Epilogue
JENSEN
THREE YEARS LATER
Kasen’s knees haven’t stopped bouncing beside me, and his anxiety is giving me anxiety.
“Cool it,” I tell him.
“Kyle Rivers, Leighton Craft, Zuel Tubecci …” he mutters under his breath. “Plus, Otto Wittenberg has a better save percentage than me—”
“You have a lower-goals-allowed average and haven’t been out for injury.
” I set my hand on his knee because I can’t take the nerves anymore.
“Breathe, Kasen. It doesn’t matter if you’re first round or second.
You’ve had a lot of strong interest, and the important thing is that we know you’re going to be picked up.
We’ve had meetings with Boston, Colorado, Toronto, and St. Louis. You’re in a great position.”
Finally, he does what I said and breathes.
The last few years have been a whirlwind.
My trade to Montreal went through, which meant getting to be close to my family and playing side by side with Foster Grant, another queer man in the league.
Tai’s dad is happily making art and working at the cafe.
Since I shared the work he did for me and he only paints when he’s feeling up to it, almost as soon as he’s finished with a piece, it sells.
And now that I’m officially retired from the league, Tai and I will buy our own place in Burlington so he’s close to his dad to check in, and I’m close to the airport and can jump on a plane to see Kasen anytime I want.
I know he’s hoping for St. Louis since I played there for so long, but I secretly have my fingers crossed for Montreal to keep him close.
But at the end of the day, he could end up in fucking Florida, and I still wholeheartedly plan on showing up for him.
I thought retiring would be the hardest thing I’d ever do, but since leaving them at the airport that summer, nothing comes close in comparison.
Kasen is counting on his fingers. “Buffalo is a possibility. If I’m late in the second round, maybe Ottawa or LA.”
I like the sound of Ottawa too. It’s not exactly close, but the distance is drivable.
He lets out a long groan. “What if I’m not until the third? Or the fourth? St. Louis don’t have a first-round pick. Boston isn’t until late in the second, and if Wittenberg is still available—”
“They’d be ridiculous not to want you,” Amelia says, taking Kasen’s hand before he can spiral.
His voice is tight when he replies. “I guess we’ll find out.”
All I know is that I really hope he’s picked up first round. Anything else and we’ll be back here tomorrow, going through the exact same rush of nerves, and I don’t know if I can handle this for hours on end.
Kasen’s in a brand-new suit, hair styled the way I taught him, and when we video called with my parents earlier, Mom actually burst into tears because she said it was exactly like seeing me ready for my draft.
I wouldn’t say exactly. There’s a lot of Carly in him too. But it’s been a surreal day, and as much as Kasen has grown up and matured, I don’t think I’ll ever not see him as a kid. All lanky and disproportioned and surly.
A kid who smiles a lot more these days.
Tai nudges me from the other side. “How are you doing?”
I check that Kasen isn’t listening in, but he’s focused on replying to a text from Amy wishing him luck. “Nervous as hell,” I mutter.
“Right on schedule.”
“Fuck, I hope he’s called tonight.”
“Eh, it’s a lot harder for goalies. Tonight or tomorrow doesn’t matter. We know he’ll be picked.”
Right. I need to stop letting Kasen’s nerves rub off on me.
The lights dim, and the NHL commissioner takes the stage, throwing the crowd into silence.
This is it. Here we go. Thirty-two names to get through tonight. I reach for Kasen’s hand at the same time as he reaches for mine. I squeeze his, and he squeezes back, and I try to hide the way my heart has lodged itself in my throat. I don’t remember being this nervous for my own draft.
The expected names are called for first, second, and third before the first surprise happens, and San Jose makes a pick for fourth, who wasn’t projected until the mid-teens. It only makes me more nervous.
Draft nights hold the weight of a person’s entire professional career.
A lot of the prospects chosen tonight will go on to the NHL, but the odds get a lot slimmer after that.
Kasen is one of almost a hundred, and hoping he’ll be in that first thirty percent isn’t unreasonable, but the odds aren’t with us. Not with him being a goalie.
Over the last few years, he’s made waves in the juniors as being the goalie to beat. Seeing him work hard, commit to his team, and hone his skills as much as he can has been a journey I’m glad to have gone on with him. The best part is that he’s not even close to his prime.
All he needs is a team.
Then my son is going to be incredible.
The night wears on. The top ten are mostly the names I thought they would be.
The teens are a mix. We hit the twenties, and my tension creeps higher.
If Kasen is going to be picked anywhere, it’s here.
Each name that’s called feels like it takes forever for the prospect to take the stage, for the video to play, to be presented with their jersey and hat.
Twenty-three.
Twenty-four.
Then New York call the name I’ve been hoping I wouldn’t hear.
“Otto Wittenberg.”
It’s like Kasen melts into his seat beside me.
There are still seven picks left, but goalies being picked in the first round is rare, let alone two of them.
I nudge him. “Hey. Night isn’t over yet.”
I pretend not to see the way he swallows hard. “Yeah. And then there’s tomorrow.”
“Which we always knew would probably be the case.”
He forces a smile, and it’s so hard to see him disappointed. Second round is still a great effort, and I have no doubt he’ll be picked up early. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to go down there, get that New York manager back on the phone, and blast him for picking Wittenberg over Kasen.
He’s obviously the better player.
And no, I don’t have to say that because I’m his dad.
Twenty-six.
Twenty-seven.
Twenty-eight.
Kasen’s hand gets so sweaty he pulls it away from me. With every name called, the nerves and excitement leave him. Resignation kicks in, and that’s a good thing because tomorrow is good. It’s fine.
“Making the selection for Toronto is …”
I can’t concentrate as they introduce the next announcer. Kasen’s gaze drops to the floor, and he shifts like he wants to go already.
“We’ll grab some takeout on the way back to the hotel and do this all again tomorrow,” I tell him.
“Really drag it out painfully.”
I snort back my laugh as the guest announcer takes the mic.
“With the thirtieth overall pick in this year’s draft, Toronto welcomes, from Vermont—”
My head whips toward the stage.
“Kasen Delany-Hawke.”
Holy shit. That was him.
It was him.
A wave of too many good emotions to name crashes over me, and I stand, numbly, at the same time as Kasen. He crushes me in a hug, and I’m lost for words, but somehow, I choke out, “I’m so proud of you.”
He laughs, swiping his eye on the shoulder of my jacket before pulling away and wrapping Amelia up in a hug. Tai is next, and then … Kasen leaves the row. I clap along with everyone else as other prospects he’s met over the years stand up to congratulate him as he walks past.
The music, the lights, the cheering. I’m so choked up, I can’t believe it gets any better than this.
Tai’s hand rests on my back. “He did it.”
“He did. And Toronto is … what? Six hours away?”
“Five if traffic is good,” Amelia corrects through her sobbing. “Oh, I’m so proud of him.”
“I told you we’d win you over.”
She manages a wet laugh before I sink back into my seat, leaning my whole body weight over the armrest against Tai. “I can’t believe it.”
“He deserves it.”
“He does.”
“Look …” He points to where Kasen’s just been handed his new jersey, and when he pulls it on, I get a glimpse of the back.
And the five letters there.
Hawke.
“Fuck.”
I join Amelia in the sobbing.
Who would have thought that three years ago, this is where we’d be? Watching my son start his life with my last name right across his back.
Tai’s arms pull me close, and his lips find my ear. “I’m so fucking happy for you, Jensen.”
“He didn’t tell me that’s the name he gave them.” He only legally changed his name a few months ago, and this … this is almost too much. “Ah, shit.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to make the damn tears stop. “I hate crying.”
“Yeah, but this is one of those times where not crying would be weirder.”
I grin in his arms, watching Kasen pose for photos, wondering if I’ve ever been this happy in my life.
“I thought for sure it would be Delany.”
Amelia gives me a sad smile. “Hawke for you, number thirty for Carly. It was her birthday. I think him being picked thirtieth was a sign that she’s here too.”
She should have been. Like I should have been there from the start.
But we can’t change what’s happened.
We can only focus on the future.
And when I look at Kasen and Barrett, and how even without hockey, I still have everything, my future feels like the greatest achievement I’ve ever had.
Thank you for reading Home Ice!
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