Epilogue

Drey is comingout of the building with his wheelie overnight bag as I approach. "Leaving already?" I call, and he grins.

"Last-minute celebrity holiday vacay. I got a look at the flight manifest, and believe me, I'm gonna have stories when I get back."

I laugh, but I'm looking forward to it. He can't ever name names, but the stories are always good. "We're leaving on Friday, so if I don't see you before then, I hope your holidays are awesome."

"You too." He offers me a fist bump, and then he's off.

Inside, I run up the stairs and let myself into the apartment. "Blaise?"

"Here," he yells, and a second later, he comes out of the bedroom. "You're earlier than I expected."

"The mall was scary and I need a hug." It's completely true but also a blatant hint that I need his help to finish my Christmas shopping.

"Aww, did the crazy holiday shoppers frighten you?" he teases, enveloping me in his arms. I lean into his body. It's been eleven months since we first met, and I've been held by him more times than I can count, but I'll never get tired of it. I'm surrounded by warmth and affection and Blaise.

"Some of those people have serious issues," I mutter into his neck. "I went into Sephora and a ten-year-old nearly knocked me over."

He pulls back. "Why were you in Sephora?"

"I need a gift for Mila still." I shrug. "I was looking for a gift pack or something."

"Didn't she send you a list of things she wanted, along with links to the places you could buy them online? I seem to remember a conversation about wanting to avoid the home wax kit debacle."

"I was fifteen!" I protest. "Nobody's ever going to let me forget that." Mila had been bitching about the cost of her regular waxing appointment, so I bought her a self-wax kit for Christmas that year. I thought I was doing a good thing—saving her money. It's still a running joke in the family.

"Okay, but why are you looking for gift packs if she sent you a list?" Blaise quirks an eyebrow.

"It's the principle," I mutter, and he laughs.

"Jordan, honey, I love you, but trust me on this. Get that list, pick something, order it online, and then add some fancy chocolates or something so you can say you made an extra effort."

That's… a great idea. "You're fucking brilliant." I smack a big kiss on his mouth. "Did I leave my blue hoodie here? I can't find it, and I want to pack it." We're leaving Friday afternoon to spend the holidays with my dads, and we're both really looking forward to it.

Blaise and Uncle Luke have bonded a lot over the past six months, and he just fits in seamlessly with the family in general. Mila and Jamie are coming too, though they won't arrive until Sunday, and it's going to be the first time Blaise has been in a room with all of us.

We talked about living together this year—Drey was actually the one who suggested it, which surprised us both—but ultimately, we decided it was too soon, especially with all the other stuff we've both got going on. So I moved in with Boyle, but I spend about half my nights here anyway. Our relationship has gotten a lot stronger, and though we still have the occasional fight, we're both better about communicating and defining our boundaries.

The team put up a good fight in regionals last season, but we didn't manage to progress to the World Series. Nobody was surprised, since that's the furthest we've gotten in a long time. We got a whole lot of media attention for making it that far, plus a bit extra when Hannaway pled guilty to all charges and we got dragged peripherally into that. At least there isn't going to be a trial, though, and it won't be drawn out. It's basically all over now, bar the strict new policies the athletics department has introduced.

When we get back from break, we'll be diving straight into preseason, and I'm pumped—though I miss Polly. He got drafted by the White Sox, and the team's already trying to work out if we can get to one of their games out here. Coach told me that he got two more calls about me during regionals, though no other scout visits. We think they're waiting to see how I start this season, if I can bring the same level of play, before they show real interest.

I'm waiting to see how this season goes too. I feel good about my game, and I'm confident I can deliver again what I did last year, but this time, with the knowledge that people are watching, I'll have a better perspective on whether I want to take things further. That decision still hasn't been made, but I feel like I'm in a better headspace to make it when the time comes.

Either way, I'll be finishing my degree first—I'm firm on that, especially after my summer interning with Toby at Joy Universe. I do really love event management; the question is whether I want to put it on hold for a while and live the baseball dream first.

"Your blue hoodie's in my room," Blaise says, looking around as his phone rings. He locates it on the kitchen counter and picks it up. "It's Halle Manx," he says, surprised, and I leave him to take the call and go in search of my missing hoodie. She's probably calling about commissioning more design work for her characters. He fulfilled that first contract by September, and she contracted another one of her series with him then, which he finished up just a few weeks ago.

His cosplay work has been going amazingly well, and he finally decided to leave his job at the menswear store in October, when he had enough put aside in savings not only to cover his living expenses during the internship, but to—in his words—find a place to live where his roommates wouldn't steal his organs while he was sleeping. He's still making as much, if not more, as he was before, but the work is a lot more fun for him than selling suits to clueless college students.

Though he says I'm always going to be his favorite customer.

"No way! That's amazing news, congratulations!" I hear him say, and I wander back into the living room to see him grinning.

"What?" I ask, but he shakes his head, listening to whatever she's saying.

Then his face changes, going blank with shock.

"Blaise?" I cross the room in three strides. "What's wrong?"

He pulls the phone away from his ear and taps the screen, then says, "Halle, could you repeat that, please?"

"The Ferowethe Chronicles is being developed for streaming, and I want to specify in the contract that you be part of the costume design. Is that something you'd be interested in?"

My jaw drops, and I grab his arm. I don't think my eyes could get any wider. Blaise is shaking, but he sounds surprisingly calm when he says, "I would, but I don't think studios usually go for that kind of condition. They like to pick their own people. So maybe ask, but don't let it screw the deal up for you."

I squeeze his arm. What the fuck is he doing? This isn't the time for him to be selfless. What if she decides she doesn't want to risk asking?

"That's so sweet, Blaise," she replies, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "But I already asked them. They were iffy, like you thought, but then I sent them pictures of the work you've done for me, and after they talked to their costume people, they agreed. All I need is the okay from you to give them your details, and someone will be in touch to talk contracts."

I slap both hands over my mouth to keep from yelling, and not even super-professional Blaise can keep his cool.

"Oh my god, Halle, really? Oh my god."

She laughs. "So that's a yes?"

"Hell yes! Thank you so much. Oh my god, thank you!"

"I need somebody else there who gets my vision, and you're it. And hey, we creatives stick together, remember?"

"Still, thank you. This is… unbelievable." He thanks her a few more times, promises to call her in the new year, and ends the call with his hands still shaking.

I tackle him in a hug, and we dance around in a jumble of excited half-sentences for a few minutes before we collapse on the couch.

"You heard that, right?" he asks me. "I didn't hallucinate it?"

"I heard every amazing word. That's one of her biggest series, isn't it?" I vaguely remember him saying that back in October. He wondered why she'd asked him to do the costumes for another series instead, when this one was more popular. I guess we have the answer now.

"Yep. The book world is going to go insane when it's announced." He shakes his head. "Fuck, I didn't even ask which streaming service or production company."

"Call her back," I suggest. "Or email and ask for more details."

"No, it doesn't matter. Even if it turns out to be an unpaid internship, I'm taking it. It's an actual project job."

My grin widens. "We need to celebrate. Let's message everyone and?—"

"No. Don't tell anyone until they get in touch with me. I don't want to jinx it."

I want to protest, but as an athlete, I understand superstition, so instead I groan and let my head fall back. "I hope they call soon, then. Keeping this a secret might kill me. I want to tell everyone how amazing you are."

"It probably won't be until after the holidays." He's trying to sound practical and reasonable, but I know him too well.

"I hope not. But just in case it is, you and me will celebrate tonight. Just us; nobody else has to know. We'll go out for dinner somewhere fancy and get an overpriced steak or something."

Blaise laughs and leans over to kiss me. "There's no way you'll get a table anywhere fancy at the last minute a week before Christmas. We'll have plenty of time to cele?—"

His phone rings.

We both sit bolt upright and look at it like it might bite. "Who is it?" I whisper.

"LA number." His voice trembles. "It could be anyone." He sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than anything. "Probably a telemarketer."

Probably. I mean… it's only been fifteen minutes since Halle called. But, on the other hand… "Answer it."

"Hello?" His eyes widen. "Yes, this is he… Oh, hello… No, I just wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon."

Fuck, it is them. That's got to be a good sign, right? They want to get things moving? I wish I knew more about this stuff.

"Thank you, that's so flattering… Yes, I do… Sure, I can send you my résumé and full portfolio. Okay… Yes… That sounds great… Perfect. Did Halle give you my email address? Okay, then I'll wait for your email, and we'll go from there. Thanks so much for calling… You, too. Bye." He ends the call, drops the phone in his lap, and collapses back against the couch.

"I'm dying here, Blaise. Talk to me." His face is telling me nothing.

"That was the head of wardrobe for Green Chest Productions. He offered me an assistant costume designer job for the project. He's going to email me the job specs and the draft contract, and then after the holidays set up a meeting for me to meet the rest of the team and the showrunners. Halle's signing the deal today, and they want to get started first thing in the new year." His head rolls toward me, and his stunned gaze meets mine. "He said he was really impressed by my work and looks forward to hearing my ideas." As if to punctuate his words, his phone dings with an incoming email, and we look at the notification on the screen. "That's him."

"See? Can we celebrate now?" I seriously don't think I can hold in my excitement.

A grin slowly spreads over Blaise's face, and he says, "Fuck it. Text everyone. Let's celebrate."

I cheer and unlock my phone to send a message in the group chat, while beside me, Blaise starts to chuckle in that "I can't believe it; this can't be real" way. That's okay—it'll sink in soon.

I ignore the fact that he'll probably need to move to LA sooner than we'd planned; ignore the fact that if he's already building a name for himself when—if—I decide to go pro, we'll get even more media attention. None of that matters right now. They're tomorrow's problems.

Tonight, we celebrate.