"One more!" Tyler insists, planting a kiss on Reese's cheek. Flash.
The photographer shows us the preview on her camera. The images look like something from a catalog—beautiful, polished, almost too perfect. Except for the realness in our eyes, the way Tyler's fingers clutch at both of us, the casual intimacy of how Reese's body leans back into mine. It looks like we've been doing this forever.
"These are going to be great for the New Year's post," the photographer says, already moving to the next family.
"Can I go back to playing?" Tyler asks, squirming to get down.
"Sure, bud." I watch him race back to the kids' table, immediately absorbed in whatever game they're playing.
Reese's hand finds mine. "You okay? You look... I don't know, intense."
"Just thinking about how this will look. On Instagram, I mean."
Her eyebrows draw together. "You're worried about Jessica seeing it."
"A little." I squeeze her hand. "But not enough to hide this—us—anymore."
She studies me, those dark eyes seeing straight through me. "You're sure?"
I pull her closer, not caring who's watching. "I'm sure about you. About us. The rest, we'll figure out."
The DJ announces dinner, and Tyler comes running back, throwing himself against my legs. "I'm STARVING!"
"You're always starving," I laugh, ruffling his hair.
As we take our seats, I look around the table—Reese helping Tyler with his napkin, Sully passing the bread basket, Tuck already loosening his tie—and the tension I've been carrying loosens. This is what I've been missing. Not just hockey, not just Tyler, not just Reese, but all of it together.
Reese catches me staring and raises her eyebrows in question. I lean over, kiss her temple. "Happy New Year," I whisper.
"It's not midnight yet," she reminds me.
"I'm getting an early start."
She grins, and I'm done for. Tyler chatters between us about what color the fireworks might be at midnight, and I don't tell him he'll be asleep long before then. Some moments are worth preserving, uninterrupted by reality.
Even if it's just for tonight.
The penthouse is dark when we arrive home, just city lights filtering through the windows. I carry a passed-out Tyler from the elevator, he’s like a warm bag of sand on my shoulder, his little penny loafers dangling. Reese follows quietly, heels in one hand, her other hand lightly touching my back as we move through the silent apartment. Reese pulls off his shoes. Tyler mumbles something about fireworks as I ease him onto his bed, no longer stirring as Reese helps me wrestle him out of his party clothes and into his pajamas.
"He's completely out," she whispers, carefully tucking his favorite stuffed animal under his arm. Her fingers brush hair from his forehead with such tenderness it makes my throat tight. "Didn't even make it to nine-thirty."
"New Year's champion," I murmur, leaning down to kiss his warm and impossibly soft cheek.
We move quietly from his room, pulling the door until just a crack of light remains. Our eyes meet in the dim hallway, and the air changes between us—no longer parents focused on a sleepingchild, but us again. My hand finds hers in the half-dark, our fingers intertwining like they've been doing this forever.
"Want a real drink?" I ask. "Since we couldn't exactly indulge at the party."
She shakes her head no, already stepping backward toward my bedroom, tugging me with her. "I just want to get out of this dress.”
“I’d like to help.” I say, grinning mischievously.
We move through the doorway into my—our?—bedroom. When did it become ours? I can't pinpoint the exact moment, but the evidence is everywhere: her books stacked on the nightstand, her robe, the mint and lavender scent of her shampoo lingering in the air.
I loosen my tie while Reese disappears into the bathroom. When she emerges, she's removed her makeup, face fresh and scrubbed. The elegant updo from earlier is gone, replaced by her natural curls falling around her shoulders. She's still in her dress, though, moving to my dresser where she starts removing her earrings.
I watch her reflection in the mirror—the practiced way she unclasps each earring, sets them in the small dish that appeared there weeks ago. My dress shirt is half-unbuttoned, forgotten as I'm caught by the simple intimacy of watching her nightly ritual in my space.
"What?" she asks, catching my gaze in the mirror. Her smile is soft, questioning.
