We bought a house last month. A real one, with a yard and a swing set and a kitchen that Tristan swears he's going to learn to use—he won't, but I love him for trying. It's in Westchester, tucked into the woods on a quiet street where Hale can ride his bike without me having a heart attack.
Tristan kept the apartment at Seventeen Hudson Yards for work and for nights out in town. I also think he wants to feel close to Dom and Aaron, since they also live in the same building. The three of them are ridiculous together—overgrown children with too much money and not enough supervision.
But that's family, I'm learning. Chosen family. They show up for you in warehouses and on yachts and in hockey arenas, wearing matching jerseys and screaming at referees.
The type of family worth bleeding for.
"You know what I was thinking?" Tristan leans down, his voice dangerously low.
"Uh oh."
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my shoulder. "I was thinking about how this is your first hockey game."
"It is."
"And first hockey games are kind of a big deal. They need to be memorable."
I narrow my eyes. "What are you getting at?"
"Nothing." His expression is too innocent. "Just that the kiss cam is coming around soon, and it would be pretty romantic if?—"
"Tristan."
"What?"
"If you propose to me on a kiss cam in front of twenty thousand strangers, I will murder you with a hockey stick."
An unburdened, beautiful laugh I've only recently gotten to know comes out of him. "Got it. No Jumbotron proposals."
"I'm serious."
"I know you are. That's what makes it fun." He tugs me closer, pressing his lips to my cheek. "Don't worry, Red. When I ask you to marry me, it won't be in front of a crowd. It'll be just us. Somewhere quiet. Probably when you least expect it."
My heart stutters. "When? Not if?"
"Definitely when. I told you, this is forever. You're never getting rid of me—and you can't anyway."
"I mean, I guess that's true. I did help you commit multiple felonies. That's a pretty strong foundation for a relationship."
"The strongest. Nothing says forever like shared trauma and a body count."
I burst out laughing, and he catches the sound with his lips.
"Get a room!" Zara calls out to us.
"We have many,” Tristan yells back. “I can buy this one too, if you’d like!”
Zara rolls her eyes and flips Tristan off.
The game continues. Dom scores again, then gets into a fight with someone from the opposing team that has Zoe simultaneously screaming with rage and arousal. Nick nearly chokes on his beer when a particularly brutal hit sends a player over the boards. Marco watches the whole thing with the quiet contentment of a man who seems completely at peace. He always has the same expression. It's so hard for me to get a read on him.
My beautiful miracle of a boy, Hale, falls asleep against Tristan's shoulder in the third period, exhausted from all the cheering, the foam finger still clutched in his tiny fist.
I look around the box.
Cat and Aaron, all over each other in a way that suggests their night has only just begun. Zoe still pressed against the glass, cheering every single play her husband makes. Nick and Zara bickering about something pointless while Marco referees with exaggerated patience. Tristan and Hale, safe and happy beside me.
A year ago, I was a ghost in my own life.
