EPILOGUE I
COMING HOME
Grant
Eighteen months.
That’s how long we’ve been doing this long-distance thing—eighteen months of video calls, plane tickets, and counting down the days until off-season.
Eighteen months of missing her.
I’m sitting in a hotel room in Philly, staring at my phone as if it might spontaneously combust.
The group chat is going insane.
Jordie: Did you tell her yet?
Me: No.
Wyatt: You’re supposed to tell her.
Me: I know.
Jordie: Then TELL HER.
Me: I’m waiting for the right time.
Wyatt: There is no right time. Just tell her.
Jordie: He’s scared she’ll say no.
Me: I’m not scared.
Wyatt: You’re terrified.
I am. I’m absolutely terrified.
What we’re about to do—what we’ve already done—is insane. It’s the kind of insane that either ends in happily ever after or complete disaster. No middle ground.
My phone rings. Jordie. Of course.
“What.”
“You’re spiraling.”
“I’m not spiraling.”
“You are. I can tell from your text cadence.” He sounds way too pleased with himself. “Three-word responses. Defensive. Classic Grant panic.”
“I’m not—” I stop and take a breath. “Okay. Maybe I’m a little nervous.”
“About which part? The trade, the house, or the fact that we’re about to upend our entire lives?”
“All of it.”
“Too late now. I signed my contract yesterday.”
“I know. I was there.”
“Still weird that we’re teammates.”
“So weird.”
There’s a pause. Then he says, “She’s gonna say yes, you know.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know that. She loves us. She’s been miserable for eighteen months. This is what she wants.”
“What if it’s not enough?”
“What if it is?”
I don’t have an answer to that.
“We’re meeting at the house tomorrow,” Jordie says. “Six PM. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t be late.”
“And Grant?”
“Yeah?”
“Stop overthinking. For once in your life, just let yourself have this.”
He hangs up before I can respond.
I sit there for another ten minutes, staring at nothing and thinking about everything.
I think about what Mason might say. Maybe he’d tell me that buying a house with two teammates and the girl we all love is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.
Or maybe he’d say it’s the smartest.
I pull up the photos on my phone. The ones from the realtor. Five bedrooms. A big kitchen. A backyard that needs work but has potential. Twenty minutes outside Baltimore.
Our house.
The thought still doesn’t feel real.
My phone buzzes. It’s Elise this time.
Elise: You okay? You’ve been quiet today.
Me: Fine. Just thinking.
Elise: About?
Me: You.
Elise: Smooth, Wilder.
Me: I’m serious. I miss you.
Elise: Miss you too. 47 days until the off-season.
Forty-seven days. I’ve been counting too.
Except, if this works—if she says yes—I won’t have to count anymore.
Me: Can you do a video call tonight?
Elise: Everything okay?
Me: Yeah. Just want to see your face.
Elise: 9 PM?
Me: Perfect.
I set my phone down, run my hands through my hair, and try to figure out how to tell the girl I love that I rearranged my entire career to be closer to her without sounding like a stalker.
This is fine. Everything’s fine.
I’m absolutely not panicking.
Nine PM comes too fast and too slow at the same time.
I’m sitting on the hotel bed when my laptop rings. Elise’s face fills the screen, and something in my chest unclenches.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” She’s in her apartment—the tiny studio near campus that costs too much and has terrible lighting. “You look tired.”
“Thanks. You look beautiful.”
“I’m in sweatpants and haven’t washed my hair in three days.”
“Still beautiful.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “What’s going on? You’re being weird.”
“I’m not being weird.”
“You’re absolutely being weird. You’ve got that face.”
“What face?”
“The face you get when you’re overthinking something.” She leans closer to the camera. “Just tell me. Whatever it is.”
This is it. The moment.
I could tell her now, over video call, and get it over with.
But that feels wrong. This deserves better than a pixelated screen and hotel WiFi.
“I need you to trust me,” I say instead.
Her eyebrows raise. “Ominous.”
“Not ominous. Just—can you be free tomorrow evening? Around six?”
“Grant—”
“Please. I know you’ve got studying and summer semester just started, but—please.”
She’s quiet for a second, studying my face through the screen.
“You’re freaking me out.”
“Don’t be freaked out. Be—curious.”
“Curious.”
“Yeah. Curious about what three idiots might have planned for you.”
Her expression shifts. “Three? Wyatt and Jordie are in on this?”
“Very much in on this.”
“And you can’t tell me what it is.”
“I could. But it’s better as a surprise.”
She’s doing that thing where she chews on her bottom lip when she’s thinking. I want to reach through the screen and—
Focus, Wilder.
“Okay,” she finally says. “Six PM tomorrow. Where?”
I send her the address. The house address. She doesn’t know it yet—doesn’t know what it means.
“Is that near the stadium?”
“Sort of. Just—be there. Please.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re mysterious.”
“I’m cute?”
“Shut up. You know you are.”
We talk for another hour—about her classes, my practice schedule, about nothing and everything. By the time we hang up, some of the nervousness has faded.
Replaced by something else. Something that feels like hope.
The next day moves like molasses.
Practice. Meetings. More practice. Coach talks about plays I’m not absorbing because my brain is three hours ahead, figuring out what to say tonight.
By five PM, I’m in my car, driving to the house. Our house.
Wyatt and Jordie are already there, both standing in the driveway, looking at the place like they still can’t believe it’s real.
“You’re late,” Jordie says when I pull up.
“I’m five minutes early.”
“Exactly. Late by Grant standards.”
Wyatt is quiet, just watching the house with an expression I can’t read.
“You good?” I ask him.
“Yeah. Just—” He stops. “This is really happening.”
“This is really happening.”
“We bought a house.”
“We did.”
“For her.”
“For us,” I correct. “For all of us.”
Jordie’s already heading for the door. “Come on. We need to make sure everything looks good before she gets here.”
Inside, the house is empty. Echoing. The furniture won’t arrive for another week. But there’s something about the space—something that feels right. Wood floors, cream-colored walls, and a big fireplace in the living room.
The kitchen is huge. Jordie walks through it, trailing his fingers along the counters. “Gonna cook so much pasta here.”
“You’re obsessed with pasta,” Wyatt says.
“It’s a love language.”
I’m standing in what will be the living room. Big windows, hardwood floors that need refinishing but have good bones.
“Her office is upstairs,” Jordie says. “Second door on the left. It has the best natural light for studying.”
We all go up to check the room. It’s smaller than the master, but it has a desk built into the wall and windows that overlook the backyard.
“She’s going to love it,” Wyatt says quietly.
“She’s going to think we’re insane,” I counter.
“Both can be true.”
My phone buzzes. It’s Elise.
Elise: I’m two minutes away. Why does this address look residential?
Me: Because it is.
Elise: ??
Me: Just two minutes. Trust me.
I can picture her face—confused, maybe a little annoyed, definitely curious.
“She’s almost here,” I tell the guys.
We head back downstairs, standing in the empty living room like idiots waiting for—
Headlights in the driveway.
A car door slams.
Footsteps on the front walk.
The doorbell rings.
The three of us look at each other.
“Who’s opening it?” Jordie asks.
“You do it,” Wyatt says.
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the least terrifying.”
“That’s debatable.”
“Oh for—” I cross to the door and pull it open.
And there she is.
Elise stands on our front step in jeans and a Crestmont sweatshirt—Wyatt’s, I’d recognize it anywhere—her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, no makeup, looking confused and beautiful, and so damn perfect that my chest actually hurts.
It’s been two weeks since I last saw her in person. Fourteen days. And I forgot—I always forget between visits—how the sight of her just hits differently. It’s like my lungs remember how to work properly.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” Her eyes are already moving past me, trying to figure out what’s happening. “What—”
I don’t let her finish. I reach for her, pull her into me, and bury my face in her neck.
She smells like her coconut shampoo and coffee and something that’s just her, and I’m breathing it in like I’ve been underwater for two weeks and she’s the air I need.
“Grant.” Her arms come around me automatically. “You’re being weird.”
“Missed you.”
“It’s been two weeks.”
“I know.” I pull back just enough to look at her and cup her face. “Still missed you.”
Before she can respond, Jordie’s there, literally pulling her out of my arms and spinning her.
“Jordie—” She’s laughing. “Put me down.”
“Nope. My turn.” He sets her down but doesn’t let go; he just holds her face and kisses her forehead, her nose, and her cheeks. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” She’s grinning now. “You saw me two days ago.”
“Your point?”
Wyatt’s more controlled. He waits his turn. But when Jordie finally releases her, he steps in and just holds her. One hand in her hair, the other around her waist, and she melts into him the way she always does.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
“Hey.”
They stay like that for a few seconds—long enough that Jordie stage-whispers, “Should we leave them alone or—”
Elise pulls back, swatting at him. Then her eyes finally take in the space around us: the empty living room, the hardwood floors, and the kitchen visible through the doorway.
Her expression shifts from confusion to something else—something that makes my heart rate quicken.
“What’s going on?”
“Come in,” I say. “Please.”
“Grant—”
“Just—come all the way in. Please.”
She does. She steps inside and looks around, turning slowly as if trying to piece together a puzzle.
“Is this—did you guys rent a house?”
“Not exactly,” Jordie says.
“Then what—” She stops, her eyes going wide. “Oh my God. You didn’t.”
“We did,” Wyatt confirms.
“You—this is—” She’s looking between all three of us now. “You bought a house.”
“We bought a house,” I confirm.
“For what?”
“For us.”
The words hang in the air.
She’s just staring, not speaking, and I’m starting to panic—maybe this was too much, maybe we should have asked first, maybe—
“Grant got traded,” Jordie jumps in. “To Washington. He starts training camp in September.”
Her head snaps to me. “You what?”
“Washington offered me a deal. I took it.”
“You—Washington is an hour away.”
“I’m aware.”
“You took a trade to be closer—”
“To you. Yeah.”
She’s shaking her head. “That’s—you can’t just—your career—”
“My career is fine. Washington’s a good team. A great team, actually. And I—” I step closer. “I did the long-distance thing for eighteen months. I’m done. I want to be able to drive an hour to work and sleep with you every night. I want that more than I want Boston.”
“Grant—”
“Also, funny story,” Jordie interrupts. “I got called up.”
“Called up?”
“To Washington. So Grant and I are teammates now.”
Her mouth opens, closes, then opens again.
“And before you ask,” Wyatt adds, “Philly offered me a three-year deal. I signed last week.”
“Philly’s two hours away.”
“Two hours is nothing.”
She’s looking at all three of us like we’ve lost our minds. “You all—the three of you—just rearranged your entire careers—”
“For you,” I finish. “For us. For this.”
I gesture at the empty house around us.
“Five bedrooms: one for each of us, plus a guest room for when Teddy visits and inevitably punches me again.” That gets a small laugh. Good. “The kitchen’s huge because Jordie insisted. The basement’s set up for a home gym. And upstairs—” I take her hand and pull her toward the stairs. “Come on.”
She follows, with Wyatt and Jordie close behind.
I lead her to the second door on the left and open it.
“This one’s for you—an office. It has the best natural light in the house, perfect for studying. And it’s got—” I point to the built-in desk. “Already set up. You wouldn’t even need to buy furniture.”
She’s just standing in the doorway, not moving.
“Elise?”
Nothing.
“If you hate it, we can—”
“The master bedroom is down the hall,” Jordie interjects quickly. “It’s big enough for all four of us. We figured—we thought—”
Still nothing.
I’m starting to seriously panic now.
“Elise. Please say something.”
She turns to look at me, and her eyes are bright—shining.
“You bought a house.”
“We bought a house.”
“For us.”
“For us.”
“All four of us.”
“All four of us.”
A tear slips down her cheek, then another.
“Hey—” I reach for her, but she’s already moving, wrapping her arms around my neck and—