Epilogue
“Is this the kind of shit we’re gonna be doing now?” Jordan asked as they sat in the stands, waiting for the game to start.
Nate still thought it was pretty weird that hockey players not only played multiple games a week, but also played on weeknights as a matter of course, not just once or twice a year.
But even if it was weird, Nate was still grateful because it meant that he’d been able to drive down to Buffalo tonight and watch Ramsey make his season debut for the Wolves.
“You don’t like it?” Nate asked. He knew Jordan didn’t watch hockey. Of course, he hadn’t watched hockey before Ramsey had come into his life.
When he’d told Jordan this morning that he was going to the game tonight, to Nate’s surprise, Jordan had invited himself along.
“Hockey’s decent, I guess, but Ramsey . . .well, he kinda rules, you know?” Jordan said, a telltale flush on his cheeks that told Nate that his boyfriend had won over another fan for life.
He couldn’t even be annoyed about it, because Ramsey was amazing, and he deserved everybody adoring him the way Nate adored him.
“Yeah, he does,” Nate agreed dryly.
Jordan flushed even brighter red. “It’s not . . .he’s just . . .well, you know.”
Oh, did he ever. He just reached over and patted Jordan on his knee, putting him out of his misery. “I get it.”
Jordan laughed self-consciously. “Of course you do. I just didn’t think I did, but that new therapist Aidan hooked me up with?
We’ve been talking about why I wanted to spend all that time in strip clubs, with women, and I guess.
” He shrugged. “It wasn’t about the women at all.
More like, what was I supposed to like? What was I supposed to do? ”
“That’s good work, Jordo,” Nate said supportively. “You’re gonna figure your shit out, I know it.”
Next to him, Jordan relaxed a fraction. “Yeah. Yeah. I think so.”
“Just don’t figure it out with my boyfriend, okay?” Nate chuckled dryly. Not that he imagined Ramsey would ever do that, or that even Jordan would. It was just a crush, and an understandable one, because Ramsey shone even brighter than the diamonds he always wore.
“Oh God,” Jordan said, covering his eyes and groaning. “Is it that obvious?”
Nate just laughed. “Yeah, but it’s cute too.”
On cue, the lights dimmed, bass pounded and the Wolves streamed onto the ice.
Ramsey had told him he liked to head up the back of the line, and sure enough, Nate spotted him immediately, the 43 unmistakable on the back of his jersey.
But then, Nate would’ve known him even without his name and number.
“You nervous at all?” Jordan asked him as warmups continued and he found himself growing silent, tracking every one of Ramsey’s movements with his eyes. He seemed fine. He’d cleared every protocol. He was ready. More than ready, if he was going to believe his boyfriend.
When Nate had expressed even the barest hint of concern that he was rushing back, that he was taking things too fast, and that maybe he should have gone to a rehab assignment in the AHL, Ramsey had shot him a very firm look and told him that he wasn’t going to be babied.
Not by someone who went out and tackled people for a living.
Nate had shut up then, because Ramsey was right.
They both took risks with their jobs, every single day. But no matter what happened, they’d be coming home to each other.
“No,” Nate said, though he still was, a little. He’d shake it off, though, same as Ramsey would shake off the last of the rust when he skated his first shift.
“Yeah, okay,” Jordan said wryly, and yeah, okay, maybe he hadn’t been that subtle about it.
“That why you wanted to come with me tonight?” Nate asked. “Worried about me?”
Jordan looked like he wanted to crawl under the seat, but he still kept his chin up and answered, which Nate gave him a lot of credit for.
It was hard to become a better version of yourself.
“Wanna be a good friend, like you guys were to me. I was . . .I wasn’t a good teammate or a good friend.
And you were to me. So. Trying to change that. ”
He looked embarrassed still, like talking about his feelings meant he was less of a man or less of a football player, but Nate hoped if he spent more time around their group and also more time in therapy, he’d realize that emotional IQ didn’t make him any less.
“I’m sure your therapist told you this but intention is everything, man. And you’re getting your head screwed on right.”
Jordan’s smile was small but real.
“Yeah. She did. But really, you’re not worried about Ramsey, though? He’s got this. He’s worked so hard. He’s ready.”
Nate did not roll his eyes at Jordan’s enthusiasm for Ramsey, but he felt a fondness surge at it, anyway. “No. You’re right. He’s got this.”
And it turned out that he did.
There wasn’t even rust to shake off. Ramsey took his first shift the way he did everything in life—he embraced it fully, Nate watching with his heart in his throat as he vaulted over the boards, immediately taking the puck away and leading his team into their offensive zone.
When he got the main assist on the game-winning goal, Nate might’ve shouted himself a little hoarse. He didn’t miss how Ramsey turned in his direction as he headed towards the locker room, sending him a huge smile.
“See?” Jordan said, turning to him. “Told you he had this.”
“You wanna come down to the locker room with me?” Nate asked.
But Jordan shook his head. “Nah, Big Dog. He doesn’t want to see me. He just wants to see you.”
“You sure?” Nate said, standing up and slipping his phone into his pocket. He may or may not have sent Ramsey a whole string of texts during the game. Ramsey’s had gotten better over the last two months, and he hoped that his were going to be same.
“Yeah,” Jordan said, nodding. “I’ll meet you in the main concourse.”
Ramsey was heading off on a road trip tonight, leaving right after the game, which did kind of suck, but Nate told himself that this was what he’d signed up for. What he wanted. And he still wanted it. More than ever.
“Alright. I won’t be long,” Nate said, tapping him on the shoulder.
As he took the tunnels down to the locker room, he scrolled through the texts he’d sent—and he was pretty sure none of them would be that embarrassing.
Maybe he wouldn’t ever be an expert at the game, but he could watch it and understand it pretty well.
Enough to know, for sure, that Ramsey had played great. The score sheet said so, of course, but that was one of Ramsey’s pet peeves—everyone judging players, especially defensemen—against what the score sheet showed.
“Even plus minus is bullshit,” Ramsey had claimed with a dramatic eye roll. “It doesn’t say anything about how you played, more like your line mates played.”
Still, Nate was pleased to see Ramsey’s plus minus had been a plus two. He’d be able to tease him about being smug about a statistic he claimed didn’t even matter.
The security guard at the locker room door clocked him immediately from the handful of times he’d been here with Ramsey after he’d rejoined the team. “Bishop,” he said, giving him a nod.
“Thanks,” Nate said as he pulled the door open for him.
It was like every other locker room he’d ever been in, but not, at the same time.
The music was blaring, and guys were shucking off equipment, tossing it into various bins in the center of the room.
Ramsey was on the far side, head bent down, blond curls sweaty and disheveled as he untied his skates.
One of Ramsey’s teammates yelled his name, and he glanced up.
Their eyes met across the room. So much like they had, the first night they’d met, and just like then, it was like they recognized each other. Some part of Nate reaching out and seeing a part of Ramsey that he just knew.
As good as it had been then, though, it was so much fucking better now.
Now, he knew Ramsey, in and out, knew all the extraordinary bits he tucked away, all the secrets that nobody else knew.
At one time they’d all belonged to Ramsey.
Nate wasn’t stupid enough to think they belonged to him now, but he did believe, without a single doubt, that Ramsey shared them willingly.
He chucked his second skate off and a moment later, he was across the room, and without a single shred of hesitation, was in Nate’s arms. Kissing him. Laughing with him, unguarded in a way that Nate would’ve never dreamed of, six months ago.
“You fucking sap,” Ramsey teased as he pulled back, blue eyes shining. “You texted me the whole game.”
“Couldn’t stop myself,” Nate said, and truly that was representative of a lot of things with Ramsey. He’d worried about that, once upon a time, but now he just embraced it. Knew that no matter what, Ramsey would have his back. And his side. And definitely his front.
“Love that,” Ramsey said, his smile going a bit shy. “Love you. You wanna meet my teammates?”
Nate’s hand slipped down from his waist to his hand. Squeezed it. “I’m all yours,” he said.
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