Page 23

“There is no remedy for love but to love more.”—Henry David Thoreau

Malcolm

Three years later

Spiders fans came out in droves for Pride Night, and my goodness, they were ferocious.

“Get ’em by the balls! Come on, fellas!”

I widened my eyes at the octogenarian sitting two seats away.

“Don’t mind Sally. She gets excited at these games,” the old man next to me chimed in, putting two fingers in his mouth and whistling shrilly. “Our grandson is out there.”

“That’s great,” I replied, but my focus was on the ice now.

I jumped to my feet, clapping wildly as Jett swooped in to save the day, stealing the puck from Chicago’s forward with ease.

Sciarra had glided to Jett’s weak side, ready for a pass. Jett had delivered the pass, pushing a defender out of the way and—oh, I recognized this formation. I’d studied hockey like nobody’s business over the past few years. Jett was in position with the narrowest of openings. This was risky for sure, but if Sciarra’s pass was accurate and the stars aligned, Jett could score.

The lamp lit up seconds later.

“A one-timer from the slot! Erickson is money tonight!”

The crowd roared their approval, stomping their feet, and yelling, “Jett, Jett, Jett!”

Jett raised his arms triumphantly as his teammates descended for a congratulatory ritual of manly hugs and stick tapping. And just as he did whenever I was in the stands, he waved in my direction.

I waved back, butterflies fluttering in my chest. “That’s my boyfriend. Jett Erickson.”

The man lifted his brows and whistled again. “You don’t say? I’d like to meet him someday. I heard he’s the reason the Spiders reinstated Pride Night.”

True statement.

As you might have guessed, life had been rather eventful over the past few years. Jett’s public coming out had sent ripples throughout Smithton and every college hockey program in the nation. In a way, the attention was understandable. Jett was an extraordinary athlete who looked like a cross between a body builder and Superman. He was a star player for a small program who’d “risked his future for love.” That quote came straight from a Hollywood reporter, by the way.

See, Walker’s already popular Valentine segment for What’s New, Smithton? went viral when he posted the photo of us kissing in front of the physics building along with an apology for leaking the original pic.

The story was an instant global sensation, and to be honest, it had been overwhelming. I’d never been the subject of curious glances around campus…other than on the occasions I’d tripped or fallen into something regrettable. And the perfect attendance in classes I’d TA’d for had been an anomaly too. Sure, the Bears’ games were sold out for the rest of the season—however, that was entertainment and worth the ticket of admission. But I wasn’t as interesting.

Unless one happened to be a fan of the physics of electromagnetism and motion.

Not to brag, but yes, a portion of my thesis had been chosen for the collegiate textbook. I’d been thrilled! And…an academic publisher for a high school science curriculum had commissioned an extended essay from me, specifically focusing on hockey. In a twist, I’d had extra data on hand and had been more than happy to contribute to the cause.

We never found out who’d taken the blurry picture. I’d been so angry and scared at the time, and I’d never felt more helpless. It was an ugly episode for sure, and oddly, it had shaken the foundation of our town—rallying students, faculty, and friends.

The Bears hockey community was especially supportive of Jett. Smithton had drawn a line in the proverbial sand and chosen truth and community over libidinous gossip.

Thankfully, the unexpected attention on our personal lives died down a bit after graduation. Jett finalized his contract with the Spiders, who had no issues with his newly out status, while I sent out countless résumés for teaching positions. I interviewed formally at St. Clement’s, as well as at MIT, John Hopkins, and Stanford. But get this…Smithton offered me a job. Smithton!

It was an easy yes and a wonderful opportunity that became even sweeter when Jett applied for and was accepted to the master’s program at Smithton. The forty-five-minute commute to Syracuse had been reasonable, but his schedule with the Spiders was demanding. He wasn’t able to take as many classes as he’d hoped, which meant he wouldn’t finish for another year.

Jett wasn’t in a hurry. Smithton was home. We both had friends here, like Ty and Langley. And of course, Layla, whose girlfriend had recently moved into the apartment we used to share. We loved long walks and occasional jogs (just kidding) along the lakefront. We loved meeting up at Bear Depot for dinner, our knees bumping under the table as we chatted about our respective days. We also loved being relatively close to Pine Ridge.

My family welcomed Jett warmly, charmed by his charismatic personality and the sweet way he looked at me—my mother’s words, not mine. It was true, though. I’d caught him grinning at me during my dad’s tour of the veggie garden. One of his indulgent, affectionate smiles that was meant for me. Only me.

His family was a tougher nut to crack. They were all friendly enough, but I think we confused them. We were unexpected, and they weren’t sure what to think—Jett’s dad, especially. I sensed he was proud of his son but stingy with praise.

Jett didn’t seem to care anymore. He knew who he was.

He’d proved to be a valuable asset on his new team, and much to his father’s chagrin, he was well-compensated for his contribution. He still had dreams of playing in the AHL—or gosh, the NHL, but he didn’t waste time wondering about what-ifs. He was a doer, a game changer.

As my seatmate had observed, Jett Erickson had fought to put Pride back in hockey. The Spiders had gone the way of a lot of franchises and had stopped hosting Pride night, until my boyfriend had stepped up and made it happen.

Tonight’s event was the second annual, and this sold-out event had raised a ton of money for homeless LGBTQ teens. Jett battled on the ice and in the owner’s office promoting change and making a difference. I couldn’t have been more proud.

And yes, that was me screaming my lungs out when the buzzer sounded and the Spiders won.

We drove home after the postgame party, fingers linked across the console. The soft music and the fuzzy lights from oncoming traffic was hypnotic. I felt my eyes drift, but I didn’t want to fall asleep. I glanced sideways with a start…first noting that Jett was staring at me and not the road, and second?—

“You’re driving like a bat out of Hades.”

Jett barked a laugh. “I am not. I’m very responsible. I have precious cargo, baby.”

I huffed. “ Hmph . Well…you’re supposed to be navigating with your eyes trained on the traffic. Not on me.”

“Fine. But just so you know, I’m rolling my eyes.” He kissed our joined hands.

“Noted. You’re doing it again. Do I have something on my face?” I asked, meeting his gaze.

He shook his head. “No, you’re perfect. I saw you in the stands tonight, and my heart kind of exploded.”

I grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I never thought I’d have this. I can’t believe I’m here…with you. Sometimes I can’t believe how far we’ve come and how cool my life is. Thank you.”

“For stalking you?”

Jett laughed. “Yeah. I love you, baby.”

I smiled so hard that tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. “I love you, too.”

I wasn’t the one driving, so I looked my fill, admiring Jett’s strong profile in the dark.

How unexpectedly wonderful it was to be on this journey with my best friend.

Someday we’d get married, buy a house, plant a veggie garden, get a dog…or two, and have children. Big plans that had nothing to do with our careers. We weren’t in a hurry, but it would all happen. I knew it.

We’d taken a one-time shot at love, and scored. This was forever.

* * *

Thank you for reading Jett and Malcolm’s story!