Epilogue
SIX MONTHS LATER
The first thing Hudson does is nearly take my head off with a hockey puck.
“Jesus Christ.” The puck whistles past my shoulder and slams into the boards behind me.
“Sorry!” Hudson calls immediately. The fact that he’s laughing as he says it suggests he isn’t remotely sorry. But at least he’s able to stay upright now when he fires off a shot. Progress, not perfection, is becoming my mantra during our sessions.
I shake my head and retrieve the puck before skating back toward him.
The rink is almost empty this early on a Sunday morning. The public session ended half an hour ago, leaving only the distant hum of the refrigeration system beneath the ice and the occasional scrape of skates.
A year ago, if someone had told me I’d voluntarily spend my Sunday mornings teaching a fourteen-year-old how to play hockey, I would’ve laughed in their face. Now I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
“Your wrist shot is improving,” I tell him.
Hudson narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Careful, that sounded like a compliment.”
“It was.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
I fire the puck back toward him, and he catches it cleanly this time. The improvement really is obvious. Not that he’ll admit how hard he’s worked.
Giving up football hadn’t been an easy decision.
He’d played for years. Long before I came along, I think it was more his dad’s favourite sport than his to be honest, and it just stuck.
But somewhere along the way, he’s fallen in love with hockey.
At first, I thought it was because of me.
Now I know better. The sport got under his skin the same way it got under mine.
He’s still not nearly as good as he thinks he is, though, but neither was I at his age.
“Again,” I tell him, and he rolls his eyes.
“You’re worse than my actual coach.”
“Good.”
He takes another shot, and this one finds the top corner, and I raise an eyebrow.
“Okay,” I admit. “That was good.” Hudson’s grin is immediate.
There it is. That confidence he’s spent years rebuilding. The confidence his father took with him when he walked out of that front door. The confidence Kate spent years helping him find again.
Watching him now, it’s hard to imagine the angry, guarded teenager I met all those months ago.
Not because he’s changed completely, but because he’s finally had the chance to relax.
I see the normal teenager now and not the protector.
Don’t get me wrong, that aspect of him is still there, but I think he trusts me now. He finally believes I’ll stay.
The sound of small feet slapping against rubber flooring echoes through the rink. Both of us turn towards the entrance and see Félix come barrelling towards the ice. He’s closely followed by Kate and then Camille.
A sight that still occasionally feels surreal. Félix spots us and calls out, “Papa, Huddy!” The shout echoes around the empty arena.
I don’t even have time to react before he’s charging across the viewing area, dragging a tiny hockey stick with him.
Behind him, Camille is laughing. “You were supposed to wait!”
“He doesn’t believe in waiting,” I call back.
Hudson smiles as he skates toward the boards, as Félix arrives. He immediately thrusts his little hockey stick upward and asks, “We play hockey?”
“Yeah,” Hudson says solemnly. “That’s right, hockey.” Hudson’s really good with him. He always shows him patience and kindness. Even though Felix is a better skater than Hudson, which I’m sure infuriates him at times.
Félix nods, satisfied, and Kate chuckles at the interaction. The sound catches my attention automatically. It always does.
She’s leaning against the rail overlooking the ice, wrapped in my hoodie despite owning approximately forty of her own. She’s probably wearing my socks, too. Apparently, they’re warmer than hers. None of my clothing is sacred anymore.
Her hair is loose today, and the morning sunlight filtering through the high windows catches strands of gold, which I still notice every single time.
When she catches me looking, she smiles. Not the uncertain smile from those first few dates. Or the cautious smile from when we were rebuilding everything. This one is genuine, and I’m here for it.
I skate toward the boards and stop directly in front of her. “You’re staring,” she teases before I lean in and reward her with a quick kiss.
“I am appreciating.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’ve become ridiculously charming.”
I slap my hand against my chest as though she’s wounded me. “I was always charming.”
“Delusional.”
“Maybe.” I lean over the boards and kiss her again anyway. It’s not dramatic or flirtatious, it’s the kind that comes from seeing someone every day, the kind of kiss that means more than all the hot, passionate ones we’ve shared.
When I pull back, her hand stays resting against my arm.
There was a time when Kate waited for disaster, for everything to fall apart. I know because she told me, but one night last week, while we were lying in bed after what I think was the best sex I’ve ever had, she admitted she doesn’t let herself think like that anymore.
She no longer expects me to disappear, because I convinced her I’m not going anywhere. It wasn’t with words; it was because I kept showing up. Again and again, I proved that I’m not him, I’m not her ex-husband. I stayed.
The same way she stayed for me.
Below us, Hudson has somehow ended up carrying Félix around the ice. My son is giggling so hard he can barely breathe. Camille watches them with a smile. I step off the ice and move to stand beside her. “Thank you,” I say quietly.
She glances up. “For what?”
“For not leaving.”
The answer surprises her slightly. I can tell, but then she smiles. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do.”
Because the truth is, she could have gone home, back to Québec and everything that’s familiar. Instead, she accepted the gallery contract. That means they’ll be here with me in Manchester for another year, and then who knows. But I refuse to think about that yet.
For now, Manchester has become home. And because of that, Félix never had to choose and neither did I.
Camille follows my gaze toward our son. “He likes it here. He loves having all these people around him.”
My chest tightens because I know exactly what she means. He has an entire village of people who love him. Kate and Hudson, Callum and Rose, damn, even Coach loves him.
It’s the childhood I would’ve wanted for him from the beginning, if I’d known and been given the chance.
Beside me, Camille nudges my shoulder lightly. “We got there eventually.”
I laugh quietly. “Eventually.”
A few hours later, we’re all back at the house. Our house. The phrase still catches me sometimes.
The kitchen is chaos. Félix is drawing on something he definitely shouldn’t. Hudson is making sandwiches. Kate is trying unsuccessfully to supervise both of them, and the dog we swore we weren’t getting is asleep under the table.
Life has become unexpectedly noisy, and I love every second of it.
I lean against the counter, watching the scene unfold, and Kate catches me staring. “What?” She asks with a puzzled look.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“You’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The emotional thing.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She laughs, and God, I love that sound. I love all of this. I reach out and pull her against me, wrapping my arms around her.
“I love you more than you will ever know.” She reaches up on her tiptoes and kisses me.
Now, standing in the middle of a chaotic kitchen surrounded by the people I love, I realise I’m not chasing anything.
I’m here.
Exactly where I’m supposed to be, and for the first time in my life, hockey isn’t the most important thing to me.
Not even close. It’s the family we built out of circumstances none of us would’ve chosen. The family we fought for anyway.
There was a time when I thought happiness was something other people got to keep.
I know better now.
Home isn’t a place. It’s the people waiting for you when you get there.