Epilogue
DAN
FIVE YEARS LATER
Today was special. Not only was it five years since Lincoln had officially become my boyfriend, but it was four years since he’d signed a deal with the Cheltenham Storm EIHL team, realising his dream of becoming a professional hockey player.
He’d accomplished all that and managed to finish his degree via distance learning after dropping out of Whelford to focus on his hockey career.
I was so fucking proud of him, and I had a little surprise for him after the game.
For now, though, I was going to sit here for the next three periods and watch him do what he did best—dominate the defence.
“There’s my son,” my mum said as the players were announced, skating onto the ice beneath colourful swirling lights.
“Your favourite son?”
“I love both of you equally, and you know it.” She elbowed me before waving madly at the love of my life.
He spotted us, a grin curving over his lips, and I grinned right back at him.
What a life I lived. I was a respectable-ish businessman, with my fingers in all sorts of delicious pies, and my boyfriend was the number one hockey player in the entire UK, and probably even Europe. In my humble opinion.
There was a stirring in the stands, and a minute later, I found out why.
The Storm’s assistant coach, Cody Clements, was married, and his husband was in attendance tonight.
Why was that a big deal? His husband just so happened to be Jude Nielson, a Premier League footballer who played for Glevum FC.
“Alright, mate?” I nodded at Jude as he took a seat next to me.
Look at me, hanging out with football royalty.
Truthfully, we’d become acquaintances when he and Cody had taken Lincoln under their wing, helping him to navigate life as a professional hockey player who was out and in a committed relationship with a man. We owed them a lot, honestly.
“Alright.” Jude shot me a grin before settling back in his seat. “It’s been a while.”
“International break?” I guessed. He didn’t often get to come to games because of his schedule, but I knew the international teams were playing at the moment, so there were no Premier League games.
“Yeah.” We made small talk until it was time for the puck drop, and then my full attention was drawn to the game. Or more specifically, to Lincoln. Years of watching him play, never missing a single game since he’d gone pro, and he never failed to blow me away with his talent.
The three periods flew by. Cheltenham were playing against Cardiff, who were a formidable team, but I’d given Link an extra red Haribo before the game, and I knew it was going to be his lucky night.
I loved that he’d carried on my tradition, although probably not as much as Tilly.
She was fifteen now, and she still took her job of sorting out the red ones and taste testing the others just as seriously as she had when she was ten.
The team’s hard work paid off, ending with a 4-3 win for the Storm.
Jumping from my seat, I rushed down through the arena to the rinkside area, closely followed by my mum and Jude.
Jude disappeared to find his husband, while my mum and I waited impatiently for our favourite person to come off the ice. Joint favourite, in my mum’s case.
Then, there he was. My Lincoln. Sweating and exhausted after throwing everything he had at the Cardiff players, but with a triumphant smile on his face.
My mum got to him first, and he leaned down so she could press a kiss to his cheek. “You were great,” she said, rubbing her hand briskly up and down his arm. “We’re so proud of you, love.”
“Thanks.” He paused and then added a quiet “Mum.”
My heart melted into a puddle. My man, who grew up being treated like shit by his own parents, like a fucking afterthought, like someone who couldn’t live up to a ghost, now had people who loved him so fucking much, they’d give him the world.
One evening a couple of years into our relationship, we’d been at the house, and my mum had been showing Lincoln embarrassing photos of me as a kid.
Joking—there were no embarrassing ones. Every single picture of me as a kid was cute as fuck.
Anyway, she’d asked him if he had any childhood photos, and he’d ended up confiding in her about his life growing up.
They’d spoken for hours, and at the end of it, he’d told her that he loved her and that she was a better mother to him than his own mother had ever been.
She was crying a bit, and she took his hands and said she’d be honoured if he called her “Mum.”
That was the moment that I knew Lincoln was going to be with us forever. He belonged to us, and we loved him.
My eyes met his over my mum’s head, and his smile turned into that soft, small, private one that he only ever gave to me. Hi, he mouthed.
Hi, I mouthed back.
After one last squeeze of his arm, my mum stepped aside. “Right. I’ve got to get home now. I’ll see you boys for Sunday dinner.” We said our goodbyes, and then it was just me and Lincoln.
“Wait for me, baby,” he murmured, leaning in to brush a kiss over my lips.
“Always,” I said. As much as I wanted to have him all to myself right now, there were inconvenient things like showers and debriefs first. “Meet me back here when you’re done.”
I waited impatiently in the emptying rink, willing the doors to open. Finally, they did, Lincoln reappearing dressed in a Cheltenham Storm hoodie and sweatpants, his hair damp from the shower. I threw myself at him, nearly taking us both out as I buried my face in his throat.
He laughed, staggering backwards before righting himself. “Happy anniversary, Dan.”
“Happy double anniversary. Five years of you and me being official, and four years of being a pro. I got you a surprise, but you’re gonna have to take my top off to see it.”
“If this is a hint for me to get you naked, I can oblige, but maybe we should save it for a less public place.”
“It’s not, although getting naked is on the table for later. Are you ready?” Without waiting for a reply, I removed my hoodie, leaving me in a thin T-shirt and my sweatpants.
Shit. It was freezing in here. Why had I decided to do this in a place filled with ice? Better get through it quickly, then I could get Link to warm me up.
I shoved my arm in his face. Technically, I could’ve just pulled my sleeve up, but it was still sore, and I didn’t want to accidentally irritate it.
He stared at the inside of my wrist, his mouth falling open as he took in my first and only tattoo.
It was a small, simple design. Two crossed hockey sticks, and beneath them, in place of a puck, was a stylised heart container that exactly matched the ones inked on the inside of Lincoln’s wrist.
“You got a tattoo of a flame for me last year, and now, this one’s for you. The sticks represent us, and the heart… Remember when I noticed your heart tattoo, when you were pinning me up against the wall by the throat?”
“Which time?” He grinned at me, and I smirked back at him.
Carefully gripping my forearm, he lifted my arm higher so he could take in the design better.
“No, I definitely remember. That was the day you came to my campus and asked what I knew about Operation Foxglove. Then you texted me about it under one of your many false pretences, all so you could hate-flirt with me.”
I sighed. “I miss hate-flirting with you. Although I guess regular flirting is okay too.”
“I’m glad it’s okay,” he said sarcastically, but then he drew me in and kissed me softly. “I fucking love it, Dan. I can’t believe you got it. This…this design…”
“The outside matches the inside, where you permanently marked my heart.” I grimaced as soon as the words came out of my mouth.
“Okay, yeah, that sounded cringey. But you know what I mean. And that heart is like a representation of all the things I love about you. Your tattoos, your love of Zelda and your relationship with Tilly, and your heart that has so much fucking love in it, I can’t believe it sometimes. ”
“Dan,” he breathed, wrapping his arms around me and sliding his lips over mine. “My baby.”
“Yours. Always,” I said.
THE END