Pride and Pucks and Prejudice - 29. Epilogue

Jackson

The awards ceremony was held three weeks after the Cup Final.

We had won the conference.

We had not won the Cup.

That still hurt.

It probably always would.

But the season was over, the team had scattered for the summer, and somebody had decided that a ballroom full of hockey players in expensive suits was the appropriate place to hand out awards.

I had already collected one.

Noah had collected two.

He kept looking at them as though someone might come along and ask for them back.

We were sitting at the same table when a reporter approached.

"Lemaire."

I looked up.

"Quick question."

That was never true.

"Who do you think deserved playoff MVP?"

I looked across the table.

Noah was talking to Eddie.

He hadn't heard.

"That one's easy."

The reporter raised his recorder.

"Noah."

He blinked.

The reporter smiled.

"You don't think you deserved it?"

"No."

"Even after your performance?"

"Noah scored the conference-winning goal."

"So you think he was the most valuable player?"

"Yes."

The reporter glanced towards Noah.

"And you?"

I followed his gaze.

Noah had finally noticed us.

The reporter called his name.

Noah walked over.

"What?"

"We were just asking Lemaire who he thought deserved playoff MVP."

Noah looked at me.

Then at the reporter.

"Jackson."

I smiled.

The reporter laughed.

"That's an interesting answer."

"No, it isn't."

"No?"

"No."

The reporter looked between us.

"You're both saying the other deserves it."

"Yes," Noah said.

"Are you aware that's a very diplomatic answer?"

Noah looked genuinely confused.

"It's not."

The reporter waited.

Noah shrugged.

"Jackson was better."

I shook my head.

"Noah was."

"Jackson."

"Noah."

The reporter lowered the recorder slightly.

"You two aren't going to give me the politically correct answer, are you?"

"No," I said.

"No," Noah agreed.

The reporter laughed.

"Why not?"

I looked at Noah.

He was smiling.

Because there was no point.

Because I'd spent years trying to beat him and somehow ended up happier when he succeeded.

Because I trusted him.

Because he was there.

I didn't say any of that.

I just looked back at the reporter. "Because I mean it."

Noah nodded. "Me too."

The reporter finally lowered the recorder. "Right." He looked vaguely defeated. "Thanks."

He walked away.

Noah watched him go.

"Think he believed us?"

"Probably not."

"His problem."

"Exactly."

He reached across the table and stole one of my fries.

I let him.

Some things, apparently, never changed.

I looked at him.

He looked back.

Six years of trying to know where he would be.

Ten months of learning why.

And now I didn't have to think about it at all.

I knew.

He was right there.