41. Epilogue

Epilogue

Luke

Four years later

I notice Cathy as soon as we leave the locker room. She always looks the same when she prowls the hallways of a hockey arena after a game. Like a small, greedy hyena looking for scraps but clearly holding her breath for the big scoop. And her patience often pays off because she’s known for getting the best stories. Story. To a lot of people, Cody and I are a great story. Two gay hockey players in a relationship playing opposite each other in the Stanley Cup Final. And not just gay, but ace, too.

We were lucky enough to get traded at the same time. Not to the same team, obviously, since Cody just beat my ass, but both to Canadian teams. And not just any teams—we got traded to our dream teams, who also happen to be hardcore rivals. For the past two years, Cody has been the star goalie for the Hamilton Hawks, breaking one record after another in the Canadian city, while I’ve been the highest-scoring D-man in the League for the Mississauga Fucking Caribous! Can you believe it? And yes, we might’ve lost today, but I’m winning later when I sweep him off on a long overdue surprise vacay to Lapland. Exotic, right?

I know, but my man is weird like that, picking one of the coldest places on earth as his dream vacation destination. But hey, my baby wants to see a reindeer in the wild, so what can you do? Afterward, we’re doing a pit stop in Jyv?skyl?, Finland, where Virtanen lives with Greta. They both play for JYP Jyv?skyl?, one of the best teams in the Finnish league. Yeah, don’t ask. No idea how you pronounce that. Jyv?skyl?. Greta is currently on maternity leave, taking care of their six-month-old son Aatos. Can you believe it? Virtanen reproducing?

When we’re not practicing, playing, or traveling, Cody and I live in scenic Burlington, on the shores of Lake Ontario, which is halfway between our two teams. We have a small—unpretentious when it comes to NHL standards—house in a quiet suburban neighborhood, where everyone knows us as the gay couple who play pro hockey. I can live with that.

Our neighbor, Ron, an ex-marine with a Thai wife who yells at him 24/7 for not doing the lawn exactly ‘how I like it, Ronnie’ looks after Benny when we’re on the road. It was when the veterinarian pointed out that Benny was getting overweight that we found out that Anong, Ron’s wife, was feeding him spring rolls.

‘Look at him,’ she said. ‘He loooves them.’ She gave Cody the stink-eye because he’d just told her that Benny had to lose six pounds, according to the veterinarian, because he was starting to look like a spring roll himself. ‘Look at sad Benny. You tell Benny to lose six pounds and it’s like telling Ron not to mow the lawn. He’d be all sad, right Ronnie? You love your lawn, right Ronnie honey?’ I bet it would make Ronnie’s fucking year if he never had to mow another lawn again. But the dude is so whipped. Now he’s been commissioned— bullied —by Anong to build a military-style dog exercise court in their backyard for Benny the Bulldog. Yeah, it had to be a bulldog. Good times.

Cathy is still hovering around, her eyes glued to the door of the Hawks’ team area. When they start spilling out after another couple of minutes, she’s on Cody like a leach, only to be intercepted by his dad and Danny. She looks like a kid who’s just had her favorite toy stolen before she decides to linger in their vicinity. Glenn wraps his son in a huge bear hug, squeezing the living daylight out of my man. It’s like that every time we get together with Cody’s dad. He hugs him and holds on to him like he’s afraid he’ll lose him all over again. Like Cody is still that little kid he drove away from, not knowing that it would be more than a decade before he saw him again.

As Glenn finally pulls away, Danny takes over, wrapping his arms around Cody’s shoulders, lifting him off the ground. It’s not an easy task—Cody is fucking heavy, pure muscles. He’s filled out a lot more over the years, with abs that go on for days and tree trunk thighs, I just can’t help ogling when we go for our mandatory morning jog. And don’t even get me started on his butt.

Glenn wipes at his eyes and Cathy’s camera guy is filming like a crazy person while she looks just about to explode with pent-up impatience, her stilettos tap tap tapping on the epoxy arena flooring.

“You did it, son,” his dad croaks, pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket, then blowing his nose loudly. I can’t help chuckling as I lean back against the wall across from them. Glenn is a crier like his son. When they’re together, it’s like a damn Hallmark movie. From the first time we visited him and Lydia to all the times since then. Christmases, birthdays, and holidays. They cry. And they don’t just cry, no they full on sob sometimes, like their bodies can’t contain the sheer joy of being together again. Like their bodies still recall how it felt to be apart for so long. To this day, it’s still one of the most awe-inspiring moments of my life to have witnessed a grown man crumble to the floor, chanting his youngest son’s name repeatedly. Because that’s what Glenn did that day when he was finally reunited with Cody. He fell apart.

Danny releases him and he’s all misty-eyed too as he ruffles Cody’s hair fondly. “I’m so proud of you, Cody,” Glenn smiles through his tears. “So darn proud.” And you can tell that he means it. It stems right from his heart. Unlike Cody’s mom, he’s not in it for the fame or the money. He’s in it for Cody and only him.

“I know,” Cody laughs, his gaze shifting between his dad and Danny, then searching the crowd. For me. He’s always searching the crowd for me like I am for him. When his eyes finally connect with mine, I throw him the broadest smile I’ve got.

Sorry , he mouths, nodding toward Cathy, who’s getting ready to make her move. I just shrug because soon it’ll just be him and me again. I can share him with the rest of the world for just a little while longer. We’re going out for dinner with Cody’s family tonight, but after that, he’s all mine. His mom is not joining us. My man meant what he said back when he finally stood up to her; unless she comes clean, there’s no room for her in his life. In our life. So far, she hasn’t. I know Cody still holds out hope, though, that she’ll take responsibility for what happened back then. I guess a kid will always hold out hope that their parents will choose them over their own ego.

“Cody?! Cody Mitchell?!” Cathy’s distinct chainsaw voice cuts through the players’ elated voices and the calls from the other reporters. “Cathy Claiborne, ESPN.” She sticks a microphone in his face as he waves his dad and Danny off with a, “I’ll see you guys in a little.” After reuniting with his father and brother, Cody kept the name Mitchell because he didn’t want the media to catch on and dig into his past. It’s his, and as far as Cody’s concerned, it’s going to stay in the past. Biting his bottom lip, he just smiles shyly at Cathy while the rest of the team is attacked by other sports reporters. Out of the corner of her hyena eye, Cathy’s already eyed me minutes ago and I decide to make her fucking day. I might as well. Taking a few steps toward Cody, my gaze never leaves his. He’s still in his post-win glow phase and he looks damn fine. I can’t wait to get my hands on him later. To make him pay for beating my ass tonight. I think I’m going to count his freckles with my mouth. Yeah, I think I’m going to do exactly just that.

Cathy adjusts her lipstick in a small pocket mirror before she hisses—still smiling, of course—at her camera guy to ‘ Step closer, Jimmy! ’ And she wastes no time going straight for the jugular. I wasn’t expecting anything else, though.

“So, Luke Carrington, how does it feel to be beaten by your boyfriend in the Stanley Cup Finals?” She’s near salivating, but I know how to shut her down.

“Well, Cathy, I wouldn’t know. I don’t have a boyfriend.” Touché, Cathy. Tou-fucking-ché. Bewilderment flashes across Cathy’s face as she nearly drops her mic. I grin at Cody, who shakes his head, blushing adorably.

“Oh, that… Okay, so…” shit, Cathy’s recovery time is way longer than usual. I kind of feel bad for the gal. In an act of mercy, I grab Cody’s hand and hold our intertwined hands out in front of her. It takes her a few seconds to register the two gold bands adorning our ring fingers. She blinks rapidly a couple of times and then her expression changes when she realizes that she’s just struck gold. Big time.

“Congratulations!” She beams. “When did this happen, you guys?”

“A month ago, back home in Lancaster,” Cody says. Back home. It does something to me every time that Cody refers to my parents’ place as back home. I love that for him. So much. Because Cody, who was rootless most of his life, has so many homes now. Our small house in Burlington, my parents’, and his dad and Lydia’s place in Idaho Falls, where we go every summer and alternate holidays with my parents.

“That’s just wonderful!” she nearly squeals, her auburn bob living up to its name and just bobbing away. “What a year, Cody. Top-ranking goalie in the League, a Stanley Cup winner, and newly married. So, what does the future hold for the NHL’s most famous couple?”

“Good things,” Cody tips his chin, smiling.

“Yeah, only good things,” I chime in, squeezing his hand tighter. Cathy nods eagerly as she eyes Riley out of the corner of her eye. Yeah, Riley—the traitor—followed Cody to the Hawks and now I’ll never hear the end of it. Him beating my ass in the finals. How Snickers rule over Reese’s forever and ever. When everyone knows it’s the greatest lie ever told, and that Katie and their twin boys rule his sad, submissive ass.

“And there you have it, folks!” Cathy purrs. “Only good things ahead for Luke…?” She looks at me questioningly.

“Still Carrington,” I chuckle.

“Luke Carrington and Cody…?” Cathy sure knows how to draw it out for the fans. Her groomed brow rises in Cody’s direction. Someone bring in the damn drums.

“Carrington!” Cody blurts, laughing. “I’m a Carrington, now, too.”

“You sure are, beautiful,” I say, my voice turning all raspy and mellow at the same time.

“Well, if that doesn’t make you believe in true love, I don’t know what does. Now, back to you, Ken, with the latest…” Cathy drones on, dabbing at her eyes, and I’m not even sure at this point if she’s faking it. It doesn’t matter. Cody and I are the real deal.

Mr. and Mr. Carrington. Suburban gay couple extraordinaire with a borderline obese bulldog and dreams of our own hockey roster of mini-Lukes and mini-Codys one day. Well, maybe not an entire roster. We can always borrow some of the kids from our yearly hockey summer camp, Monumental. It’s a charity that we started a year ago. Most of our commercial earnings go toward the camp. It’s a safe place for queer kids who want to play hockey in an inclusive and tolerant environment. Next year, we’ll expand it to include kids from underprivileged families too. Give them a break. A few weeks a year where they don’t have to worry about anything. But it made sense to start with queer kids. We thought we might as well give something back to a community that we both proudly belong to.

Because that’s who we are, Cody and I. Out pro-hockey players slaying it like nobody’s business. Loud and proud. Ace. Husbands. Sons and brothers. Uncles. There are many labels that fit, but the one that fits the best is happy. So fucking happy. Because, at the end of the day, we’re just two guys who get to play the game that we love, loving each other freely and wholeheartedly while doing so. Living life the way we choose. The way that makes sense to us. And it doesn’t get any better than that.

The end.