Outside, the city was celebrating. Inside, I had everything I’d ever wanted.
Epilogue
Theo
I padded into the kitchen wearing nothing but boxer briefs and Luca’s captain jersey. The fabric was soft from years of wear, the heavy "C" catching the late August sunlight streaming through the windows.
Two months since the championship. Two months of living together in this space that had slowly transformed from "Luca’s apartment" to "ours." My skates were by the door next to his. My protein powder crowded the counter. My terrible taste in romantic comedies infiltrated his Netflix queue.
"You’re wearing my jersey again." Luca’s voice came from behind me, low and rough with sleep.
I turned, grinning. His hair stuck up in three directions, his bare chest marked with faint lines from the sheets, sweatpants riding low on his hips.
Beautiful. Mine.
"Looks better on me," I said.
"You aren't wrong." He crossed the kitchen in three strides, hands sliding under the jersey to grip my waist. His thumbs traced my hip bones, his eyes dark. "But it’s distracting."
"Good." I kissed him, tasting mint toothpaste. I still got a thrill from this—kissing him in broad daylight, in our kitchen, with nothing to hide. "You’re supposed to be distracted. It’s the off-season."
"Technically we report back in two weeks."
"Still the off-season." I pulled back far enough to pour him coffee, adding cream the way he liked it. Easy. The kind of morning ritual I’d fantasized about during those three weeks of secrecy when every touch had been stolen.
Luca accepted the mug. His free hand stayed anchored on my hip like he couldn't stand not touching me. His gaze tracked over the jersey, lingering on the "C."
"I had a dream about you wearing this last night."
"Yeah?" I leaned back against the counter. "What was I doing?"
"Nothing you can do with a separated shoulder." His smile went wicked. "But now that you’re cleared for contact..."
Heat pooled low in my belly. My shoulder had healed perfectly—full range of motion, no surgery required. But Luca had been almost absurdly careful with me since that night, like I might shatter.
"I’m not breakable, Cap."
"I know." But his hand gentled on my waist, his thumb stroking the skin just above my waistband. "Still getting used to not worrying."
The microwave clock read 9:47 AM. We had nowhere to be until tonight’s event—a speaking engagement at a local LGBTQ+ youth hockey clinic that both our agents had enthusiastically supported.
The invitations had started flooding in about two weeks after Luca’s press conference. Youth organizations, Pride events, university panels. We’d accepted a handful—the ones that felt right, the ones where we could actually make a difference.
"What time do we need to leave?" I asked.
"Six." Luca set down his mug. Both hands slid up under the jersey now, mapping my ribs. "So we have all day."
"All day to do what?"
"I have a few ideas." He kissed my throat, teeth grazing my pulse point. "But first you need to eat breakfast. You’re still rebuilding muscle."
I laughed, threading my fingers through his hair. "You sound like the team nutritionist."
"I’m your captain. I’m supposed to take care of you."
"You’re my boyfriend," I corrected. "Different job description."
"Boyfriend." He tested the word, his smile soft. "I like that."
