andi says reassuringly.
“Thank you.”
Ayla arrives with a tray loaded with drinks. I don’t know how a little thing like her can carry all that, but she seems to be an expert. She serves us all then asks about food.
I haven’t even looked at the menu. I flip it open and study it while the others order. They come here enough that they already know what they want.
“Mozzarella sticks. Wings. Fried ravioli,” Crusher says. He glances around the table. “Two of each.”
“You got it,” Ayla says.
“I assume the pizza is good?” I say to Marek in a low voice.
“Oh, yeah. Everything is.”
“Nikki,” Mabel calls from down the table. “Do you want to share the black truffle burrata toast?”
I purse my lips and read the description on the menu. “Ooooh, yeah. That sounds good.”
“Nobody else will ever share it with me,” she complains. “I’m glad you’re here!”
A white-haired man walks up to the table, a big smile on his face. “Gentlemen! Good to see you!”
“Hey! Uncle Ernie!”
The guys stand and there’s a lot of back slapping and bro hugs as Ernie congratulates them for their fantastic season. I appreciate his positivity, knowing how devastated the team was at their loss. Because, truly, they did have an amazing season.
Marek gestures to me and I slide out of the booth to join him. “Ernie, I want you to meet my girlfriend, Nikki Sullivan.”
My girlfriend.
I love hearing that.
I smile at Ernie and extend a hand to shake, but he pulls me into a hug. “So you’re the one who finally showed this guy how to love.”
I pull back and exchange a glance with Marek. We’re equally shook. Ernie apparently knows Marek pretty well.
“He showed me, too,” I tell Ernie with another glance at Marek. His eyes warm. “And he showed me how to have fun.”
“Life is short!” Ernie says. “Sometimes we learn that the hard way.”
And then I remember that Ayla and Carson’s baby was his great-grandson. My heart pinches. And Ernie meets my eyes and I see understanding there. He knows what I’ve been through.
“Yes,” I agree.
“You are beautiful,” he says to me. “With the voice of an…” He pauses. “I was going to say angel, but that’s not quite right. Because there is a little bit of wicked in your voice. A little spice. A lot of passion.”
I blink at him, his face creased into compassionate wrinkles. “Thank you,” I manage to say.
“That’s a great description.” Marek slides his arm around my waist. “That describes her, not just her voice.”
I slide my gaze to the side and up to look at Marek. He smiles at me.
Ernie pats my shoulder. “I hope we’ll see you again here.”
“Absolutely.” I nod.
We take our seats again.
“So you’re going to Berlin,” Ben says to Marek and me. “That’ll be cool.”
I bite my lip. Plans are all set for the benefit concert and tickets sold out in minutes. Not only was I worried about how I’ll be able to handle it, I was also worried nobody would come out of fear.
“We’ll see.” Marek reaches for my hand under the table to squeeze it. “It’s important, though.”
“I think it’s awesome that you’re doing that,” Mabel says.
“I’m a little anxious about it, to be honest,” I say. “But I want to do it.”
“Understandable.” Mabel nods. “You’ll do great, though. Ben! We should go, too!”
“Uh…” Ben blinks. “Yeah. Maybe. Hey, there was something in the news about that. I forgot about it.” He pulls out his phone and swipes at the screen. “Yeah, here it is.” He hands his phone to me across the table.
I take it and peer down at the screen. It’s a news item from Germany, talking about the concert venue roof collapse.
“Structural engineers examined the building at noon that day and determined that the levels of snow on the roof were still safe enough to keep the facility open for the concert. Investigation following the incident determined that the roof of the structure collapsed due to construction defects following the heavy snowfall. The area had been hit with a blizzard-type snowstorm two days prior to that. A major snowstorm hit the area of Hanover, bringing road traffic to a halt and blocking air traffic at Hanover Airport and northern Germany experienced one of the heaviest snowfalls of the last decade.”
I look up at Marek.
He looks sad. “So they did inspect it,” he says. “And they thought it was safe.”
I read it again, nodding, then hand Ben’s phone back to him.
Marek leans closer. “Does that make you feel any less guilty?”
I look down at my glass of cabernet, pondering that, analyzing how I feel.
“No,” I finally say. I turn to him. “No. I’m dealing with my guilt and it’s not based in facts and actuality.
But this… this is real. I feel so sorry for those people who got hurt or who died.
” I swallow through a knot of grief. “That is so tragic.”
Ben regards us from across the table with concern. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Maybe I shouldn’t have shown you that.”
“No, it’s fine. I would have seen it.”
“I should have shown you later.” His eyebrows pull down with distress.
“No, really, it’s okay.” I smile to reassure him. “I’m even more glad that we’re going to do that benefit concert.”
At that moment, another man enters the restaurant and walks up to our table to stand beside an empty chair.
“Hey! Alfie!” The others all greet him. “You made it.”
“Holy shit,” Marek mutters. “He actually came.”
My gaze darts around as I put it together. Ayla, Carson’s ex-wife, or soon to be ex-wife, I’m not sure of their legal status, works here and is waiting on our table. Ooof.
Carson sits and chats with the people at the other end of the table. After a few minutes, he looks around and says, “I could use a beer.”
The air around us goes flat and heavy.
Ayla arrives, her expression tightly controlled. “Hi. Can I get you a drink?”
His head jerks toward her. “Oh. Ayla. Hi.”
There’s a moment of excruciating silence as they stare at each other.
Finally, Carson says, “Yeah. I’ll have a Guinness. Please.”
“You bet.” She disappears.
After another beat of silence, everybody starts talking at once.
It’s awkward but also endearing. I love how these guys care about each other.
Soon our food arrives and we all dive in hungrily. I pick up a piece of the black truffle burrata toast and take a bite. My eyes widen as I chew and swallow. “Yum! This is fantastic!”
Mabel beams. “It is!”
The thick and chewy bread smothered with creamy cheese and earthy truffles is rich and decadent. And I don’t even care that I’m eating bread.
I sample the mozzarella sticks and fried ravioli, and snitch a couple of Marek’s fries, while listening to the guys talk, laughing at their jokes, and sipping my excellent cabernet sauvignon.
“Okay,” Marek says when empty plates have been cleared. “Gotta go, buffalo.” He looks at me. “Chop chop, lollipop.”
I crack up laughing and shake my head as I slide along the banquette.
“What’s the rush?” Ben asks.
“I’m going to the hospital. Will’s there again for his chemo, and I said I’d come see him after the playoffs.”
They all nod and make noises of approval.
“Season’s over, man. That’s going above and beyond,” Nash says.
Marek shrugs. “No big deal.”
It is a big deal. He’s making a sick child happy. And I love him so much. I take his arm as we leave the restaurant, hugging it to me.
I feel so, so lucky. And yes, I do still feel guilty for that. Maybe I always will. But I’ve learned so much from what happened. Nothing can ever be perfect. Not music. Not me. And I’m trying to feel grateful for the things I have without the guilt.
I love music, but music isn’t all I am. And Marek loves all of me.
Does love heal all wounds? I don’t know, but I do know healing takes work.
Sometimes, hard, painful work. You have to love yourself first. And healing doesn’t just come from being loved; it comes from giving love.
We’ve both learned that learning to love and be loved takes courage.
Walking along the sidewalk in the sunshine past old brownstones, quaintly angle-parked cars, and potted shrubs and flowers, my heart brims with pure, incandescent happiness. I look up at him. “You’re the only love I’ll ever know.”
He smiles. “No matter where this road may go.”