Page 85 of Love and History

“Shh! Geez, Ezra.”

He snort-laughed as he gathered his equipment, then slung his bag over his shoulder. He stopped to exchange fist bumps and high fives with his teammates before leading me to the parking lot.

“Did you see my goal?” He grinned at my enthusiastic nod. “It was epic. I didn’t think we had a shot at winning without Blake. That was sweet. Are he and Ash meeting us at Tommy and Noah’s?”

“Yes. They’re coming from the airport.”

“Good. Did you see that hit at the end too? Costanski is getting his ass kicked when he comes by my office on Monday,” he huffed, opening the hatch on his brand-new SUV.

I scowled. “I thought that was egregious. He works with you?”

“No, he’s an agent for one of Hughes’s big clients. I just found out he was on a rival rec team last week. I didn’t know we’d play each other so soon.”

Ezra stuffed his bag and stick in the back and whipped his jersey over his head. I took a moment to shamelessly gawk at his tattooed muscular torso while he changed into a clean tee, chatting as he organized his equipment. I should have hurried him along, but it felt nice to have him to myself for a few minutes. We’d both been ridiculously busy lately.

I was in the home stretch for my PhD, and I was still teaching a full load of courses at Caltech. It felt like all I did lately was work or study. We’d agreed to take a break over summer. Ezra voted for Hawaii, and I liked the idea of doing something on the East Coast so we could stop by to visit my family for a couple of days.

Each option had a positive and negative side. Hawaii was a sun vacation and frankly, I didn’t like slathering myself in lotion. I’d look like I’d rolled around in flour while Ezra looked like a sun god. I tried to argue that I’d only embarrass him, but he got a sort of dreamy expression in his eyes and assured me that wasn’t possible. As for the East Coast, we couldn’t decide where to go. I suggested Florida so he could see his brother and his family, but they were supposedly coming to California soon. And Ezra had met all the Galymers during the holidays.

I think Ezra shocked the heck out of my family. I’d never brought a boyfriend home, and I got the impression that they hadn’t realized he was the same gregarious six-foot-four giant of a man they’d met when we were just roommates. They loved him, though. He was silly with my nieces and nephews and his usual engaging self with my siblings and parents. I liked to think they liked him because they could tell he made me happy.

Don’t get me wrong. Ezra was still Ezra. He tore his clothes off the second he got home and dropped them wherever he happened to strip. He drank milk straight from the carton and occasionally hid my blueberry yogurt…for old times’ sake.

Of course I rolled my eyes and occasionally got a little peeved, but I wouldn’t change him for the world. He made everything seem supersized and fun.

He joined the HRS and volunteered for our fund raisers whenever his work and lacrosse schedule allowed. And in return, I cheered at his games and attended official business gatherings at his new firm…Hughes, Kelleford, and Mendez-Sullivan.

His old boss had tried to persuade him to stay and even offered him a nice junior associate package when he passed the bar, but Ezra politely declined. It was an easy decision. He didn’t care for Rossman and didn’t like his business ethics. And entertainment was a broad umbrella for another form of corporate law. He might not wrangle pharma bad guys, but Ezra felt he could learn more with Hughes and his partners.

Six months in, he loved it. The partners were well-respected, principled men with dozens of years of experience between them. And two of the three were gay or bisexual, and married to men. Oh, and he was making a very good salary. He’d recently bought a Range Rover and put a large chunk of money aside for our house fund. We weren’t quite ready to start looking yet, and we liked our rental, but maybe next year.

He kissed me quickly and motioned for me to hop in the SUV. “How much time do I have?”

I fastened my seat belt, twisting to face him as he revved the engine. “Eight point five minutes to shower and change at home.”

“I can do it in eight.”

We laughed at his manic delivery, but sure enough, Ezra took the challenge and crushed it…his words, not mine.

We’d moved into our tiny two-bedroom cottage rental in January, just before Tommy and Noah began renovating the old house. It was five blocks away, which made for a convenient commute for me, and we lived near all of my closest friends. Not as ideal for Ezra, but he insisted that he loved Pasadena and didn’t mind the drive. He thought Cole was more surprised about his request to find a replacement roomie than he was when Ezra also mentioned that he was bi and in a relationship with me.

“I kind of always knew there was something between you two. You clicked, even when you were bickering about stupid shit,” Cole observed. “You make a good team.”

I thought so too.

Ezra bounded into the kitchen with bare feet and damp hair. He flopped onto a chair in our breakfast nook…aka, the tiniest sliver of space delineating the kitchen from the adjoining living room. Most of the rooms in our house were small, but the ceilings were high and the yard was huge—perfect for stargazing and barbecuing.

He finished buttoning his shirt with a crooked grin. “How am I doing?”

“You have precisely one minute and forty-seven seconds on the clock,” I replied without looking at my watch. “But we don’t really have to hurry, you know. This is a casual gathering amongst friends, not a real Script Club meeting.”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Who are you, and what did you do with my boyfriend?”

I snickered. “I’m just saying that one minute isn’t going to hurt.”

He shook his head in mock dismay as he picked up the dessert he’d left to cool before his game. The blueberry tart was one of his dad’s best recipes.

Ezra was the first to admit that nine years later, he was still working through his grief. And somehow, cooking helped. Maybe it was the connection to sweet memories tied to a simpler piece of history. Or maybe he’d simply learned to forgive and slowly let go. Grieving was a process and one I think he was beginning to slowly tackle by talking about the good times…and the not so good.