Epilogue
TWO YEARS LATER
ELLIOT
W e shuffle into the arena, all dressed in warm coats with blue hockey jerseys underneath. Scout even wears her jersey sometimes around the house.
The fact that the team is in the playoffs despite ending the previous season at the bottom of the league is due largely to Worcester’s excellent scouts.
Not only did they acquire two former NCAA stars this year, but a few overlooked, talented players fresh out of various junior leagues were added to the roster.
Add some grizzled veterans into the mix and you have a recipe for success.
I come to as many games as I can. Scout usually comes with me and screams louder than anyone else. A genuine NHL star comes sometimes to watch his boyfriend play, so the team gets more media attention than other ECHL teams.
What I like most about the team, though, is how involved they are in the community. Connor loves that stuff, too. He seems to always be at outreach programs or visiting sick kids in the hospital. It gives him purpose outside of hockey and reminds him what’s important in life.
Even though Connor has said countless times that even reaching the playoffs this year was a bigger accomplishment than most people expected, I know he’ll want to go all the way.
Of course he’ll be disappointed if they lose.
It’s only natural. It’s game four and they need to win to progress.
If they don’t, it’ll be a sweep and they’ll be out of the playoffs.
Connor’s family are on their feet, screaming for him the second the team is announced on the ice. Heat courses through my body when I look at him in his jersey and pads. It never gets any less thrilling, seeing him in his element.
The puck drops and the game gets started. There’s a full crowd in the arena tonight. The great thing about minor league hockey in Massachusetts is that there are plenty of hockey fans who appreciate the sport and they all want to be here watching it live.
I see familiar groups of older people who come to the game as a social event.
Kids who hold up signs asking for pucks or players’ autographs.
There’s an adorable little boy who worships Connor.
He was sad he couldn’t get a poster of his favorite player to put on his wall, so the team started printing them and selling them at the merch stand.
They sold out, along with the posters of his teammate Sebastian Huntington—who is good looking in the total opposite way that Connor is good looking.
Sebastian also has a very popular TikTok account where he posts mostly thirst traps in the locker room and videos of the team doing hip openers on the ice with suggestive music playing in the background. No wonder those posters sold out.
Five minutes into the first period, Connor scores a goal. We’re all on our feet, alongside everybody else. I beam, watching Connor celebrate with his teammates before looking up into the stands and finding us.
I get suddenly warm all over, my face flushing. Scout leans over and says, “Puck bunny,” in my ear.
“Shut up.”
Worcester gets on the board again after a scrappy goal, tapped in by a veteran player—someone who took Connor under his wing when he first came to the team.
Our opponents—Savannah—get one in the net, bringing the score to 2-1. A collective groan echoes around us, but the crowd rally and start chanting to show some support to the team.
We manage to hold onto the lead as we go into the second period. It’s messy and the team is fighting tooth and nail to hang onto the lead, but when Savannah scores, it ties everything up going into the third.
“This is stressful,” Naomi says, running a hand through her hair.
“Relax,” Scout says between bites of nachos. “They’ve got this.”
She watches the cheerleaders absentmindedly as she eats.
“Honey, you should join the cheer team. You’d look so cute in that little outfit.”
Scout growls and Naomi holds her hands up in surrender. “Just a suggestion.”
The team comes out for the third period. The atmosphere in the arena is buzzing.
The period remains goalless for the first ten minutes, with a few close calls—one of which comes from Connor. Then Savannah gives up a penalty and we get a power play opportunity.
The Worcester coach throws his best forwards on the ice—Connor, Huntington and the veteran captain—but Savannah has a great penalty kill record and isn’t giving anything up easily.
We’re on the edge of our seats as the clock ticks down. With about ten seconds remaining, Connor gets a good shot on goal, but the goalie makes a glove save. My heart had been in my throat watching that puck soar toward the goal, and it drops now with the collective groan from the stands.
Savannah’s player comes out of the box and we lose the man advantage.
The game goes into overtime. I chant please don’t go to a shoot-out over and over in my head. I hate shoot-outs. The coach always puts Connor in to take one. Despite his confident demeanor, he’s admitted how much he’s shitting himself every time it’s his turn.
With two minutes left on the overtime clock, a Savannah player gets a breakaway. We’re all on our feet, waiting to see what will happen. Praying our goalie will anticipate the skater’s move and make the save.
The Savannah player dekes, shoots. The puck flies into the back of the net so fast I only know it went in because of the reaction on the ice.
Disappointment spreads through the stands.
I’m never prouder of Connor than in these moments.
He never lets his head drop. He rallies and shows character in the difficult moments.
That’s probably why his coach has been talking about putting him in an assistant captain role next season.
He pretends he’s fine either way, but I know he wants that A on his jersey.
With his charisma and easy rapport with the refs, it would be stupid of his coach not to take advantage of that.
I keep my eyes on Connor as he lets it sink in that they lost. They are out of the playoffs.
Connor commiserates with his teammates before looking up to find us. We all wave and try to send some love his way. When he finds us, a small smile touches his lips.
CONNOR
I meet my family at a restaurant the players hang out at a lot. The owners know us and commiserate with me over the loss.
“Maybe next season,” the owner says, slapping me on the back.
Sure, I’m disappointed, but I’m happy my family are here. And the playoffs were more than we were hoping for so soon after the rebuild and with so many rookies. I have to be happy with the progress the team has made so far.
“I plan on eating the biggest cheat meal of all cheat meals tonight,” I announce as I study the menu.
Scout rolls her eyes. “Athletes.”
When I decide what I’m having, I put my menu down and hold Elliot’s hand over the table. I love how natural it feels. How my family don’t bat an eye.
“You guys look good in your new jerseys,” I say. “Especially you, baby.”
Scout pulls a face. “Urgh, stop. ”
“What? You said don’t kiss in front of you, fine. But you didn’t say anything about terms of endearment.”
“I thought nauseating words like ‘baby’ were implied.”
Dad laughs. He raises his glass and announces a toast. “To Connor, for working hard and making the playoffs, and for many great seasons to come.”
My family raise their glasses and toast me, even though I just lost.
Eli and I say goodbye to my family outside the restaurant. Mom and Dad are giving Scout a ride back to school and Eli’s coming home with me, obviously.
While Eli’s focusing on his grad degree, he’s still living on campus in grad student accommodation, but we plan on finding a place to ourselves once we save up enough money. My parents would help, but we want to do this on our own.
I’ve loved living in the apartment complex with the guys, and it was definitely a good way to get to know the team, but having a roommate can suck when you have a boyfriend.
Luckily, my roommate is understanding enough to make himself scarce for a few hours whenever Elliot comes over.
I do the same for him when he brings his girlfriend home.
My roommate isn’t home when we get back to the apartment. He has left a mess of the living room, though. Empty pizza boxes and dirty socks are all over the floor. I groan.
“Sorry about this.”
Elliot laughs, “I don’t care about the mess, Connor. Come here.”
I put my arms around him, taking in his scent and how familiar his body feels.
“You okay?” he asks.
I check in with myself before answering. “Yeah. I’m disappointed, obviously, but we’ve got next year.”
“You’ll have so many opportunities to win the Kelly Cup, and maybe the Calder and the Stanley Cup one day, who knows.”
I laugh. “Fuck it. Let’s try and win all three.”
He chuckles against my chest. I’m just about to ask him to take the jersey off so it doesn’t feel like I’m hugging a teammate when there’s an obnoxious knock on the door. I know it’s weird to think of a knock as obnoxious, but there’s only one person who manages to achieve that.
“Busy!” I shout to Sebastian. What’s he even doing here? He lives in a nice house with his NHL boyfriend. He does not need to slum it with us.
“Sorry!” he shouts back. “Carry on!”
Elliot laughs and buries his face in my jersey.
I tilt his chin up until he’s looking at me, his eyes shining behind his glasses. My heart catches at the knowledge that he’s mine.
“Where were we?”
THE END