Epilogue
EPILOGUE
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Matthieu, why on earth am I staring at a pair of blue slacks and a red sports coat?” Jeannie’s voice carried both amusement and exasperation as she turned to her husband, eyebrows raised in disbelief.
Across the bedroom, Matthieu simply shrugged, utterly unfazed. That maddeningly charming smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and his ocean-blue eyes twinkled with mischief. The same eyes that had once made her weak in the knees, the same ones she had looked into for the past twenty-five years, through laughter, through pain, through every beautifully chaotic moment of their life together.
“You can’t wear that,” she continued, stepping toward him and tugging at the offensive jacket as though her sheer will alone could erase it from existence. “Where did you get this obscenely ugly thing? And nobody wears a red sports coat—” She paused, narrowing her gaze as he bit his lip, barely containing his laughter. “And why are you laughing at me?”
He didn’t answer, just let out a quiet chuckle, his face creasing at the corners, those laugh lines etched by years of shared jokes, whispered confessions in the dark, and the unshakable foundation they had built together.
Life had been good to them, but time still left its mark. She felt it in her bones sometimes, in the aching remnants of sleepless nights spent rocking colicky babies, in the stretch marks that traced the journey of motherhood across her skin, in the weight of a million small sacrifices that had shaped her into the woman she was now. Gone was the taut-skinned girl in her early twenties, full of reckless hope and naivety. In her place stood a woman who had birthed five children, kissed scraped knees, cheered from the stands at hockey matches, and packed endless lunch bags. A woman whose body had softened, whose hands had wrung out worry and love in equal measure.
“What are you thinking?” Matthieu asked gently, his voice pulling her from the depths of her thoughts. His hands found her waist, warm and steady, the same way they always had.
She let out a breathy chuckle, shaking her head as she slid the ridiculous jacket off his shoulders. “I never could hide anything from you.”
“Nope,” he said, his lips quirking up. “And?”
“And… I’m getting old.”
“Thankfully, I’m getting naked,” he teased, his fingers already working at the buttons of his shirt. “Shirt next, or should we just take off these trousers?”
She scoffed, swatting at his chest with a laugh. “Matthieu. Our son is starting tonight for the Maple Leafs?—”
“Shh—” he hushed her dramatically, eyes wide with faux horror as he crossed himself and looked toward the ceiling. “We don’t say those words in this house. Red and Blue— Wolverines —Gooo Wolverines,” he chanted under his breath, his hands clasped together in mock prayer. “Forgive her, Lord. She knows not what she says.”
She gasped, laughing as she smacked his arm. “You are terrible!”
He yelped in exaggerated betrayal, then—before she could react—he unbuckled his belt in record time, letting his trousers fall to the floor with a grin that was entirely too pleased with itself.
“Matthieu!”
“What?!” he laughed, stepping toward her, wrapping his arms around her, his warmth seeping into her like it always had. “We’re not old.”
“I feel old.”
“You feel perfect,” he murmured, his lips finding the curve of her neck. She shivered, not from the cold but from the way he still, after all these years, made her body remember what it meant to be loved. She tried to push away, half-hearted, but her resistance was fleeting, and she sagged into his embrace with a contented sigh.
“You’ve always felt like home,” he whispered against her skin. “And I don’t care if we’re senile, wrinkled, or sagging in places. I love you.” He paused, looked down between them, and then added with a frown, “But I do care about—well, you know .”
She threw her head back in laughter, the kind that shook through her shoulders and left her gasping. “That’s not funny, babe.”
“It’s hysterical.”
“Not to a guy.”
She grinned, tilting her head to look at him. “Sex isn’t everything.”
Matthieu shot another look at the ceiling, sighing dramatically. “See? She doesn’t know what she’s saying. I told you—just let her live in delusion with me and keep giving me the energy to make her happy. It’s not much to ask for, Lord.”
She giggled, shaking her head. “You are a sacrilegious twerp, I swear.”
“Nooo, I’m an honest, prayer-driven twerp when it comes to certain things,” he said solemnly. “I will always pray for our souls, our happiness, our children… and the ability to make you holler in the bedroom.”
“Oh my gosh—stop.”
He waggled his brows. “Yeah, you say that, but we both know you never mean it.”
“That’s how we ended up with five kids instead of four.”
They shared a look then, one filled with the weight of history, of stolen moments, of nights spent tangled together in laughter and love.
“Are you going to be serious now?” she asked, softening, running her fingers through the silver at his temples.
“Babe, I’m always serious when it comes to sex.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Matthieu, I’m not talking about that.” Taking a breath, she met his gaze, letting herself get lost in the blue that had been hers for over two decades. “We’re supposed to be heading to the game and meeting up with Jett, Salas, Savage, Lafreniére, Coeur, and…”
“Speaking of—why didn’t he sign my son to the Dragons?”
Jeannie exhaled, already knowing the weight behind his words. “Because your friendship means more to them.”
Matthieu frowned, his hands tightening slightly around her waist.
“Hockey is their business now, and Lafreniére would never jeopardize your friendship. Just like I never built Laurel’s website for her books. It’s not personal. It’s protecting something before it ever has the chance to become a problem.”
“It’s our boy, Jeannie...”
Jeannie cupped his face, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “Who is better off learning from someone he doesn’t call ‘ Uncle Dustin .’” She watched the tension ease from his shoulders. “He’ll always have a soft place to land if he needs it.”
“I know,” Matthieu murmured. “But it’s hard.”
“It really is.”
A beat of silence stretched between them before he grinned. “So, how about you make me feel better?”
She scoffed. “Matthieu...”
“We’ve got thirty minutes before we have to go… and you know I love it when you look all frisky.”
“I’m wearing a muumuu,” she retorted in a deadpan voice. Her dress was hanging on a hanger nearby to keep it from getting dirty as she finished getting ready.
“Heck yeah, those Hawaiian flowers make my knees weak.”
She dissolved into laughter as he pulled her close again, and she melted, as she always did.
“Thirty minutes?” she murmured, voice warm with love and mischief.
“Technically thirty-five, but I thought I’d give you a few to straighten up your hair,” he said, breathless against her lips. “Wanna fool around, lover?”
“Always.”