Epilogue

Five months later . . .

“How’re you doing, honorary brother?” Nina nudged Mal with her shoulder. Mal knew he’d been staring, eyes glued to where Elliott was giving an interview to one of the media outlets.

It was an absolute circus, which made sense, since this year’s draft was being held in Vegas. So many people, and a lot of them wanted to talk to Elliott. And surprisingly, a lot of them wanted to talk to Mal, too. But right now he was hiding by Elliott’s table, using his sisters as human shields.

Elliott, on the other hand, looked calm and relaxed, laughing at a question that the reporter had asked.

“Honorary brother implies that your brother and I are related, not dating, and that’s illegal,” Mal said.

Nina just cackled though. “I can’t call you my brother-in-law, yet .”

Mal let himself crack a smile. More like forced himself to crack a smile. Not like Toronto’s front office was going to divulge who they were picking in the first round, especially to a player currently working their way through their developmental system. But they hadn’t explicitly told either of them that they wouldn’t be drafting him, either, and from what Mal heard—and so many analysts had predicted—chances were better than ever that by the end of the night, Elliott Jones would be a Toronto Maple Leaf.

Did that mean Mal was resting easy?

Hardly.

Still, he was here, plastering a supportive smile on his face, after reassuring Elliott—and himself—a million times that it didn’t matter what team drafted him. They were going to stick together, even if he was three thousand miles away.

But Mal didn’t want him to be three thousand miles away.

He wanted Elliott in his bed, every night. He wanted him on the ice, right across from him.

He’d take him however he could get him, but Mal knew exactly what he wanted.

“We’ve only been dating a few months,” Mal reminded Nina.

“Eight,” Macey chimed in, sticking her head into the conversation. “Nine if you count the time before you and Ell actually discussed dating and were just fucking.”

Mal flushed. Every time he told himself he was going to get used to Elliott’s sisters, they slyly threw something in that made him sure that he wouldn’t.

“Mace, you can’t say that shit to Mal. Makes him uncomfortable,” Connie reminded Macey.

But Macey just shrugged. “He did it, he can at least own up to it.”

“Nine months then,” Mal said hurriedly, hoping that by acquiescing to Macey’s timeline that this whole conversation might change to a new subject. He could always tell Macey that Ramsey was going to be here after all, and he’d introduce them, even though Elliott had made him swear that he wouldn’t.

But literally anything had to be better than enduring the three of them interrogating him about his and Elliott’s sex life.

“Hey, if Ell was a girl, he could be pregnant right now, just about to give birth,” Connie said. “ Or he wouldn’t even have to be a girl.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nina said.

“It’s in those books she reads,” Macey chimed in.

“Well, he’s not going to get pregnant, which is a good thing, if he’s about to become a professional hockey player,” Mal said, straight-up desperate at this point.

“And how do you know that it wouldn’t be Mal who’d be impregnated?” Macey asked archly.

Oh, God.

“True,” Nina said seriously, like she was actually considering this suggestion.

“They do switch, you know,” Connie said.

Mal wanted to drop through the floor and die.

“See, now you’re not worrying about how far away Elliott’s going to end up, you’re worried about what Macey or Connie are going to say next about your sex life,” Nina said with a chuckle.

“Is that better? I’m not sure it’s better,” Mal said bluntly.

“It’s better,” Connie said with certainty.

“Oh, is that Ramsey over there?” Macey asked, brightening.

“Macey—” But before Malcolm could stop her, she was heading in his direction.

A few minutes later, Elliott returned, glancing over at where his sister was talking animatedly with Ramsey.

“You didn’t stop her,” Elliott said, but he was smiling.

“A natural disaster couldn’t have stopped her,” Mal grumbled. “And on top of that, I wasn’t particularly inclined, because she wouldn’t stop speculating about which of us would end up pregnant.”

Elliott grinned. “Twins!”

Mal shook his head. “I don’t want to know.”

But Elliott leaned in, and he looked and smelled and was so good, Mal felt a little lightheaded. Even nine months in, he was still figuring out how deep in love he was. How lucky he truly was. How lucky he hoped he’d be for the rest of his goddamn life. “Hey,” he murmured, “I bet you that you’d want to know, later tonight, after we get back to the room . . .”

Mal swallowed hard. “Don’t do it, Ell,” he warned, under his breath.

“Aw, but it’s so fun to work you up,” Elliott teased.

“Yeah, but not when I’m probably going to have to talk to someone who has a camera trained on us.”

Elliott shrugged. Like he’d done worse, like they’d done worse, and that was probably true.

He’d never tell Coach Blackburn the truth about what they’d done in one of the empty treatment rooms after their last game.

Even after the draft, there was a chance that Elliott would don an Evergreens jersey again, next season, but it was Mal’s last game.

They’d celebrated, in what Elliott claimed was an appropriate way, but Mal knew, without question, that if Coach ever found out about it—and God, Mal hoped he wouldn’t ever—he’d have a very different opinion.

“You guys ready?” Nina asked, arriving back at the table, her hand wrapped around Macey’s arm. Macey was pouting, probably because she’d been forcibly dragged away from Ramsey.

“You two are a bad idea,” Connie said to Macey. “You’re too much alike.”

“No?” Macey said and huffed. “Okay. Well, maybe. A little.”

“A lot too much alike,” Elliott said. “And yeah, we’re set. We’re good.” He looked over at Mal. “Right?”

Mal nodded.

“The parents are about to come over,” Nina said. She nudged Elliott. “If there’s anything you want to say out of their earshot.”

Elliott turned to Mal. He looked so fucking gorgeous like this, dressed up in the slate gray suit that fit him like a glove, green shirt that brought out the color of his eyes, hair styled like he’d just rolled out of Mal’s bed.

He was flawless, just fucking perfect, and he was all Mal’s.

“Listen,” Mal said, because even though he’d said this probably a thousand times since they’d gotten together last November, he needed Elliott to understand it. To believe it. “Listen, it doesn’t matter what happens in the next hour. I love you, no matter what. You’ve got me, no matter what.”

“No matter what,” Elliott repeated, eyes glowing as he reached up, linking his hands behind Mal’s neck, stroking the exposed skin there. “You’re not getting rid of me, even if we have to fuck over FaceTime every day.”

“Aaaaand this is exactly why I warned you the parentals were on their way over,” Nina said dryly.

“I love you,” Mal said and deciding he didn’t give a fuck, leaned down and kissed Elliott.

“Love you, too,” Elliott murmured. Then he let go and Mal had to shove his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t grab him back again.

Sure enough, five minutes later, the Jones parents arrived, hugging both Elliott and Malcolm.

He liked Elliott’s parents, but it was going to take a long time to feel comfortable with them—not because they weren’t welcoming or kind or thoughtful. In fact, they were all three of those things. It wasn’t hard to see how they’d raised a man like Elliott. Or the sisters for that matter.

But their open warmness was a hard thing for Malcolm to trust. To even understand. He was working his way around to it. Frankly, the load of bullshit that the sisters liked to give him put him more at ease.

Except when Connie and Macey tried to decide which of them was going to end up pregnant.

They all took their seats, and under the table, Elliott reached for his hand. Squeezing it. Mal could feel the dampness of it, and he knew without being told, that despite Elliott’s breezy, confident exterior, he was nervous, deep down.

How could he not be?

This was the first day of the rest of his life.

With every name that was called from the stage, Malcolm held his breath. Would they be okay? They would. He’d stake his whole life on it. On their love making it, in the face of any adversity.

But he didn’t goddamn want the adversity.

He wanted happiness and ease and light. Elliott in the mornings, pillow crease on his cheek, stealing all the covers.

He’d get it eventually, no matter what, but he wanted it now. He craved it now .

When the team before Toronto picked, and Elliott’s name wasn’t called, his fingers crushed Mal’s.

“Hey, hey, it doesn’t matter. Whatever happens, it doesn’t matter,” Mal said, leaning close. Aware that probably every goddamn camera in the place was probably panning to their table now. They weren’t super open about their relationship, but it wasn’t a secret, either.

Elliott was tense, now. Malcolm could feel it. Not just in the iron grip of his hand, but the plastered-on quality of his smile.

“Yeah?” Elliott asked.

“You know it doesn’t matter. I love you. No matter what.”

But please, don’t make this no matter what.

The contingent announcing the Toronto pick walked onto the stage. Mal recognized everyone—from the general manager about to announce their first round pick, to the current and past players surrounding him.

They’d asked him if he wanted to be up there, but Mal had shaken his head. He knew they’d only asked him because there was a good chance they’d be drafting Elliott, but Mal needed to be with him, whether he was drafted by Toronto or another team.

The GM stepped up to the microphone.

“With the tenth pick in the NHL draft,” he said, “the Toronto Maple Leafs are extremely proud to select . . .” He paused, and Mal had to clench down, wishing there was something to hold on to, to let out some of that unbelievable pressure. “From Portland University, Elliott Jones.”

The whole table erupted.

Mal could count on one hand the number of times he’d ever lost control.

He lost control today.

He lost his whole goddamn mind.

Jumping up together, he and Elliott grabbed each other, and for a second, there was only them as the room erupted in applause around them.

“See you on the ice,” Malcolm said.

That had seemed like enough to say, only five seconds earlier, but now it wasn’t enough. Couldn’t possibly be enough. He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Elliott’s cheek. Not enough to steal his thunder or his spotlight, but enough to tell him everything Elliott should always know.

You’re loved.

You’re admired.

You’re needed.

You’re mine.

“See you on the ice,” Elliott said impudently, that grin he’d always loved—and hated, too, for a little while—plastered across his handsome face.

Six months after that . . .

The music was booming, reverberating throughout the rink, lights flashing and strobing with every bass drop.

Elliott gripped his stick tighter with his gloves and tried not to panic-slash-anxiety puke all over the ice.

He knew it wasn’t just him feeling this way. “Even I’m freaked out,” Mal had told him, a few nights ago as they lay in their bed together. Mal had bought a king, to celebrate Elliott being drafted by Toronto, and they’d spent the summer training and getting ready for opening day, hoping they’d both make it on that opening day roster.

And here they were. Together again.

Though, Elliott wondered if you could really say again when it felt like they’d never left each other’s side.

And now, he was sure that they never would.

“You good?” Mal leaned in and Elliott could still barely hear him over the music and the announcer.

He’d just announced the starting line, which they weren’t in— yet , Malcolm kept saying, like it was only a matter of time and at this point Elliott had to believe that was true. They were good, individually, but together? They could be great. Toronto knew it too, and that was exactly why they’d drafted Elliott.

The rest of the games they wouldn’t get a special intro like this, but because it was opening night, every player got recognized. Especially the two rookies.

Elliott stepped onto the ice, and felt the impact of it resonate through him.

“Introducing number thirty-five, fresh to Toronto ice for the first time, forward Elliott Jones!”

Elliott skated down to the line of players, taking in his teammates’ nods and acknowledgements.

He’d worried, the tiniest bit, if he and Mal were going to be a problem, but right before their first official practice, one of the older guys had thrown a towel at him and catcalled, following that up with, “Don’t fuck in the showers and we’ll be kosher.”

They had not fucked in the showers. Honestly, they’d been working so hard on the ice and also off it Elliott hadn’t even been tempted, and that was saying something.

“And also introducing number thirty-six, also new to our ice, forward Malcolm McCoy.”

Elliott tapped his stick on the ice, welcoming his boyfriend to the ice for the first time.

Malcolm came to a stop next to him. “Hey,” he said, grinning through his helmet. “Imagine finding you here.”

Elliott grinned, his smile so wide his face practically hurt.

The announcer finished the rest of the team, and final warmups began.

Elliott skated over to the bench, grabbing some extra tape for his stick. Making sure it was good and ready. Mal came over after he’d made a few extra rotations on the ice.

Elliott nudged him with his elbow. “You ready for this?”

Would Malcolm ever be as free and easy as Elliott was? No, he wouldn’t. And Elliott was perfectly, one-hundred-percent okay with that. He didn’t want a clone of himself. He only wanted his stupidly stalwart, still-too-serious, ride-or-die, loyal and true guy, Mal.

And he’d gotten him.

“Honestly? No. But with you? I’m ready to give it a go.”

Elliott laughed. “Oh, baby, we got this in the bag.”

Even with the lights and the music still echoing through the arena, it was not hard to see hope blossom on Mal’s face. It mattered that Elliott believed in him. In them .

“Yeah. We’re a team out there, baby, and we’re gonna tear it up. Never felt so sure of anything in my whole goddamn life.”

“I got just one thing,” Mal said, leaning over. “That I love you. Gonna love you today and tomorrow and even when you can’t even get a shot off. Even when you can’t get it up.”

Elliott laughed. “That’ll be the day.”

“Probably, but it’s true.” Mal’s eyes gleamed, and was he having him on again? Pushing him the way they sometimes liked to push each other? Hot damn, he probably was, and Elliott didn’t even give a shit.

“We’ll see about that,” Elliott said, now more determined than ever to prove to Mal that he was going to make some shit happen tonight.

And sure enough, ten minutes later, knew he’d been proven right when Mal flicked him the puck with prettiest little pass, and he shot it in, right above the goalie’s shoulder pad.

Elliott shot him a triumphant look, the one that had used to piss Mal off, and now, he knew, only turned him on.

They both knew what it meant now. And they both knew what it would mean for later.

“Hell yes!” he yelled across the ice, pumping his fist. He and Mal collided in a hug. Mal put a hand on his helmet, patting it.

It couldn’t have been more perfect.

But later that night, as Mal set him on their bed and proceeded to strip every piece of clothing off, somehow it was.