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WILLOW

Six Years Later

T he view is the same, but everything else has changed. I open my eyes to sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. For a moment, I'm disoriented. While the room I had when I first traveled to Puerto Rico six years ago was nice, it was nothing compared to this.

Six years. It’s hard to believe that it’s been six years since we first came to Puerto Rico on a winter abroad trip. Now we're back, but everything has changed. We've changed.

I turn my head and there he is. Blaise is still asleep and I’m surprised since he still doesn’t sleep well in beds that aren’t ours.

Although I will say that he seems to have no issue with sleeping when I’m with him.

I resist the urge to trace the stubble along his jawline with my fingertip.

Although he’s usually clean shaven, I love when he lets his facial grow.

I quietly and carefully leave the bed in hopes of not waking Blaise up.

His season ended three weeks ago when he and his teammates won the Stanley Cup.

The whirlwind of everything that comes with being champions was the wildest time of both of our lives, and while we’re both happy that it happened, we are also happy to get back to the place where everything really began for us.

As I walk into the kitchen area of our suite, my phone vibrates on the kitchen counter and I almost trip as I try to get it.

The notification that appears on my phone makes my heart skip a beat: the Pacific Post wants to run my investigative piece on harassment in college athletics.

Six months of research, dozens of interviews, and now one of the most respected publications in the country wants to feature it.

I set the phone down and cover my mouth with both my hands to keep from yelling in excitement.

Holy shit. This is real life. We made it.

Both of us. Not just to some arbitrary finish line, but to a place where success feels sustainable rather than frantic.

I lean against the counter and let myself really absorb this moment.

Blaise's Stanley Cup championship still feels surreal and that’s after watching him lift that trophy.

His mom and I cried tears of joy and it was absolutely magical seeing years of dedication finally pay off in the most spectacular way possible.

And now this. My article getting picked up by one of the most prestigious publications in journalism.

We've built something neither of us saw coming back then. Success that isn’t fleeting, along with careers we're both proud of. Not to mention we’ve grown and nurtured a love that's weathered public scrutiny, career pressures, and the general chaos of two people figuring out how to grow together instead of apart.

The best part isn't the accolades or recognition, though. It's about our happiness and how it’s grown over the years. It’s about some of the mundane things we do like how we choose each other daily in different ways or argue about whether we're watching hockey highlights or true crime documentaries before bed.

I quickly make and pour myself coffee from the fancy machine I barely know how to use. Once I’ve checked that task off my agenda, I step out onto the balcony. We waited way too long to come back here, but I’m so happy we finally made it happen.

The sliding door opens behind me. I don't need to turn around to know it's Blaise because if it wasn’t that means someone has broken into our suite to murder me. And, well, I knew it was only a matter of time before he woke up because I wasn’t in bed anymore.

"Morning," he says with a deeper voice than normal due to him still waking up. His arms circle my waist from behind, pulling me back against his chest.

"Good morning." I melt into him with both hands on my coffee cup to keep it steady. "Sleep okay?"

"Better than I have in weeks." He presses a kiss to my temple. "What's got you up so early? And why do you look like you're trying not to lose your shit?"

I turn in his arms, unable to keep the grin off my face any longer. "Remember that investigative piece I've been working on? The one about harassment in college athletics?"

His eyes sharpen immediately. "The one you've been obsessing over for months? What about it?"

"They want it." The words tumble out in a rush. “The Pacific Post wants to run it. Front page of their Sunday edition."

The way his expression changes after the words fell out of my mouth is comical. "Willow." He sets his hands on my shoulders. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious." I can't stop smiling. "Six months of work, and they called it 'essential journalism that will spark necessary conversations.' Essential, Blaise."

He lifts me off my feet, spinning me around on the balcony until I'm laughing and coffee is threatening to spill everywhere. When he sets me down, his hands frame my face.

"I'm so fucking proud of you," he says. "This is huge, Willow. This is everything you've been working toward."

“I know,” I lean up to kiss him and when I pull back I say, "It feels surreal. Like I'm living someone else's life."

"No. This is your life. The one you built by refusing to stay quiet, by chasing the truth even when it was hard."

We stand there for a moment, holding each other on the balcony, before he takes my hand and leads me toward the railing. "I love our life," I tell him, the words simple but weighted with everything we've been through.

"I love our life too. Think we'll still be coming back here in another six years?"

"I hope so," I say, imagining us older, but still choosing each other against whatever life throws our way.

"Though maybe we'll be married and have some company by then."

I can’t help but grin. "Married?" The word slips out before I can stop it. “And I assume you mean children.”

Blaise just shrugs. “It’s not like we haven’t talked about it, kitten.”

We have talked about it numerous times. There have been many late-night conversations about the future, about what we want our life to look like in five years, ten years. But hearing him say it here, in this place where we first really found each other, makes it feel different.

"We have," I agree. "Though I didn't expect you to bring it up before I've even had my second cup of coffee."

"Sorry." He grins, not looking sorry at all. "But being back here...it makes me think about how far we've come. How much I want to keep building this with you. How much I love you."

“And I love you too,” I say back, meaning every word.

After I take another sip of my coffee, Blaise takes my cup out of my hands and puts it down on the small table that was conveniently placed out here. He pulls me back into his arms and gives me a kiss that tells me how bright our future is with him by my side.

It’s then that I realize one thing: this wasn’t supposed to be a love story. But it became one anyway.