Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER…
Marco
One year ago, we’d played Buffalo after coming out publicly. A year ago, étienne had been struggling, terrified of being traded, barely holding on.
Now he’d just finished the game with a goal and an assist—his usual production these days.
It still amazed me sometimes, the transformation. After we came out, étienne had played the rest of last season at an elite level. The trade rumors had disappeared within weeks, replaced by speculation about contract extensions.
I’d watched it happen, watched him rediscover the confidence and instinct that had made him dangerous in the first place. And I knew—we both knew—what had made the difference.
Supporting each other. Me calling before games, running through plays and opponent tendencies like we used to. And then coming out, finally ending the exhausting work of hiding, of constantly watching our words and our distance.
And the end of his father’s abusive phone calls.
It had freed something in étienne.
The results spoke for themselves. He’d finished last season strong, and this year he was even better. Still with the Glaciers, now locked in with a new contract—one that included a no-trade clause, thanks to his sharp agent who’d leveraged his improved performance into real security.
“Lasagna or pasta?” étienne dropped his bag by the door and headed straight for the kitchen.
“I’m making lasagna. We’re feeding six people, and Jensen eats like he’s been starving for a week.”
“Lasagna it is.” He grabbed the cutting board while I pulled out ingredients. “I’m on garlic bread and salad duty.”
“Deal.”
We moved around the kitchen with the easy familiarity we’d developed over the past year. I cooked the noodles, browned the beef, and started layering the lasagna—noodles, beef and sauce, ricotta, mozzarella. He minced garlic for the bread and washed lettuce for the salad.
New Year’s Eve. Buffalo. One year exactly since we’d kissed on the ice in front of eighteen thousand people.
It felt fitting to mark the anniversary with the same opponent on the same date. And we’d won again. I’d even gotten an assist, feeding Jensen for an empty-netter in the final minute.
“Boucher looked terrible out there today,” étienne sliced the baguette for the garlic bread. “Did you see that turnover in the second period?”
“Hard to miss.” I laid another layer of noodles over the mozzarella. “He’s been struggling all season.”
“Third line doesn’t suit him.”
“Nothing suits him lately.” I spread beef and sauce over the noodles. “The trade rumors are getting louder.”
“Think they’ll move him?”
“Eventually. He’s not producing, and I think the locker room would be better without his attitude.” I glanced at étienne. “I don’t think about him much anymore.”
“Me neither.” He mixed the butter and garlic. “Strange how that works. A year ago he was this huge presence. Now he’s just… background noise.”
“That’s what happens when you stop giving someone power over you.”
étienne smiled. “When did you get so wise, Captain?”
The word still sent a jolt through me. Captain. Four months into wearing the C, and I still wasn’t entirely used to it.
Management had given the captaincy to me after they stripped Boucher of it in April. His performance had tanked, his attitude had poisoned the locker room, and Coach had finally had enough.
“Not wise.” I spooned ricotta onto the beef mixture. “Just tired of letting him take up space in my head.”
“Fair.” étienne slathered the bread with garlic butter. “What time are people coming?”
I slid the lasagna into the oven and set the timer. “Seven. That gives us time to finish cooking and make this place look less like a disaster.”
I looked around. The living room was cluttered with our everyday chaos—my gear bag by the door, étienne’s tablet on the coffee table, both our coats draped over the back of the couch. The Christmas tree still stood in the corner, and the photos on the walls caught the twinkling lights.
The photo étienne had given me last Christmas—the two of us on the ice during warm-ups, looking at each other with an unmistakable connection—hung near the kitchen. Next to it, the photo from last year’s New Year’s Eve game: us kissing on the ice, surrounded by stick taps and a standing ovation.
Both moments frozen in time. Both proof of how far we’d come.
“It’s not that bad.” I shrugged. “And they’re our friends. They’ve seen worse.”
“True.” étienne started slicing tomatoes for the salad. “How are you feeling about today? The anniversary and everything?”
A year ago, I’d been terrified. Terrified of going public, terrified of playing that first game, terrified of what the kiss would mean. Now?
“Good,” I said honestly. “It’s been a hell of a year.”
“Understatement.”
“But we made it. We’re here. We’re happy.” I tore the romaine into a bowl. “That’s more than I thought we’d have.”
étienne set down his knife, crossed to me, wrapped his arms around me from behind. “I’m proud of us. For doing this. For surviving it.”
I turned in his arms and kissed him properly. “Me too.”
Kinnunen and Alyssa arrived first at exactly seven o’clock, carrying a bottle of wine and a bakery box.
“Cap.” Kinnunen greeted me with a grin and clapped my shoulder. “Hell of a game today.”
“You scored the game-winner.”
He handed me the wine. “Where do you want this?”
“Kitchen’s fine.”
Alyssa hugged both of us, then headed straight for the kitchen with the bakery box. “I brought dessert. Chocolate cake from that place on Holly.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” étienne said.
“I wanted to. It’s a special occasion. One year since you two made history.”
Tyler and Kaitlin showed up ten minutes later, Tyler carrying a six-pack and Kaitlin holding a covered dish.
“We brought beer, and Kaitlin made her famous mac and cheese,” Tyler announced, kicking off his shoes by the door. “You’re welcome.”
“You know we already made dinner, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, but this is better. No offense, Marco.”
“None taken.” étienne took the dish from Kaitlin. “Actually, I’m offended on Marco’s behalf. He made the lasagna.”
Everyone laughed, and the house filled with the jovial energy of friends gathering. We ate at the table—barely enough room for six, but we made it work—passing dishes and swapping stories from the game.
“That assist you got, Marco.” Kinnunen loaded his plate with macaroni and cheese. “Perfect timing. Tyler was wide open.”
“Empty net helps,” Tyler added. “Even I can’t miss from that close.”
“You’d be surprised what you can miss,” Kaitlin teased.
“Hey!”
The conversation flowed naturally—hockey, the upcoming road trip, Tyler and Kaitlin’s wedding plans, Alyssa’s new job at the hospital. Ordinary topics, good friends, good life.
Except a year ago, we couldn’t have had this. Couldn’t have invited teammates over as a couple, couldn’t have relaxed into this easy domesticity, couldn’t have just… existed.
“How’s your mom doing, Marco?” Alyssa asked during a lull in conversation. “Last time we talked, you said she was working with a new priest?”
“Yeah. Father Matthews. He’s more progressive than her old priest.” I took a sip of wine. “She’s making progress. Slow, but steady. And my father is talking to me again.”
“That’s great.”
“His mother video-called us last week,” étienne added. “Asked me about the season, how I was doing. Used my name.”
“That’s huge,” Kinnunen said.
“It is.” I glanced at étienne. “She’s trying. That’s all I can ask.”
“And your father?” Alyssa asked étienne gently. “Any word from him?”
étienne shook his head. “No. Nothing since last December. But I’ve made peace with it.”
Under the table, I found his hand and squeezed. He squeezed back.
“His loss,” Tyler said firmly. “Seriously. You guys are great, and anyone who can’t see that is an idiot.”
“Eloquently put,” Kaitlin said dryly, but she was smiling.
After dinner, we moved to the living room. Tyler sprawled on the floor, Kaitlin beside him. Kinnunen and Alyssa took the long portion of the sectional, and étienne and I ended up on the short side, close and full and content.
“Remember last year?” Tyler looked at the photo on the wall. “That kiss? That was insane. I’ve never heard the arena that loud.”
“It was pretty loud,” I admitted.
“Pretty loud? Dude, it was deafening. And the stick taps—that was special. I’m glad I was part of that.”
“We are too,” étienne said quietly.
“Has it been weird?” Kaitlin asked. “Being out? Being public?”
“Sometimes,” I said honestly. “We still get hate posts. People still yell things at away games. But mostly? It’s just… routine now. We’re just players who happen to be in a relationship.”
“The media attention died down after a few months,” étienne added. “Now it’s just part of who we are, not the only thing people talk about.”
“Good.” Kinnunen raised his beer. “That’s how it should be. You’re hockey players first. Everything else is just details.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Tyler said.
We stayed like that for hours, just talking, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company.
Tyler checked his phone. “Ten minutes to midnight.”
“Should we turn on the TV?” Kaitlin asked. “For the ball drop?”
“Yeah, let’s do it.” I grabbed the remote and found the Times Square coverage. The crowd on screen was massive, bundled against the cold, everyone waiting for midnight.
étienne refilled champagne glasses while I settled back onto the couch. The others migrated closer to the TV, the conversation quieting as we watched the final minutes of the year tick down.
At eleven fifty-five, Kinnunen raised his glass. “Should we do a toast before midnight? Or wait?”
“Before,” Alyssa said. “So we’re not rushing.”
We all stood, glasses in hand.
“To another year,” Kinnunen started. “To good friends, good hockey, and—” He looked at me and étienne. “To living honestly.”
“Hear, hear,” Tyler added.
We clinked glasses and drank.
On the TV, the countdown was starting. Sixty seconds.
Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight.
étienne moved to stand beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched. I reached for his hand, lacing our fingers together.
Forty-five. Forty-four.
Tyler pulled Kaitlin close. Kinnunen wrapped his arm around Alyssa.
Thirty. Twenty-nine.
The crowd on TV was roaring, thousands of voices counting down together.
Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen.
I looked at étienne. He was already looking at me, a soft smile on his face.
Ten. Nine. Eight.
“Ready for another year?” I asked quietly.
“With you? Always.”
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
“Happy New Year!”
The TV erupted with cheers and beams of light. Around us, Tyler kissed Kaitlin, Kinnunen kissed Alyssa.
And I pulled étienne to me and kissed him.
It was soft, sweet, unhurried, and shamefree. A kiss that said I love you and we made it and here’s to the open ice ahead.