Epilogue
DECLAN - SIX MONTHS LATER
Ilean back on the couch, a slice of pepperoni pizza halfway to my mouth, watching Sutton across from me.
She's curled up in the corner of our sectional with her own slice, wearing one of my old Avalon hoodies and those ridiculous fuzzy socks with the little grips on the bottom.
Her hair is up in a messy bun, and she's got that look on her face—the one she gets when she's thinking hard about something she can't quite share.
"You're doing the thing again," I say.
She blinks and focuses on me. "What thing?"
"The thing where you're somewhere else entirely." I take a bite of pizza. "Work?"
"Always work." She sighs and sets her slice down on the paper plate balanced on her knee. "We got this case last week. I can't tell you details, but it's complicated. The kind of complicated that makes my brain hurt."
"Good complicated or bad complicated?"
"Both? I don't know." She picks at the cheese on her pizza. "It's high profile. I love what I do, but I hate the thought of me screwing something up and a bad guy getting away.”
"I know you." I finish my slice and reach for another. "You're meticulous. You triple-check everything. Just do what you do. The bad guy will get his.”
She smiles. "Thanks."
"So what can you tell me?"
"It involves trace evidence, like such a small amount, and if I screw up any of my tests, that’s it. There’s nothing else to test."
“You know what you’re doing. You got the job because they trust you. Don’t overthink it.”
She picks up her pizza again. "Tell me about your day. Distract me from my existential work crisis."
I grin. "We destroyed them. Four-nothing. I got two assists and almost scored in the third, but their goalie made this ridiculous save. I'm still mad about it."
"I saw the highlights. That save was insane. I’m sorry I didn’t get to go."
“Babe, you’ve seen me play hundreds of times. I don’t expect you to be at every game.”
“I feel like a bad girlfriend. The other girlfriends are going to talk shit.”
“Who cares? My opinion matters—not theirs. I wasn’t even sure I’d get any ice time. I’m not mad or sad or any of the things.”
“I’m going to the next one.”
I grab my beer from the coffee table. "Coach pulled me aside after and said I'm playing some of the best hockey he's seen from a rookie. Says if I keep this up, I might make the All-Rookie Team."
Her face lights up. "Declan, that's incredible!"
"It's a long shot. There are guys having better seasons. But it's nice to hear, you know? That I'm not completely screwing this up."
"You're not screwing anything up. You're killing it." She moves to sit closer to me. "I'm so proud of you."
"I had a couple of rough games at the start."
"Everyone has rough games. You adjusted. You figured it out. That's what matters."
I love this. This right here. Coming home after a game to someone who gets it.
Who knows what it costs and what it means.
Who celebrates the wins and talks me through the losses without making me feel like I need to be anything other than exactly who I am.
She knows hockey, which is also a huge help.
We talk through plays and watch my games to identify areas I could have improved. She’s my little home coach.
"How's the condo treating you?" I ask, looking around our new home.
It’s a three-bedroom, two-bath on the thirty-sixth floor. It was way out of the price range she was looking at. I had to remind her that my dad negotiated one hell of a deal for me.
"Are you asking if I've figured out the stupid shower yet?"
"Have you?"
"It’s digital. Not rocket science, but I’m used to turning the knob and getting in. Now, I feel like I’m firing up my rocket ship just to get clean.”
I laugh. “State of the art, baby.”
This is my life now. I love it. I love that we’ve settled together. We work. I know there is no chance I would be playing at the level I am without her. I need her. She grounds me, lifts me, and just makes me all around happy.
I want to marry her.
Not someday. Not eventually. Now.
"What?" she asks, and I realize I've been staring at her.
"Nothing."
"You look like you’re concentrating on something really hard.”
She sets her plate aside and shifts so she's facing me fully. "What's going on?"
My heart is pounding. This wasn't the plan. I was going to do this differently. I was going to plan something romantic. Maybe take her to that restaurant she loves downtown, or back to campus where we first met, or literally anywhere that isn't our couch with pizza grease on my fingers.
But I look at her sitting there in my hoodie with pizza sauce on her thumb, and I think—why wait?
Why wait for the perfect moment when this moment is already perfect?
"Marry me," I say.
She blinks. "What?"
"Marry me." I shift on the couch, turning to face her properly. "I don't have a ring. I was going to get one. I had this whole plan, but I'm sitting here looking at you, and I just…I can't wait. I don't want to wait."
"Declan, what are you saying?"
"I know this is fast. I know we're young and we're still figuring things out, and maybe this is crazy.
But I love you. I've loved you since our freshman year when you told me off for being an arrogant asshole, and I'm going to love you for the rest of my life.
So why wait? Why not just make it official?
" I gesture helplessly between us. "I’m never leaving you, and I told you before, I will chase you. I want to be your husband.”
She's staring at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have. Maybe this is the dumbest thing I've ever done.
"I'm not asking you to have kids tomorrow or buy a house or change anything about what we're doing right now," I continue, because apparently I can't stop talking.
"I just want you to be my wife. I want to know that when I wake up, you're mine and I'm yours, and that's not going to change. I want you to wear a huge rock on your finger so everyone knows you’re mine. "
She’s still staring at me. I did this wrong. I should have done the ring and one knee. I completely screwed this up.
"Yes."
I blink. "What?"
"Yes." She's smiling now. "I'll marry you."
"Really?"
"Yes, really, you idiot." She launches herself at me, and I catch her, pulling her into my lap. "Of course I'll marry you."
I kiss her. She tastes like pizza and beer and home. When I pull back, she's got tears in her eyes.
"I can't believe you just proposed to me without a ring," she says.
"Is that bad?"
"It's perfect." She kisses me again. "It's so perfectly us."
I hold her close, and I think about the last six months. The first few games, I couldn't find my rhythm. I was stressed out. I was not a fun guy to live with. But she stood by me, pushing me through it and setting me straight when I bit her head off for no good reason.
This is everything I wanted. Everything I chose.
"I'm getting you a ring," I tell her. "A real one. Something that doesn't suck."
"I don't care about the ring."
"I care about the ring. You're going to have the best ring. Something that makes people stop and stare."
She laughs. "Okay, hotshot. Whatever you say."
"I'm serious."
"I know you are." She settles against my chest. “I love you, Declan. I’ll love you whether you’re playing hockey or being a couch potato. I only ever want for you to be happy.”
“I am happy. You make me happy. All of this could be gone tomorrow, and I would still be the happiest guy in the world if I had you.”