Epilogue
ETHAN
June
I wake up in my downtown apartment for the final time on a morning in mid-June. I stretch my arms over my head, still feeling tightness in my low back from the muscle I pulled in the conference finals.
The Huskies fought hard through the first two rounds of the playoffs, even managing a sweep in our series against Dallas.
I’d expected to hear something from Trent during the series, but he’d mostly kept himself as far from me as possible.
Unfortunately, a few mild injuries piled up and by the third round, we were struggling to keep our roster in good shape.
Still, it was better than anyone had ever predicted for the Huskies this year and the boys are entering the summer with renewed energy.
Next to me, Jamie moans and buries his head under his pillow. This was his first time living through the absolute chaos that is the playoffs and in the ten days since we were eliminated, he's been sleeping like it's his full time job. Right now, it pretty much is.
I lean over and kiss his back.
“Babe, we've got about an hour before the guys show. I'll hop in the shower and get some breakfast ready, okay?”
He moans again and I make a note to check back in on him in fifteen minutes.
As I heat up the shower, I check on my phone.
Sure enough, Alexei has sent out a reminder in the group chat, and I see at least seven or eight confirmations already.
I rinse off quickly, knowing I'll need a more thorough shower when this day is done.
In the kitchen, I start the coffee machine then grab the last fruits in the fridge and throw them in a blender along with some yogurt, ice, and protein powder.
Once the protein shakes are done, I pour one into Jamie's favorite cup, grab a mug of coffee, and walk it into the bedroom.
He's in almost the same position I left him in, although his head is now under my pillow. I sit next to his hip, rubbing his back.
“Sweetheart, it’s time to get up. It’s moving day.”
He moans, but his breathing turns shallower, and I can tell he’s pulling himself back to consciousness.
After returning to Minneapolis in February after the All Star break, one of the first things I did was call my financial advisor and make plans to buy the house in Loring Park.
For a moment, we thought I was too late — the owners had had another offer made pending inspection.
Luckily, I’ve played hockey well enough and for long enough that I had the money to make that issue go away. By March, I owned the house outright.
Still, March is not the time for a professional hockey player to move; instead, I’ve had tradesmen in and out over the past few months, refinishing the floors and painting the walls. Today, the movers are coming, and the boys will meet us at the house to help unpack boxes.
I think back to the last time I helped someone move — the same someone who is waking up naked in my bed right now. That was the first night we slept together, and if you had told me then where I'd be six months later, I'd never have believed it.
It hasn’t been perfect. The press has been absolutely insane, only getting louder and more insistent as the team continued to win.
It’s a relief to know that the only press obligations I have this summer are ones Jack has arranged, with friendly journalists interested in asking the right questions.
Sam Montgomery has been contracted by Sports Illustrated for a cover article, which I’m almost looking forward to.
Finally, Jamie makes an effort to sit up, his blond curls falling in his eyes. He pushes his hair back, then blinks his eyes open.
“Coffee?”
I hand the mug over, sitting quietly while he wakes up.
These are the moments I've most enjoyed this year – seeing the little pieces of Jamie that no one else gets to.
How he's barely human before his first cup of coffee, or how his feet are always cold.
The sex is still great, but these are the things that make our relationship feel real.
“What do we need to do before the movers arrive?”
He's perked up a bit, and I trade the empty coffee mug for the protein shake.
“You pretty much just need to get dressed. I'll throw the blender in the last kitchen box and the sheets and toothbrushes in the suitcase. Then we should be ready.”
I've shelled out for the Rolls Royce of movers, even though it's only a fifteen minute walk from here to my new place. They'll disassemble and reassemble the furniture while also transporting the boxes to the new home, where the team will be waiting to help me unpack.
Truly, I hardly have more boxes than Jamie did when he moved from the hotel to his loft – he wasn't wrong when he said my apartment was impersonal as hell. I'm hoping that will change, that my new place will be one that truly reflects who I am.
Jamie stands up, and I can't help but give his ass an appreciative gaze.
“Don't look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know like what. We're on a timeline, mister.”
I refrain from pointing out that my timeline left plenty of time for a morning quickie.
From his duffel, he grabs a change of clothes and quickly puts them on, then heads to the kitchen with his cup and mug.
As he's drying them off and putting them in the final box with the blender, I hear the knock at the front door.
Soon enough, a herd of movers are in the apartment, labeling boxes and taking them to the truck.
Alexei arrives ten minutes later. He's volunteered to supervise the process here while we head over with the first load and start the process of unpacking.
“Have you seen reason and decided to move in with Ethan yet? I am sure I can convince the movers to add a stop,” Alexei says with a wink.
I wince inwardly. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't pictured Jamie moving into the house with me when I bought it. I'd even brought up the possibility in March after we'd gone to see the property for the first time after closing.
He'd let me down easy, asking me to hold off for the eight months until his lease would need to be renewed before we made any decisions like that. Still, he's been a huge part of helping me fix the place up – and I wouldn't have it any other way.
I half expect him to get upset at Alexei's suggestion, or at least to brush it off.
“I mean, it's a block and a half away from my place. I'm pretty sure the guys could just walk my stuff over.” He catches my eye and winks.
My eyes widen and follow Jamie as he gathers up the last few things we'll need to take with us – my suitcase, his bag, and a box marked in bold letters Do Not Open!, wrapped in multiple layers of duct tape.
We learned at least one lesson from Jamie's move.
Hugging Alexei on our way out the door, we ride the elevator down to the parking garage.
We load the back of my SUV up with our cargo, then jump in to drive over to the new house.
When we arrive, Sutter and Matthews are sitting out front in lawn chairs, blocking off two parking spots for the movers to use.
It's 10 AM, but they've each got a beer cracked open, looking for all the world like a couple of frat boys, with their backward caps and sunglasses.
Waving at the boys, we head into the house with our suitcases.
Inside, the smell of fresh paint and wood shavings still linger in the air.
The floors have all been refinished, and a fresh coat of paint has gone into every room.
While Jamie runs out for a second load, I carry the suitcases upstairs to the master suite.
It's not as big as the bedroom in my apartment, and it certainly doesn't have the same view of the Twin Cities skyline.
Still, I prefer it; the French doors look out on a postage stamp-sized garden, with a view of the park behind it.
The crown molding gives the space an elegant touch, though the occasional scuffs in the hardwoods make it feel like a home.
I hear Jamie's footsteps on the stairs and pull myself away from the windows.
“Alright, where are we going to hide this that twenty overgrown manchildren won't find it?”
His arms contain the not-at-all-inconspicuous box that I happen to know used up most of a roll of duct tape.
“I find the closet is useful for hiding.”
He rolls his eyes at me, but proceeds to push the box onto the top shelf of the bedroom closet. At this point, anyone who gets into that box absolutely deserves the surprise that's coming to them.
As Jamie lowers his heels back to the ground, I come up behind him. He turns in my arms, letting me push him up against the side of the closet. I bring my hand up to the side of his face, thumb brushing his cheek as I come down for a slow, sweet kiss.
This has been the best part of the last few months.
Not the sex, not even sharing a bed. No, it's these simple moments, stuck into the everyday rhythms of our lives, where I no longer have to stop myself.
I can grab his hand, or run a hand down his back, or steal a kiss without worrying about bringing the world down around us.
Before things can get too heated, I hear the ring of the doorbell.
It's time to get this show on the road.
Seven hours and seemingly thousands of boxes later, the bulk of the move is done.
While the movers handled the furniture – disassembling it in the apartment and then reassembling it here – the boys have been unloading boxes and bringing them to each room, where Jamie and I are doing our best to get them put away.
Lindy meticulously sorts dishes and utensils in the kitchen, half of which I know I've never used. Jamie is directing the living spaces, making sure the old furniture and the new stuff are arranged just right. As long as I can lay on the couch with him in my arms and watch the TV, I'll be happy.