Epilogue
TIAN
Two months later
Airports used to feel like stopgaps, as if I was always halfway between where I’d been and where I was going. But walking through arrivals in Harrisburg and spotting Jack leaning against the wall in his Railers cap, I didn’t feel halfway anymore. I felt like I’d come home.
He caught my eye instantly, as he always did, and that grin—God, that grin—cut through the crowd.
He pushed away from the wall, weaving through families and suits and a kid dragging a stuffed penguin by its flipper, until he was right in front of me.
He cut through the crowd as if I was the only person in the terminal.
Which, to me, he was. I was surprised he wasn’t surrounded by fans and photographers, given how the Railers were the favorites for the Stanley Cup this year.
The season may well have ended, but the playoffs started in two days, and despite some issues since the Olympics, it was the Railers everyone looked to.
“Welcome home,” he murmured, pulling me into his chest.
I laughed into the hug, the scent of cedar detergent and something uniquely Jack hitting me full force. “Thought I was just visiting.”
“You’re wearing my hoodie. That makes you an official Harrisburg fan.”
I glanced down at the worn Railers sweatshirt I’d stolen from his room on my last visit. I hadn’t even realized I’d worn it for the flight. Typical.
“Guess I am then.”
“Welcome back,” he said, pulling me into another hug so solid I nearly forgot the suitcase banging against my shin.
“My Jack,” I mumbled into his chest. “Missed you.”
“Missed you more.” He kissed me right there, in front of families, businessmen, the bored TSA officer pretending not to watch. I kissed him back, because why the hell wouldn’t I?
We drove straight to his place, the familiar sprawl of Pennsylvania rolling by the windows.
Harrisburg wasn’t Colorado. It wasn’t the Alps or the X Games or the Olympic Village.
It was brick houses and leafy streets, and a hockey arena that still lit up like a beacon on game nights.
And it was where Jack lived. That was enough.
Inside his condo—our condo—everything was the same, and the second Jack dropped my bag and tugged me into the living room, it felt warm. Home.
Us.
“Your mom and dad are in the hotel already. I booked us into the same one.”
I wish we could have all stayed here, but we didn’t have the space, so I had been researching other, bigger, and better options.
My career took me all over the country. Jack was here with friends, and my parents were talking about how much they loved the area, suggesting that if I stayed in PA, they might move as well.
Then Jack casually mentioned he’d like kids someday and asked if I was interested.
Kids.
Me?
Hell, yes I was. It sounded awesome. Perfect. Everything I wanted with Jack.
So, yeah, we needed a bigger place, and Jack agreed, but that was a discussion for after the playoffs, not before. The same delay applied to the information I compiled on both surrogacy and adoption channels.
We collapsed onto the sofa in a tangle of limbs. His jersey smelled faintly of sweat and cedar detergent, and he had a scrape across his jaw from practice, proof he still threw himself into hockey like it was life or death.
“How long are you here this time?” he asked, brushing a thumb over my cheekbone because he couldn’t stop touching me.
“Six weeks,” I said. “California, after that, and I found us a place to rent if you want to join me for your summer break.”
“Of course I do.”
“But between now and then? You’re stuck with me here.”
His grin softened into something private, almost shy. “Good. I’ve got plans for us for after the playoffs.”
“Plans?”
“Yeah. Stuff normal guys do. Like grocery shopping. Pizza on the couch. Maybe forcing you to sit through every Rocky movie in order.”
I laughed because he meant it. And maybe that was what I loved most about Jack O’Leary—not the goals, not the medals, not the captaincy. But the way he wanted the same ordinary things I did, the things we’d both been denied by pressure, fame, fear.
“Sounds perfect,” I whispered.
We sat there for a while, just existing. The TV played some rerun neither of us watched. My hand fit against his chest, steady and solid, like proof he wasn’t going anywhere.
When the pizza was delivered, he handed me a slice, extra cheese, grease already soaking through the napkin. “Authentic Milan flashback,” he said with a smirk.
I laughed so hard I nearly dropped it. “Only difference is no paparazzi outside the window.”
“Don’t jinx it,” he warned, but his arm stayed slung around my shoulders, tight, claiming.
“How’s the team?” I asked after a yawn, and snuggling deeper into his arms.
“Still hard work,” he admitted. “Something’s got to give, otherwise we’ll fuck up the run to the cup.”
“You’ll win this year,” I said with conviction and he kissed me, slow and certain.
“Hey, Tian?” he murmured.
“Yeah?”
“Love you.”
I smiled against his shoulder. “Love you more.”
I thought back to Milan, to medals and promises, to the sharp ache of leaving him at the airport. Back then, I’d wondered if we’d make it. Now, sitting here with his arm around me and the future stretching out like a mountain run waiting to be carved, I knew we would.
Because love wasn’t just the highs—the medals, the wins, the headlines. Love was this. Pizza boxes on the coffee table. A hockey game on low in the background. His hand wrapped around mine, tethering me to the life we were building together.
I had it all. Right here.
THE END
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Years after their island fling turned into forever, Jack and Tian are husbands, fathers, and still each other’s greatest champions.
This exclusive bonus scene follows them from quiet moments at home to Tian’s triumphant return to the Olympic stage—where love, family, and one breathtaking jump change everything.