But for now, stay bougie, bitches!
Your forever friend and entertainer,
Jordan “Bougie” Boucher
epilogue: part 2
colton
I’ve always wondered what it’s like being in prison. Being served three square meals a day with dedicated exercise time always sounds appealing. But staring at white walls and longing for freedom is what always made me question if I could really survive.
Turns out…I can.
Not in an actual jail cell, I’m a little tooby the bookfor crime, but I am stuck staring through the bars at the freedom I’ve longed for formonths, years,without a key to unlock the metal standing in my way.
It’s fucking torture.
Not physical torture as I’ve seen in prison movies.I wonder if that would be easier. A shiver runs down my spine.Nope.This is much,muchworse.
Sitting at a baby shower for Bougie and Kennedy, seeing the glow on their faces, the excitement of everyone here celebrating them tugs at something I didn’t realize was there. I’m extremely happy for my friends. Bougie finally got his happily ever after.If anyone has the slightest inkling of what I am going through, longing for someone for so long but not being able to have them, it’s him.But he doesn’t completely get it.He found his love without risking everything. I can’t do that. Confessing my feelings would ruin our careers. Our reputations.Everything.
Personally, I couldn’t give a shit. My reputation is not much more than being a decent player in the NHL. I enjoy the game. I’m good at it. Fuck, my name is on the Stanley Cup! But losing all that would be nothing compared to this.
Because, of course, my fucking dumbass self-had to fall in love with the one person I can’t have. My teammate, my roommate.
And my goddamn best friend.
We moved in together during the rookie season, both new to the city, and became instant friends. I’m the serious, responsible, level-headed planner. He’s the carefree spirit that doesn’t give a shit about bills or setting aside money for a hockey player’s inevitable retirement. We balance each other, helping one another find a neutral zone within our lives. And when we both started making enough money to buy our own places, we just…didn’t.
I think he secretly wanted me to keep paying the utilities and pay me back so he didn’t have to worry about it. For him, it was continuing our friendship and living arrangements. But for me? It was about making sure he stayed. The masochist in me wanted to see him every day despite knowing he would never be mine. If torturing myself is what I wanted, that’s exactly what I got.
Every time he clapped his hand on my shoulder.
Every time he brushed against me, reaching for a mug in the cabinet above the sink when I was rinsing out a dish.
Every time his foot brushed against mine when we sat on the couch.
Fucking. Torture.
Then he decided we should go on a spur-of-the-moment trip to Cabo for the weekend. I fiddle with the paracord bracelet on my wrist, remembering whatalmosthappened on that trip. We had a room with two queen beds. Easy peasy, right? Nothing could go wrong there.
We live together; this was no different. But after a few too many drinks, I stumbled into bed and only remember waking up with his arm across my chest, EJ having passed out in the wrong bed.Mybed.I’ll never forget the way my heart raced, the way my cock twitched, and the way my stomach twisted. Cherishing every detail, knowing it would be gone the minute he woke up.
Then he did.
I clenched every muscle in my body, waiting for him to panic. Ready to say it was no big deal. Ready to explain the morning wood as an everyday thing.
But he didn’t panic. His eyes caught mine, his hand still glued to my chest. Nothing but silence in our gaze. I swear we lay there for an hour, but it was merely seconds.
He finally cleared his throat, saying the words I was expecting, “Sorry, Tay. I was wasted.” I, of course, replied with what I had planned. Then we both went about the rest of our trip like it never happened. Like we were a couple of frat bros who bunked up after a party. And somehow, on a trip with my best friend, I never felt more alone.
But that morning, that one glorious morning in paradise, gave me more than a hard on. It gave me hope. Because I fucking saw it. It was deep and buried in his stormy eyes, but it was there.
He thought about it. He thought aboutme.
And yet, despite the time that’s passed by, here I sit at a baby shower. I stare blankly out the window, still tortured by what could’ve been my freedom had I been bold enough to pull him in for a kiss that day.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t. So now I live my life every day wanting a man I can’t have. The man is currently hiding in the kitchen with Hannah. They thought they were sneaky, wandering off separately, but I saw.I always see.I see his hand on her waist, hers on his cheek. I see the longing smiles and looks they give each other when they think no one’s watching. I see the way they feel about each other.
