Page 34 of Care Package

99

Epilogue - Ryan

The hum of the arena is a different kind of noise than the one I used to live with. It isn’t the sharp, dissonant whine of a generator or the sudden, violent roar of incoming fire. It’s a rhythmic, thrumming anticipation, the sound of skates cutting fresh lines into the ice, the scrape of steel, and the sharp, encouraging whistles of the coaches calling out drills.

I stand by the glass, watching the Pee-Wee warm-ups. Down on the ice, Cory is stumbling slightly under the weight of his gear, his helmet sitting a little too low on his brow, but he’s moving. He’s trying. I see the same determination in his posture that I saw in his dad.

I’ve come a long way. The war is still in me, carved into my reflexes, but the panic attacks are rare now, and the hyper-vigilance, the part of me that used to scan every shadow for a threat, is manageable. Nate has helped a lot with that. He returned from his final deployment, and we fell into anunspoken brotherhood. We have a language of silence I don’t have to explain to anyone else, and we help each other with the noise. It’s the best kind of therapy.

I feel a hand slide into mine, calloused and familiar. Jackson doesn’t say anything; he just pulls me slightly closer, his presence the final piece of the perimeter I’ve built around my life. Of course, he’s wearing his Tidal Teals hat backward.

“He’s got the stance down,” Jackson murmurs, his voice warm against my ear. “Kid’s got better edge work than most of the rookies on the farm team.”

I smile, the tension in my shoulders loosening. “Brody would be losing his mind right now. He’d be the loudest parent in the stands, for sure.”

“He’d be unbearable,” Jackson agrees, squeezing my hand.

I look at the ring on my finger, the brushed titanium band I’ve worn since the wedding. I think back to that day. It wasn’t loud. We didn’t want the cameras or the media. It was just us, Anna, Cory, Logan, and the team on a private stretch of beach near the house. I remember standing there, looking at Jackson, no mask, no Joker persona, just the man who loved me enough to wait while I put the pieces back together. I remember the way the Pacific felt like it was witnessing something permanent. I’d walked into that ceremony thinking about everything I’d lost, but when I saw Jackson, I realized I was finally looking at everything I’d found. I hesitated slightly, turning to look at Jackson. “Seeing Cory out there, wearing your jersey, finding his feet…” I hesitated for a second, the magnitude of what I was about to say making my heart hammer. “I realize I don’t want to just be the uncle in the stands anymore. I can’t wait to bring our own kids to those early morning practices. I want to see our daughter or son digging their blade in. I want us to be that home crowd for them.” Jackson stared at me for a long, silent heartbeat, his expression a chaotic mix of shock and somethingso intensely beautiful it made my throat tight. Then he moved, his hands framing my face with a desperate, overwhelming heat. “Are you serious?” he breathed, his voice cracking, his eyes searching mine with a frantic kind of joy. “Ryan, baby, do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that? I want it more than the cup, more than anything. I want a house full of noise and kids who draw ducks and skate like demons. I want to start a family with you right now, as soon as we possibly can. I’m all in, Ry, I’ve always been all in.” He kissed me then, a long, deep press of his lips that tasted of cookies.

The whistle blows, signaling the start of the game. Cory leans forward, digging his blades in, ready for the face-off.

I’m not the soldier who needs to be in the dark anymore. I’m Ryan. I’m a husband. I’m part of a family.

“Go get ‘em, kid,” I whisper.

Jackson rests his chin on my shoulder, his voice a low hum. “He’s ready. We’re all ready.”

I watch Cory chase the puck, the arena light catching the teal jersey he’s wearing. It’s loud, it’s chaotic, and for the first time in my life, I don’t need to look for the exits.

100

Epilogue - Jackson

The drive home from the rink was quiet, not the heavy, uncomfortable silence of my early career, but the comfortable, solid kind that settles between two people who have nothing left to prove. Ryan was driving, his hand resting casually on the gear shift. He looked at ease, the tension that used to coil through his shoulders replaced by a steady, quiet focus.

I watched him from the passenger seat, my Tidal Teals cap pulled low over my eyes, brim pointed backward, just like he loved. I didn’t need the mask tonight. I didn’t need to be the Joker, the media darling, or the player everyone expected to see. I just needed to be Jackson—Ryan’s husband.

Looking back at the last year, it felt like the longest, most grueling game of my career, but one where the final score was so much better than I ever could have predicted. I remembered the early days of my career, how I used to treat every interaction like a power play, constantly maneuvering, always defensive, alwaysafraid that if I let my guard down, I’d be benched for good. I’d spent so much time performing for the cameras that I almost forgot who was actually under the jersey.

But Ryan… he changed the game plan. He didn’t ask me to be a superstar; he asked me to be a partner and now a dad.

We pulled into the driveway, the house glowing with the warm, golden light of the living room windows. It wasn’t the vast, hollow space it used to be. It was a home. Ryan killed the engine, and the sudden quiet of the ocean rushed in to meet us.

“You played a hell of a game tonight,” Ryan said softly, turning to me. He reached out, his thumb brushing against my jawline. He wasn’t the ghost from the desert anymore; he was the man who had built a life with me from the dust up.

“It was a good shift,” I agreed, leaning into his touch.

I thought about the hockey metaphors I used to use to hide my feelings. I used to think of life as a series of defensive zones, places where I had to keep people out to stay safe. But sitting here with Ryan, I realized I didn’t want to defend anything anymore. I wanted to be open. I wanted to be vulnerable. And the crazy thing was, the more I let my guard down, the more the public, the fans, and even the league started to respect the real me. The media didn’t talk about the “gay hockey player” as much anymore; they talked about Jackson Hayes, the defense-man who played with heart, the guy who stood by his husband, the man who was finally, undeniably himself.

“I used to think being seen was a weakness,” I murmured, my voice thick. “I thought if people saw the real me, I’d lose the game.”

Ryan smiled, that slow, secret expression that had become the best part of my day. “We weren’t losing, baby. We were just waiting for each other.”

I laughed, the sound easy and unforced. I reached over, grabbing his hand and interlacing our fingers, the band on hisfinger clinking against my own. I wasn’t just a player on a roster anymore. I was part of a team that actually mattered, and for the first time, I wasn’t worried about the future. I wasn’t worried about the noise.

“Let’s go inside,” I said, finally pulling away from the truck. “I think there’s a box of cookies in the pantry, and I have a feeling they need to be tested.”

Ryan stepped out of the truck and rounded the hood to meet me. As we walked toward the front door, the ocean air salty and cool against our faces, I didn’t look back at the truck, or the road, or the life I’d left behind. The rink was behind us, the noise of the crowd was a memory, and for the rest of my life, this was where I belonged.

To think, this all started with a letter and a care package.