Epilogue
Jamie
One Year Later…
“Tom? You here?” I call, letting myself in the front door of the Winchester house.
I called Tom and told him I was stopping by to pick up a sweatshirt I left over here the last time the three of us had dinner together—a sweatshirt I left on purpose.
“Up here, Jay!” I hear a muffled call from upstairs, and make my way up to his room, finding the man laid out under the sink in his master bathroom.
“What are you doing?” I ask, leaning up against the doorway.
“One of my damn cuff links rolled down the drain,” he grumbles. “I didn’t put ‘em away after the fundraiser last night, and I knocked it into the sink this morning while I was brushing my teeth. Hand me that wrench, will you?”
Last night, the Warrens and I hosted a fundraiser—the first of many—raising money for the victims of domestic violence and sex trafficking.
After months of pouring over the legal and economic technicalities with Jill Warren—and collaborating with the Board of the foundation she started in honor of her daughter and Colt’s mother last February—we finally got all the kinks worked out starting my own charity foundation.
Though my name isn’t on it publicly, most everyone who was at the event knew it was mine.
I had finally decided to take Maya’s advice about six months ago, sitting down to record and post about my story online.
The NHL backed me a hundred percent, and within weeks, my agent was getting calls about doing documentaries of my life and all sorts of other insane offers that I decided to decline for the time being.
My recovery from my shoulder injury went as well as it could have, and I started practicing with the Flyers about four months ago, and Colt will be joining me on the ice again here in a few short weeks, after graduation.
Bending down, I pass Tom the wrench he asked for, unsure what to do next. I came here for a reason, but asking him while he’s pissed off and playing plumber doesn’t sound like the best idea.
“How’s the music stuff going?” Tom asks, banging around beneath the cabinet where I can’t see.
“Good. My song hit ten million streams last week.”
Alongside going public with my story, I also indie released my song, posting the original video of me singing it on my guitar account, and it was an overnight viral hit—both because people were shocked to have a name and face to go with my account and because they loved the song.
I’ve had music producers reach out as well, but I’ve turned them all down, adamant in my belief that the industry is corrupt and that I want no part in the type of life Ross lived.
I just want to create music and keep doing what I enjoy, no strings attached.
“Got it!” Tom exclaims loudly, startling me. He climbs out from under the sink, holding the small gold cuff link out like he just won an award. He grins, then gestures for me to head back out into the bedroom.
“You don’t have to stick around, son. I can put the sink back together,” he explains, depositing the cuff link into the leather tray on his dresser.
“No, uh, I actually wanted to talk to you about something,” I start, my stomach somersaulting and my palms growing sweaty all of a sudden. “I want to ask Maya to marry me,” I blurt out, getting it over with before I chicken out.
Tom goes silent, still facing his dresser as he processed my words. When he finally does turn around, I can’t read his expression, and my stomach twists more.
“Now?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
“No—no, not now. But soon, maybe. After graduation and this summer. I want to see where we end up, with all the traveling we’ll both be doing.
But I want you to know that I’m thinking about it, and that I want to start planning, and that I’m going to look at rings soon, too.
I wanted you to be okay with it, but also she’d probably kill you if you tried to tell me no—” I realize I’m rambling when Tom’s face breaks out in an elated smile, laughing at my flustered state.
“I’m just messing with you, Jamie.” He yanks me into a hug, and I let out a relieved chuckle. “Of course I’m okay with it. You’re twenty-four years old, and by watching the two of you together, I expected it sooner rather than later.”
When he pulls back, he waved me over and walks into his closet, pulling out a dusty old shoe box and taking seat on the edge of the bed.
“I was actually waiting for you to ask… Come here, I want to show you this, and you can tell me what you think.”
I walk over, making myself comfortable next to him as he flips open the lid of the box and I see that it’s full of old weathered photos.
Photos of him and my mom.
Tom doesn’t hand me the box, doesn’t mention the photos at all, as he digs his hand down to the bottom and pulls out a much smaller box buried inside.
A black velvet ring box.
Tom sets the box of photographs to the side and cradles the ring box in his hands. “I bought this…bought it a month before the accident.”
He hands me the box gingerly. “You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to…but I’d like to think she’d want you to have it, instead of it collecting dust in my closet.”
My nose scrunches with emotion as I open the box to find a large emerald cut diamond set in a timeless gold bezel, small intricate swirls and leaves engraved into the band.
It’s artistic and elegant and exactly something I would’ve picked for Maya myself.
“I can’t take this from you,” I whisper, fighting not to get choked up. Tom simply shakes his head.
“It’s yours if you want it, Jamie. You and I both know Lucinda would’ve wanted you to have it.”
Finally, I nod my head and shut the box, pulling him into another hug—eternally grateful that I have a loving father-figure to guide me in life, despite it all.
“One more thing,” I say, settling back in my seat. “I’m not going to ask her to take my name; I’m ready to leave ‘Booker’ behind me. How do you feel about Jameson Winchester?”