"Stop making the kids cry, Pirelli," Louis chirps as we head back out. "Save the heartwarming stuff for after we win this thing."
The win, when it comes, feels bigger than hockey. Rylan finds me in the celebration, and for the first time, neither of uspulls away too quickly. The team piles on, creating a bubble of protection that feels like family.
A while later, after we've cooled down and showered, we're all heading out of the locker room, on our way for celebration drinks at the bar, when a tentative voice calls out, "Um, Rylan? Jamie?"
A teenager, maybe fifteen or sixteen, clutches a Sasquatch jersey in trembling hands. Must be one of the few fans with post-game access passes. But it's not just any jersey—someone's carefully combined both our names and numbers, "PIRELLI-COLLINGS" stretched across the shoulders.
"Nice jersey," I say softly, and the kid's entire face lights up.
"I... I made it myself. After your interview." Their voice shakes slightly. "I just... thank you. For showing it's okay to be..."
"Yeah," Rylan's voice is gentle in a way I rarely hear outside of private moments. "It is okay."
The kid's parent, hovering nearby, gives us a watery smile as they snap a photo. After they leave, Rylan's hand finds mine, hidden from view but solid and real.
"You okay?" I ask, noting the emotion in his eyes.
"Yeah, just..." He squeezes my hand. "When I was that age, hiding in our small town... I never thought I'd see anything like this. Never thought I could have this."
I think about nineteen-year-old me, terrified but determined to come out before the draft. About how lonely it felt, to be the only one. "We're doing this," I murmur. "Helping people."
His smile is soft and private. "Yeah. Yeah, we are."
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Two Months Later: Rylan
The Vancouver rehab facility is beautiful in the winter sunlight, with snow dusting the evergreens surrounding the buildings. Or maybe it's just that Dad looks different. He's clear-eyed and present in a way I haven't seen since before we lost Nick.
"Team's playing well," Dad says, pushing a coffee across the table to me. "Been watching all the games. That power-play goal against Edmonton last night was something else."
The casual way he talks about hockey now, actually following the games instead of just pretending to, makes my chest warm. "Yeah, we're really clicking. Carson thinks he can keep the core group together if we keep performing like this."
"Good. Though..." Dad's expression turns knowing. "Lou seemed a bit off in the third. Tremblay usually makes those glove saves look easy."
I blink, surprised by his observation. Louis has been favoring his right side lately, but he keeps insisting he's fine. "Maybe. He's, uh, probably just tired."
Dad nods, not pushing. Another change - he's learned when to let things breathe. "So," his smile turns slightly nervous. "Jamie's coming up with you next time, right?"
"If you're sure you're ready. We can wait-"
"No, I want to meet him properly." Dad's voice is firm. "Alexandra's been..." He pulls a book out from beside his chair. "She's been so kind. Sent me some resources, and said I could call anytime. Even suggested some support groups in Vancouver for when I finish the program."
I catch the title: "Supporting Your LGBTQ+ Child: A Guide for Parents." The Post-it notes sticking out of various pages are covered in Alexandra's distinctive handwriting.
"She's not..." I search for the right words. "She's not overwhelming you?"
Dad's laugh is genuine - a sound I'd almost forgotten. "No, she's... she's good at reading people. Knows when to push and when to step back." He looks down at the book. "Actually, I've been thinking... There's a good outpatient program here in Vancouver. And the winters are easier than back home..."
My heart skips. "Dad?"
"Might be nice," he says carefully. "Being closer. Getting a fresh start. And your Jamie's family seems to visit Seattle pretty often..."
"They'd love having you closer," I say softly. "We all would."
His eyes get a bit misty. "Your mother would have loved all this, you know. The Pirellis, Jamie... she always said you needed someone who could make you laugh. Make you less..." He gestures vaguely at me. "Rigid."
