Epilogue - Roman
Iparked in the players' lot before sunrise.
Inside Lakeshore Forum, it was too early for anyone except guys who couldn't sleep and coaches who never stopped working.
I'd spent my entire career so far chasing momentum. Speed and flash. Proof that I belonged. The captaincy was supposed to feel like I'd finally arrived.
Instead, it felt like I'd been handed something to build. Turn it into something that would last—a legacy.
I pulled the jersey over my head. The C settled against my chest.
Same face in the mirror. Same body. Inside, not the same guy who'd arrived in Chicago nine months ago looking for Grady. That guy was a little too cocky for his own good.
The door opened. Grady walked in with coffee and his gear bag.
"Early."
"Couldn't sleep."
He crossed to his stall and pulled out his own jersey. Navy blue. Number 11. No letter. He caught me watching. "What?"
"Making sure this is real."
I was still getting used to the warmth in his expression. "It's real."
He walked over, reached out, and tapped the C with two fingers. "Looks good on you."
He reached his hand out behind my neck and pulled me in for a kiss. Not long or heated. Real.
When he pulled back, I was smiling. "Trying to distract me before the home opener?"
"Is it working?"
"A bit."
He smiled. "Good."
The room filled up fast after that.
Luke dumped his bag and nodded at me. "Morning, Cap." No ceremony.
"Morning."
Petrie came in next—wiry, intense, still carrying himself like he wasn't sure he'd earned his spot. He'd been called up last February and fought his way onto the roster. Now he was trying to keep it.
He walked over to Grady's stall. "Hey, that forecheck read, I'm still jumping too early."
Grady looked up from taping his stick. "You're reacting before you have all the information. Watch the weak-side winger. He cheats down, you hold. He stays high, you go."
"So I need to wait."
"You need to read first. Then commit."
"Got it. Thanks."
Petrie walked away.
Players still went to Grady for certain questions. Not because they were ignoring me. Grady had answers I didn't know.
Twenty minutes later, Rourke called me over for a line meeting. Standard stuff, neutral zone coverage and gap control.
I used to think being captain meant standing at the front. Grady showed me it meant holding the center.
Practice ran smooth. Afterward, Rourke gave notes at center ice and released us. I headed for the tunnel. Grady matched my pace.
A reporter stood near the media corridor. Young guy with a notebook. He watched us approach, eyes tracking the space between us, how close we walked.
He said nothing. Only watched.
We kept walking.
Inside the locker room, I sat down and started unlacing my skates. Seb walked past with a towel over his shoulder.
"You guys coming tonight?"
Grady glanced at me. I nodded.
"Yeah," Grady said. "We'll be there."
Seb grinned. "Good. Luke's cooking, so don't expect much."
He treated us like we came as a package now. He used you guys like it didn't need explaining.
Nobody asked us to make announcements. So, we didn't do it. We existed.
Practice ended. Gear got packed. Cars filtered out of the lot one by one. By the time Grady and I pulled up outside Luke and Seb’s place, the sky had gone dark.
Their place, a walkup in Northalsted, smelled like burnt garlic bread.
"I told you to watch it," Seb called from the kitchen.
"I was watching it," Luke said. "It burned anyway."
Grady caught my eye. We both smiled.
In the kitchen, Luke stood at the stove, stirring something that looked like soup but was supposed to be pasta. Seb reached past him to add salt, and their shoulders bumped together.
"Beer?" Seb asked, turning toward us.
"Yeah."
He grabbed four bottles from the fridge and handed them out. Luke took his without looking, eyes still on the stove.
Seb's hand landed on Luke's lower back. Rested there while Luke stirred.
We moved to the living room. I sat on the couch, and Grady dropped down beside me. His thigh pressed against mine.
"What do you think about the new season?" Seb asked, settling into the armchair.
"Good. Schedule's brutal in November, but we should be fine."
"You nervous about the opener?"
"A little."
"You'll be great." Seb took a drink. "We've got you. We won't let you fail."
Grady reached out for my knee and squeezed once.
Luke appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. He tossed it on the counter and sat down next to Seb in the armchair.
Not on the arm. Next to him. Seb shifted to make room, and Luke's arm went across the back of the chair.
"Dinner's gonna be another ten minutes," Luke said. "Fair warning, it's not great."
"When is it ever?" Seb asked with a smile.
"You love my cooking."
"I love you. The cooking…"
"Fair."
Grady's hand was still on my knee.
Dinner was as bad as advertised. Overcooked pasta and garlic bread with a hint of charcoal.
We all ate it anyway. I watched Luke and Seb move around each other in the kitchen afterward. Practiced. Familiar. When they reached for the same dish, Luke's hand covered Seb's for a second before letting go.
Later, we sat in the living room again. Luke and Seb on the couch this time, close enough that Seb's head rested on Luke's shoulder.
Grady sat beside me. He reached out for the back of my neck, gently rubbing with his thumb.
I leaned into it.
When we finally stood to leave, Seb walked us to the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "It's good. Seeing you guys like this."
I looked at Grady. "Yeah," I said. "It is."
Outside, the air had dropped ten degrees. I unlocked my car, and we got in. Grady didn't put his seatbelt on right away. He looked at me.
"What?"
"Nothing." He reached over and pulled me in.
The kiss was slow and deep. When we broke apart, I was breathing harder.
"Home?" I asked.
"Yeah."
I started the car. His hand stayed on my thigh the entire drive.
Monday came fast. Morning skate, early meetings, and the low hum of a room settling into routine. I was checking my phone in the locker room when I heard voices by the door. Petrie and a reporter I didn't recognize.
"—just want to get your take on the leadership transition," the reporter was saying.
"What transition?"
"New captain. Different energy in the room."
"Room's the same. We play hockey."
"But Wilder's younger than Volkov. That has to change things—"
Petrie wasn't biting. "We win games or we don't. Everything else is noise."
The reporter hesitated, then walked away. Petrie turned and saw me watching.
"He's hunting for a story," Petrie said.
"What'd you tell him?"
"The truth. Room's solid."
"Is it?"
He smiled at me. "Yeah. It is."
"Good."
"You're different from what I expected," he said.
"How so?"
"Thought you'd be louder. More—I don't know. Trying to prove something."
"Disappointed?"
"No, but I'm still figuring you out." He rubbed the stubble on his jaw. "Why didn't you control the story? About the captaincy. You could've done interviews and shaped how people saw it."
I thought about that. How I could've managed it all. We'd chosen to let it be messy instead. Real.
"It wasn't only my story."
Petrie nodded slowly. "That's smart. Or crazy."
"Probably both."
He walked away. I sat there for a minute, thinking about how Petrie watched everything. Noticed things. Asked questions that dove deeper than the surface.
He wasn't trouble, but he was someone who'd push me to be better without announcing it.
I needed to keep an eye on him.
OPENING NIGHT
I stood in the tunnel with my helmet in my hand, listening to twenty thousand people fill the building. The C pressed against my chest. Not heavy, but there.
Grady stood next to me, already in full gear. His face was calm and focused.
"You ready?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Nervous?"
"A little."
"Good. That means you care."
Ahead of the anthem, I skated out first. Captain's privilege.
I took my spot on the blue line. Grady settled next to me, close enough that our shoulders almost touched.
After the anthem, when the applause died down, I readied myself for the face-off.
The puck dropped. I won the draw clean and sent it back to Grady. He moved it up to Seb, and we were off.
Ninety seconds in, I fed Petrie in the slot. He buried it.
The building exploded with cheers.
When I got back to the bench, Grady tapped my shin pad with his stick. "Good shift."
It was a good game, and we were ahead at the final horn.
Media availability happened an hour later. Standard questions: how it felt, what worked, and how I was adjusting.
Then someone asked about Grady. "He's not wearing the C anymore. How's that impacted the room?"
The reporter was a young guy. Not looking for drama, only asking the obvious question.
"Grady's still essential. He's the glue that holds the room together. The letter doesn't change that."
A few more questions, then they let me go.
When I walked out, Grady was waiting in the hallway. He'd heard.
"You didn't have to say that."
"I know, but I told the truth."
He looked at me for a long moment before nodding.
We started walking back toward the locker room. Halfway down the hallway, away from the media and the cameras, Grady stopped.
He turned to me. Put his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me in. The kiss was hard. Confident. His other hand gripped my waist, and I pressed closer, feeling the solid weight of him against me.
"Good game, Cap," he whispered.
I grinned. "Thanks."
He kissed a sensitive spot beneath my ear.
"Come home with me tonight," I breathed.
"Wouldn't miss it."