Epilogue
“The more difficult the victory, the greater the happiness in winning.”—Pelé
Three Years Later
Gus
“Mr. L! Um, I’m sorry to bug you, but I was wondering…does the report have to be five hundred words? That’s kind of a lot, and I have practice in, like, ten minutes.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the teenage kid in line behind me at Coffee Cave.
Brice Alvarez, QB for the Bears’ JV team, a world-class smartass and a weasel.
Brice was the kid who assumed every assignment was up for negotiation.
Did he really think there was a chance I’d tell him to write whatever he wanted and call it a day?
Okay, sure…the old me might have, but not now. I was a professional, for fuck’s sake.
“Brice, my man. Thanks for checking in. Your commitment to your schedule is admirable,” I said, stepping forward in the queue.
“Uh…thanks.”
“Did you read the book?”
He shrugged. The gesture made his bangs cascade across his forehead. “Not yet, but it won’t take long.”
Wow. How did I put up with these knuckleheads?
Let me tell you, it took the patience of a saint most days, but for some weird reason, I was good at it.
I’d been told that other teachers weren’t as approachable.
Not many fourteen-year-olds would have dared disturb the crabby geometry teacher, Mr. Olstrom, while he waited for a much-needed, end-of-day caffeine infusion, that was for damn sure.
The kid still had no hope of getting out of his homework. Under my “cool adult” persona, I was a hard-ass.
“Let’s see. The Great Gatsby is approximately two hundred and twenty pages. It’s four twenty now, and you’ve got practice till…what time?”
“Six.”
“Ouch, cutting it close. I hope you weren’t planning on using CliffsNotes,” I singsonged, stepping to the register. I greeted Darya with a fist bump, ordered two lattes, and reminded her that I also needed to pick up hot chocolate for the team.
“Yep! I’ve got the container ready,” Darya said. “It’s a little heavy, but you can manage it if you put your drinks in a tray or find a minion to help you carry it.”
“I got it covered.”
“Good. You don’t have far to go, so it’ll stay warm for you. Have a good one, Gus. Say hi to Rafe for me. And oh, my gosh…tell him congratulations!”
“Will do.” I thanked her and moved to the counter to wait for my drinks.
Brice followed. “I can read fast.”
“Glad to hear it,” I replied. “I’d get to it if I were you. Time’s tickin’, and you’ve got five hundred words due in less than forty-eight hours, Alvarez.”
“Let’s make a deal. Two fifty?”
I laughed as I pulled my cell from my pocket and peeked at the incoming text message. “Five hundred. See you tomorrow.”
Brice wilted. “Worth a shot. Hey, did you really buy hot chocolate for the hockey team?”
“Yeah, I lost a bet.”
“Dude, I need to switch sports. Later, Mr. L.”
I fit the lattes into a tray and hefted the large container with my free hand, rolling my eyes at the wise guy who’d offered me a high five. It was another student with a posse of his goofball friends. They chuckled like hyenas but wisely held the door open for me.
I squinted against the early October sunshine, my mind wandering to the tapes I wanted the team to watch today and the questions I’d prepared for tomorrow’s quiz in my English class, which poor Brice was probably going to bomb.
Shit, and I was supposed to buy cat food too.
No problem. I could do that online…as soon as my hands were free and—
“Can I help you, Coach?”
My grin was immediate and so wide, it felt like my face split in half. Some days it blew me away that this guy was mine.
I passed Rafe the latte tray, then wrapped my fingers around his nape and kissed him. He hummed into the connection, fluttering his lashes like a lovesick cartoon character. Or maybe that was me.
“You’re early,” I purred.
“Light traffic. I went home, changed, and fed Mr. Darcy. Poor guy was grumpy that I had to leave again.”
“He’s grumpy because his name is Mr. Darcy.”
Rafe snickered. “He loves it, and so do you.”
I delivered my best deadpan stare because the inside joke was the type that didn’t require a response.
See, Rafe and I had adopted the judgy feline from the shelter after he’d competed in the US Collegiate Championships three years ago.
Rafe had been fresh off celebrating his triumphant silver medal in the Senior Mens’ event and in the process of finding an apartment in Syracuse.
I’d mentioned that he could use my truck and that if he didn’t mind the drive, he could save rent money, and… live with me. And we could get a cat.
“A cat?” Rafe had cocked his head thoughtfully as he’d processed my invitation.
“Yeah, this guy at the shelter needs a home, and I’d like my roomie back. It could be part two of the roommate game. Only better ’cause we’d share a king-sized bed from day one.”
Rafe had smiled. “And what would we name the cat?”
“Well, something butch and fierce, of course.”
“Of course. How do you feel about Mr. Darcy?”
“I do not feel good about that at all,” I’d huffed. “How about Spike?”
“How about Dandelion?”
“The fuck? Fine. You know what…we’ll call him Mr. Fucking Darcy. Just move your shit into our new place already.”
Shocking as hell, but my powers of persuasion worked. Rafe had moved in that August, we’d adopted Mr. Darcy and started our new life together, juggling my first year as a high school teacher and coach and Rafe’s foray into the world of professional figure skating.
I was insanely proud of my man. He’d medaled in consecutive prestigious tournaments and had been hailed as an elite athlete on the rise in the most recent Sports Illustrated article.
It had kept the whole town buzzing. And yeah, that was what Darya had referred to earlier.
Rafe’s star was on the rise…just as I’d predicted.
There’d been a few bumps along the way. He hadn’t made the Olympic team two years ago, and he’d been heartbroken.
But that hadn’t stopped him. He’d be twenty-eight at the next winter games, and he was going for it.
I had a feeling he’d make it this time. Once Rafe set his mind to something, he didn’t let go.
I’d never seen anyone focus quite like my man.
He was aware of the competition and prepared to put in the work.
The figure skating community was tight-knit.
Which was nice, ’cause he was still able to stay in close contact with Celine.
Rafe had convinced her to join Central Club in Syracuse with him.
They’d trained together until Celine had stopped competing last year due to a persistent knee issue.
She worked with younger skaters now and recruited Rafe to help out whenever he was in town.
And yes, he bumped into Eli often.
Some hotshot reporter had done their homework and noted that Rafe had edged Eli out of the college competition and created a rivalry dialogue that resonated with the fans.
Someone had even insinuated that they’d been lovers, but that rumor had been quickly squashed.
It hadn’t played well since Rafe was obviously taken, and Eli’s boyfriend was a Russian bodybuilder who, apparently, was scarier than I was.
Truthfully, they were friendly-ish. Not buddies, but not enemies. As Rafe put it, “I don’t dislike him. If anything, he makes me try harder because I don’t want to lose to him. I think I do the same for him. He’s healthy competition now. Nothing more.”
Rafe and I didn’t compete. We balanced each other.
Work and real-life balance with a professional athlete could be tricky, but we were good partners and we supported each other through thick and thin. I taped his feet at the end of a hard practice, massaged his quads, made meals…whatever he needed.
And he did the same for me.
Rafe was my champion. My rock who showed up to high school games to cheer on the coach and listened to me gripe about the hormonal teenagers who didn’t read the material. My job wasn’t glamorous, but he knew I loved it. Moreover, I was good at it.
I connected with kids and I liked to think I inspired them to work hard, try hard.
Funny as hell coming from the guy who used to have a reputation as Smithton’s party animal.
A lot had changed since college. I’d been sober for three and a half years, and I felt like a better me.
More clearheaded, more in tune with myself and the people who mattered most.
I had a better relationship with my friends and my family now.
More honest. More open. I didn’t skirt around uncomfortable issues anymore.
I faced them head on. Of course, my buddies were easy.
My mom was the tricky one. I had a feeling she was still hoping I’d give up teaching and coaching for law school, but ultimately, she loved me.
And she freaking loved my boyfriend. All caps. You’d never know she’d ever had an issue with my bisexuality.
My folks traveled to his competitions, and because my mom was a closet softie, they made sure Rafe’s parents were there too. Or I did. I wanted him to be surrounded by the people who mattered most.
“So what’s the plan? Do you need to stay and watch the tape?” he asked, falling into step with me toward my truck.
“No, Grigsby can do that. I have to show up to personally deliver the goods and let the kids razz me for losing a bet.”
“But you won your first scrimmage.”
“Yep. In a twist, hot chocolate is incentive to pay attention…even for seventeen-year-olds.”
Rafe’s sappy smile warmed my insides. “I know I’m jumping ahead a few years, but I think you’re going to be a great dad someday, Gus.”
I almost dropped the container. “Dad? Are we having a kid I don’t know about?”
“Very funny.”
“And I thought you said you wanted to get married first. Are you proposing”—I looked around, my eyes blown wide for comedic purposes—“in the parking lot of Coffee Cave?”
Rafe smacked my arm and growled. “No, I am not. When one of us proposes, it’ll be somewhere totally romantic.”
“I like that idea. Let’s make a game of it. Whoever finds the best place to propose first wins. You lost this round. I’m next.”
He sputtered indignantly, put the latte tray on the hood of the truck, and crashed his mouth over mine in a searing kiss. “You’re so…you.”
“You love me.”
“I do. I love you very, very, very much, Gus Langley.”
“I love you too.”
“Let’s drop off your cocoa so we can go home and get horizontal. Please.”
“You got it.”
I laced our fingers and kissed him in a public lot in the middle of town because he was mine and it felt right.
Maybe this was controversial, but…I wasn’t sorry I’d stolen my roomie’s orange juice a few years ago. I’d do it all over again just to be on this path with him. We had friendship, laughter, and a bright future on the horizon. And a cat named Mr. Darcy.
Loving Rafe was a gift, and I cherished what we had every damn day.
Thank you for reading Rafe and Gus’s story!