Epilogue Jeremy
The end of the summer coincides with the beginning of our new life.
Today, Vanya moves in.
It’s a low-key move, since it’s a matter of crossing the street with a few boxes in her car.
The first thing Vanya does after pulling into the driveway is march straight into the garage and haul my hockey gear out of its rightful spot. She drags the large bag across the concrete.
“What are you doing?” I ask, setting down the coffee I’d been holding for her triumphant arrival.
She straightens and nods toward the empty corner where my stuff used to live. “Making room. My car deserves a spot inside, and this,” she points at the offending bag, “is going somewhere else.”
“Somewhere else?” I repeat, incredulously. “Vanya, that exact place in the garage has held my hockey gear for decades. It’s practically a tenant.”
She doesn’t even flinch. “Perhaps it’s overdue for eviction.”
I step down into the garage, kicking the bag. “You know this thing smells like a crime scene, right? My mom never let it in the house.”
“Well, it’s not staying where my car goes,” she says with a shrug, walking past me toward the house. “Find it a new home. Outside, preferably.”
I stare after her, helpless in the best way, because how am I supposed to argue with someone who manages to make bossy look adorable? Watching her move around my —our house like she’s already lived here for years fills me with a kind of happiness I can’t quite explain. As if I’ve been missing something my whole life without even knowing it until she shows up and takes over my garage.
“You’re impossible,” I call after her when she walks past me.
“And yet, here you are, keeping me anyway,” she tosses back without missing a beat.
She’s not wrong. I’ll keep her all day and forever if she lets me. I grab a box and follow her into the living room.
The past few months flash through my mind. The Mavericks lost in the playoffs after I pulled myself from the season. A tough decision, but the right one. Vanya had sat me down—well, more like pinned me with her no-nonsense doctor stare—and laid out the cold, hard truth. If I didn’t stop, I’d risk making my injuries worse. I had finally listened.
She was right, of course. After some brutal honesty from Dr. Leroi and a slew of sophisticated imaging tests, we confirmed the labral tears worsened. What followed was months of physical therapy, strength training, and exercises designed to stabilize every muscle, tendon, and ligament holding me together.
No skating.
No “testing it out.”
No heroics.
It was torture. But it worked. The first time I got back on the ice, I felt like a completely different player. Funny how Vanya’s always right about these things. Annoying, but funny.
Speaking of Vanya, she’s still buzzing around, grabbing boxes and organizing the house. Watching her adjust so seamlessly to this new chapter is surreal. She’s no longer officially my doctor. Now she’s my partner. My person in every way that counts.
She’s staying in Columbus for good, which is the best news I’ve ever gotten, even compared to a full bill of health. Her research fellowship turned into a full-time position in Kyle’s practice, with the potential to make partner.
Plans for publishing her research were replaced by plans for serving the hockey community. She’s expanded her focus from just EDS to helping goaltenders like me, active players and retirees alike, figure out how to keep doing what they love without wrecking themselves. Sabrina is a patient and a publicity board for Vanya’s expertise. It’s amazing to see how much of a difference Vanya is making for people.
She still flies to Boston often to check in on Ashley, who, along with Paul, is now part of our friend circle. Paul and I got off to a rough start, but he’s cool once you get to know him. Ashley tolerates me, barely. I’ll win her over eventually.
“Are you going to help or just stand around looking pretty?” Vanya’s voice cuts into my thoughts, bringing me back to the moment.
I blink at her, grinning. “I’m multi-tasking. I can look pretty and supervise.”
She smirks, tossing a throw pillow in my direction. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah, but I’m your impossible.”
Her expression softens. For a second, she looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. It’s enough to make me drop the box I’m holding and cross the room to pull her into a hug. She fits perfectly in my arms. I’ll never get over the fact that she chose me.
“Jeremy,” she murmurs against my chest, her voice teasing, “you’re squishing me.”
“Get used to it,” I say, holding her tighter.
If my time with Vanya has taught me anything, it’s that life doesn’t always go according to plan, but sometimes that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be. Vanya and I have come so far, and standing here in our home, surrounded by boxes and chaos, I know this is just the beginning.
When she wiggles free and gives me a peck on the cheek, I know it’s time to finish the move. I return to the box, which is slightly opened. That’s when I see it.
The book.
I hadn’t laid eyes on it since the first night I came over and she had it open to one picture. I lunge like a boy on Christmas morning, ready to tear into his presents.
And what a present! Image after image brands my brain. Vanya laying back with her legs crossed demurely, but the angle shows a bit of side boob. One where she’s standing by a window, silhouetted curves making my mouth water. Another where she’s reading a book while on her stomach, her thong making her perfect ass perfecter.
Is that a word? It should be.
“What are you doing?”
“Um, nothing?” I say, my voice parched.
“Jeremy, are those my boudoir pictures!”
“Yes! They fell out of the box, and how can I resist?”
“Fell out, huh. Give them back.”
“C’mon, beautiful. This is my move-in gift. They are so fucking hot.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Plenty of women look better than I do.”
“Let me look closer so I can give a detailed opinion.”
“I don’t think so,” she quips.
“Not even for putting away my hockey gear so you never have to be exposed to its biohazard stink?”
“I, um, I haven’t looked at them since last year. My pictures, I mean.”
“Then let’s look at them together. Sit on my lap so I can tell you a story about this fucking unbelievably hot woman.”
She doesn’t say no, so I wrap my arms around her waist and whisper in her ear. “You gotta torture me with these wet dream photos? I don’t know if I want to rip them up so I’m the only one who ever sees them. Or hang them on the wall because they’re the most beautiful images I’ve ever seen.”
“I-I’m wearing them right, um, right now,” she stutters shyly.
“What?”
“The white ones. I didn’t have time to do my usual laundry, so I had to put them on.”
I fall on my knees.
“Are you OK?” she asks, alarmed.
“Let me see them.”
“Jeremy! We’re in the middle of moving.”
“Why did you tell me you had them on, Vanya?”
“I don’t know.”
“I know. Because feeling sexy in these lacy numbers feels good. I can make you feel so much more than good, beautiful. I’m on my knees and begging. Let me see. Say yes. Say yes for both of us.”
She leans against the table while I pull down her leggings. The lace number peeks out, even better than the pictures.
“I’ve been so good, haven’t I? This is my reward,” I mumble while running my lips over the lace.
“So good,” she moans.
“Are you wet for me, Dr. Kapur?”
“You know I am.”
I inhale before going in for long, steady laps of my tongue. I move the thong to the side easily because the underwear is barely held up by strings. Alternating between delving deep and sucking her clit, it doesn’t take long for Vanya to submit to pleasure. I love it when she lets go. When she lets me take care of her . Her fingers tighten around my hair and her legs clamp around my face as convulsions take over.
When she eases from the climax, I stand to reveal my tented sweatpants. She pulls them down to release my hardness, the tip so inflamed it’s taken on a feverish red hue.
Standing naked in front of Vanya reminds me of the first time we kissed, in a cold basement hidden from the world. Today there’s no hesitation, no secrets.
“It looks like you need a little help with that, Jeremy.”
Vanya nudges me to sit on the couch. Her thighs straddle my hips, her warmth and aroma and whimpers overwhelmingly erotic. Our caresses intensify. When we free fall into ecstasy, we catch each other in the cradle of loving arms.
We’re home. Our home.