Epilogue

ONE OF THE perks of being a professional athlete is that Matts has a good portion of the summer to spend doing whatever the hell he wants. If he keeps up with his workouts and gets regular ice time, it doesn’t matter where he is. Which means he can go on tour with his girlfriend.

When Matts officially joined them, Devo ceremonially presented him with a shirt that says SECURITY on it, front and back. He thinks it was supposed to be a joke, but Matts doesn’t take it that way. Instead, he wears it to every concert, trailing Sydney through meetings with VIP pass holders and lurking in the background of press events and interviews.

Mostly, he sticks to the shadows and comes to loom if someone gets too handsy. It’s fun. No speaking required, just glaring and flexing. He thinks when he retires from hockey, he’ll find a lot of personal fulfillment in being Sydney’s full-time bodyguard.

They’re backstage in Indianapolis, and the last of the VIP passes are milling around with various band members. Matts is scrolling through Uber Eats options on his phone because Sydney definitely has not eaten enough, when he notices her posture change in his peripheral vision.

She’s signing the record sleeve of Red Right Hand’s first album for a pair of twenty-something women, but her eyes are on the man behind them, and her smile is forced.

Matts pockets his phone and steps a little closer.

When the women move away, whispering excitedly as they cling to each other, Sydney caps the pen in her hands and crosses her arms. Her eyes are hooded. Her jaw is clenched.

The guy looks nondescript, if handsome. Tall. Athletic build. Sandy hair. He’s wearing a tour shirt and an awkward smile. His hands are empty.

“Sydney,” the guy says. “Hi.”

“Bryce,” she says evenly. “Hi.”

And Matts goes very, very still. Before moving closer.

“Bryce,” Matts repeats, just to make sure.

Sydney and Bryce both seem surprised by that.

Sydney’s eyes narrow. “I’m going to kill Devo,” she mutters.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Bryce says. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“Justin Matthews.” Matts doesn’t extend his hand. “Sydney’s boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Bryce says, glancing between them.

His eyes, inevitably, linger on Sydney. And Matts may not be able to read most facial expressions, but he recognizes this one. Matts knows he wears it himself—desire, pure and simple. It doesn’t make him want to punch Bryce any less. Rather the opposite.

“Listen, Sydney,” Bryce says, “I hoped I could talk to you. Apologize to you, mostly, but—”

“What the fuck are you doing here,” Devo says, suddenly appearing beside Matts.

“Devo, hi,” Bryce says, wincing. “I was just—”

“Leaving?”

“Hey,” Sydney interrupts, “enough. I’m due an apology, and he says he has one. I’ll hear it.”

Devo raises his eyebrows, glancing at Matts. Matts isn’t sure if it’s in solidarity or to see if Matts is planning to punch Bryce in the face. To be fair, Matts isn’t sure himself. He’s still leaving it as an option. Depending.

“Okay, as much as I appreciate the protective looming,” Sydney says to Matts and Devo, “can you two take a couple of steps back?”

Matts takes two steps exactly. Small ones. Judging by the minuscule amount Devo moves, he seems equally invested in doing the bare minimum to comply with her demands.

Sydney glances between them, rolls her eyes, but doesn’t say anything.

“All right,” she says to Bryce, who is looking more and more punchable by the second. “Go ahead.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I’m so sorry. I was—I cared too much about what other people thought, and I never should have treated you the way I did. And that day—” He swallows hard. “When Jack—”

He stalls out. Sydney doesn’t rescue him.

“When Jack hurt you,” Bryce continues, “I should have stopped him.”

Jack , Matts remembers. Just in case.

“You should have,” she agrees.

Bryce gazes at her now with sadness and regret. Matts doesn’t empathize with him, not exactly. But he’s also uncomfortably aware that he could have been standing there himself, asking forgiveness for the biggest mistake he ever made if he’d been in Bryce’s shoes and met Sydney just a few years earlier. Matts is suddenly, intensely, grateful for Eli and Alex, for Jeff and Rushy and Rome. For his past self’s willingness to listen to them. To grow into the happiness that was waiting for him.

“Anyway,” Bryce says. “I’m glad everything worked out for you. For the band. I knew from the start you guys were something special, and the fact that you’re here now is just—it’s cool. And I’m sorry I didn’t—that I wasn’t brave enough to stick around with you to be there as it happened. I’m—sorry.” He exhales, clearly out of words. “I’m just sorry.”

“You’re forgiven,” Sydney says. Like it’s true. Like it’s easy. “Thank you, for making the effort to apologize. I have good memories of us, you know? Now that you’ve apologized, and I can see you mean it, it’ll be easier for me to think about the good times again. So, thank you.”

Bryce looks like he wants to touch her, and Matts isn’t sure what he’ll do if he tries.

“That’s—good.” His fingers curl at his sides. “I appreciate that. I’ll, um, I’ll let you get back to it. Thanks for hearing me out.”

“Hey, Bryce,” she says. “Hug for old times’ sake?”

As if he’d turn that down.

When Sydney steps into him, Bryce’s hands are careful around her back, as they should be.

He inhales, face tucked close to her hair, and Matts grits his teeth until Sydney pulls away again.

When Bryce leaves, Matts follows. Sydney doesn’t stop him, but Matts can feel her watching.

Bryce turns to face him, wary, once they’re out of earshot. “What?”

“You,” Matts says lowly, “are the stupidest fucking person I’ve ever met.”

“I know,” Bryce says. “Jesus, you think I don’t know that? I was just—”

“A coward,” Matts supplies.

Bryce swallows. “I know,” he repeats. “I really am sorry.”

“Be better,” Matts says because that’s all he can think of on short notice. And then he turns away from him and stalks back over to Sydney.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. “Not because I’m a possessive asshole, but because you deserved better than that shithead, and also because I might be a little bit of a possessive asshole.”

She smiles softly at him. “Both reasons are acceptable.”

Matts kisses her. Thoroughly.

“What did you say to him?” Sydney asks when he sets her back on her feet.

“I told him he was the stupidest person I’ve ever met,” Matts answers.

“Why?”

“Because I want to tell anyone who’ll listen that you’re mine. He didn’t when he had the chance. And that’s…stupid.”

She goes up on her toes to kiss him again.

And again.

And again.

*

MATTS’S PHONE RINGS an hour later as they’re walking into their hotel lobby, and he braces himself because late night calls from Aaron aren’t historically good news.

“Please tell me,” Aaron says, “that this isn’t you.”

“What?” Matts asks.

“Red Right Hand’s new album. Track three. ‘Devotee.’ With the stupid sex noises in the background.”

Matts had been waiting for this call ever since the song was recorded. The chorus includes a low, hitched inhale, a breathy exhale, sampled, layered, repeated, while Sydney sings on top of it about a lover, down on their knees, worshiping the object of their affection.

Matts coughs, trying to stifle his laughter.

“Please tell me,” Aaron insists, “that my girlfriend’s current favorite song on your girlfriend’s newly released album, doesn’t include you —”

Matts can’t suppress the laughter anymore.

“Oh, you motherfucker,” Aaron hisses. “That’s just…indecent. How did you even—no. I don’t want to know.”

“She brought me to the recording studio. Just me and her in the booth.”

“I said I didn’t want to know.”

“If it makes you feel better, they aren’t sex noises. They’re foreplay noises at best.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, okay,” Matts says. “Guess I’ll return the new saddle I got you for Christmas, then.”

“I hate you less. Wait. Are you coming for Christmas?”

“The week before, technically, since I have a game right after Christmas Day. But yeah. Dad invited us. Yesterday, actually.”

“Us,” Aaron repeats.

“Us. Me and Sydney. By name. Extremely awkwardly. But he’d already checked to make sure her tour was finished by then and everything. He’s trying.”

“Well,” Aaron says after several seconds of contemplative silence. “He probably got my mom to check because, as far as I know, he’s still shit at computers, but that’s something.”

“It was me,” Ellie yells from somewhere in the background. “He asked me to print out Red Right Hand’s tour schedule for him, and he’s got it hanging next to Matts’s game schedule above his dresser now.”

“Yeah,” Matts agrees, swallowing around the sudden heat in his throat. “That’s something.”

“You seem, uh…” Aaron pauses, whispers something to Ellie before starting again. “Are you happy? Because you seem a lot happier now.”

Matts looks at Sydney, draped over Sky’s back, pretending to fall asleep while they wait for the elevator. She glances at him, just to check in, to make sure he’s okay. She winks exaggeratedly. And then sticks her leg out to trip Devo.

He winks back while Devo pulls her, protesting loudly, into a noogie.

“I am,” Matts says. “I really, really am.”