“You’re sure? You’ve still got five months left on your lease.”
“I’m sure. Thank you for getting it done so quickly, but I won’t be needing it.”
“What about your lease?”
“I’ll pay the early termination fee. Whatever’s needed. Just send me the paperwork.”
After I hung up, Marco looked at me from the couch. “Done?”
“Done. Officially not moving back.”
“Officially staying here?”
“As long as you’ll have me.” I crossed to him, settled beside him. “This is crazy, right? We’ve only been together as a couple for three weeks. Living together not even seven weeks. And we’re making it permanent.”
“It’s crazy,” he agreed. “But I don’t care.”
That afternoon, I drove to my apartment. The place felt strange—like somewhere I used to live rather than home. Home was Marco’s house. This was just… space.
I spent the next few hours packing up what I wanted to keep. It turned out there wasn’t much.
Most of the furniture was generic. The kitchen stuff was mediocre at best; Marco’s was nicer. The decorations on the walls were things I’d bought because the space felt empty, not because I actually cared about them.
What I kept fit into three boxes and two suitcases.
Clothes, obviously. The rest of my hockey gear that wasn’t already at Marco’s. A framed photo of my mother from when I was ten, both of us smiling at the camera at one of my games. A few trophies from juniors and my first year in the NHL—purely sentimental, because Maman had been alive to see me earn them.
My favorite coffee mug, the one with the Montreal logo that was older than I was. A couple of books. My good headphones.
That was it. Three years of living in Denver, and everything that mattered fit in the back of my SUV.
I called the building manager about donating the rest—furniture, kitchen utensils, bedding. He said he’d coordinate with a local charity.
By early afternoon, I was pulling into Marco’s garage—our garage, I corrected myself—with everything I owned.
Marco opened the door as I was hauling the first suitcase inside. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” I dropped the suitcase in the living room and went back for a box. “Turns out I don’t need much.”
“Apparently not.” He held the door as I made three more trips, dumping boxes and suitcases in a haphazard pile in the middle of his living room.
When I finished, I collapsed onto the couch with a satisfied sigh. “Done.”
Marco stared at the chaos I’d created in his previously organized living room. “You’re just… leaving it there?”
“For now. I’m tired.”
He shook his head, but I caught the fond smile. “You can’t just leave boxes in the middle of the living room, Étienne.”
“Why not? I’ll deal with it later.”
“Later when? You’re leaving for a roadie tomorrow.” He gestured at the pile. “This is going to drive me crazy.”
I grinned. “You want to put it away now, don’t you?”
“Yes.” He didn’t even try to deny it. “I can’t bear looking at this mess for the rest of the day, let alone for ten days.”
“You know most people would wait?—”
