We’re in our living room, watching Boston shimmer below us. A few boats sparkle in the dark harbor waters, bobbing happily.
“You were. What’s going on?”
He’s silent for a moment. “Some of our teammates are in relationships. They were dancing together.”
“I know. It was their friends’ wedding. Of course they?—”
“I want that.”
I blink.
“I want to dance with you,” he says. “I want people to know you’re mine.”
My throat tightens.
“Axel—”
“I know we haven’t really talked about what we are.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “And I know you’re private. I know coming out is—it’s a lot, especially with hockey, and I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for. But maybe one day, that would be cool?”
My heart explodes. “That’s what you want?”
He steps closer, takes my hands. His palms are warm, slightly damp. He’s nervous. Axel is never nervous.
“I want us to be real. Not just behind closed doors. I want to be your boyfriend—your partner—whatever word you want. I want Luca to grow up knowing that his dads love each other andaren’t ashamed of it. I want—” He exhales. “I want everything. With you.”
I stare at him.
This is the moment where I could play it safe. Where I could sayme tooorthat sounds niceor anything that keeps some part of me protected. I’ve spent ten years building walls around this feeling. Ten years convincing myself that wanting him was something I’d eventually outgrow.
I could keep those walls up. See where this goes.
“I love you,” I say.
His eyes widen.
Oh God. I’ve miscalculated. That wasn’t what I should have said. He wanted to talk about labels, and I jumped straight to?—
“I should have led with that.” He grins, and something loosens in his face. His eyes are soft, and his shoulders ease. “I love you too.”
“Yeah?” My voice cracks on the word.
“Yeah.” He pulls me closer. “A lot.”
I pull him closer. “I want all of it. The dancing. The handholding. The—” I swallow. “I want everyone to know you’re mine too.”
“But you never— I didn’t know for sure?—”
“It’s different with you.”
He kisses me then, slow and deep, his hands cupping my face like I’m something precious.
When we break apart, he’s still grinning.
“So,” he says. “Next wedding. We’re dancing.”
“We’re dancing,” I agree.
“And I’m going to pick you up.”
