Chapter 73 Coming Home
Harper's POV,
Maya's U-Haul pulled up to her new Yaletown apartment building at nine AM on a Saturday, and I was already there waiting with coffee and donuts.
She jumped out of the truck, looking exhausted and wired simultaneously. "I drove twelve hours. I stopped once. I'm either going to cry or pass out or both."
"Let's get you moved in first. Then you can do both." I handed her coffee. "Crew's bringing three teammates. They should be here in twenty minutes. We're going to get you unpacked and settled today if it kills us."
"It might actually kill me. I packed way more than I thought I did." She unlocked the back of the truck. "Oh god. Look at this. How did I accumulate this much stuff?"
The truck was packed floor to ceiling. Furniture, boxes, bags, random items that clearly got thrown in at the last minute. A bike. A lamp shaped like a flamingo. What looked like an entire bookshelf's worth of books just loose in a corner.
"Maya. Did you pack a single thing properly?"
"I was stressed! And emotional! And I ran out of boxes!" She grabbed the flamingo lamp defensively. "Don't judge my packing methods. I got everything in the truck, didn't I?"
"You got everything IN. Getting everything OUT is going to be interesting."
Crew arrived with Marcus, Tyler, and Connor—the rookie I'd treated for his shoulder injury. They took one look at the truck and started laughing.
"This is chaos," Marcus said. "Absolute chaos. I love it."
"There's a method to my madness," Maya insisted.
"The method is madness," I corrected.
We spent the next four hours hauling Maya's life up to her fourth-floor apartment. The building had an elevator, thank god, but it was small and slow and could only fit two people plus maybe three boxes at a time.
Tyler and Connor turned it into a competition—who could carry the most boxes in one trip. Marcus supervised, calling out scores like a sports announcer. Crew handled the heavy furniture with practiced ease, years of athletic training making everything look effortless.
Maya and I unpacked as things arrived, trying to create order from the chaos.
"Kitchen stuff goes in the kitchen," I directed. "Bedroom boxes in the bedroom. Everything else just stack against that wall. We'll sort later."
By noon, the truck was empty except for one problem: Maya's couch.
It was a beautiful vintage sectional she'd bought from an estate sale three years ago. Teal velvet. Mid-century modern. Her favorite piece of furniture.
It was also too big to fit through her apartment door.
We tried every angle. Vertical. Horizontal. Diagonal. Taking off the legs. Removing the door from its hinges. Nothing worked.
"We're going to have to hoist it through the window," Marcus said finally.
Maya's eyes went wide. "Through the WINDOW? We're on the fourth floor!"
"It's the only way. Unless you want to leave it on the street."
"That couch cost me eight hundred dollars. We're not leaving it on the street."
Tyler ran down to his truck and came back with rope. "I've done this before. My buddy's apartment in Toronto, same problem. We just need someone inside to guide it and someone outside to hold the rope."
What followed was the most stressful thirty minutes of my life. Tyler and Connor on the street below, holding ropes. Marcus inside Maya's apartment, leaning out the window directing. Crew coordinating from the sidewalk. Maya and I watching in horror as her beloved couch slowly ascended the side of the building.
"If this falls, I'm going to cry," Maya said.
"If this falls, we're all going to have bigger problems than your emotional state," I replied.
But somehow, miraculously, they got it through the window. Marcus and Crew pulled it inside while Tyler and Connor kept tension on the ropes from below. The couch cleared the window frame with inches to spare.
Maya burst into tears. "My couch made it! My beautiful couch!"
"Your beautiful couch almost killed four professional athletes," Marcus said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "But yeah, it made it."
We ordered pizza for lunch—five large pizzas because apparently moving furniture makes hockey players inhuman levels of hungry. Ate sitting on Maya's floor because the dining table wasn't assembled yet.
"Welcome to Vancouver," Marcus said, raising his pizza slice. "Where we risk our lives for vintage furniture."
"That couch is a family heirloom now," Tyler added. "It's been through battle. It deserves respect."
"I'm naming it," Maya decided. "The couch is now officially called Bruce. Bruce the Brave Couch who survived the fourth-floor window hoist."
"Bruce the Couch," Connor repeated. "I love it."
By three PM, the guys had to leave—they had practice at four. Maya hugged each of them, thanking them profusely.
"Anytime," Marcus said. "Welcome to the Canucks family. Even though you're PR and not a player, you're still one of us now."
After they left, Maya looked around her apartment. Boxes everywhere. Furniture in wrong places. Everything chaotic and disorganized.
"This is my home," she said quietly. "My actual home in Vancouver. I really did it. I really moved here."
"You really did." I hugged her. "How does it feel?"
"Terrifying. Exciting. Right." She pulled back, wiping her eyes. "Harper, I left everything in Seattle. My apartment. My friends. My life. And I did it because you did it first. Because you showed me it was possible."
"You didn't do it because of me. You did it because you wanted something different. I just happened to go first."
"Still. Thank you. For letting me be part of your Vancouver life instead of just staying your Seattle friend."
"You're not my Seattle friend or my Vancouver friend. You're just my friend. Geography doesn't change that."
We spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking essentials. Bed assembled and made with actual sheets. Kitchen functional enough to make coffee in the morning. Bathroom stocked with toiletries. Everything else could wait.
By seven PM, we were both exhausted. Crew came back with Thai food from the place we'd discovered in week two.
"Thought you might need sustenance," he said, setting bags on Maya's counter.
"You're my favorite person," Maya said. "Sorry, Harper. He brought food. He wins."
"That's fair. Food trumps loyalty."
We ate sitting on Bruce the Brave Couch, which was positioned wrong but none of us had energy to move it. Crew stretched his legs out, looking around Maya's apartment.
"It looks good," he said. "Lived in already. Like you belong here."
"I don't know about belong. But I'm here. That's something." Maya took a bite of pad thai. "I start work Monday. I'm terrified. What if everyone hates me? What if I'm terrible at the job? What if I made a huge mistake leaving Seattle?"
"Then you'll figure it out. But Maya, you're excellent at your job. The Canucks are lucky to have you." I squeezed her hand. "And even if work is terrible, you have us. You're not alone in this."
"I know. That's the only reason I'm not having a full breakdown right now." She looked between us. "You two are my family. You know that, right? Not biological family. Chosen family. The kind that actually matters."
"We know," Crew said quietly. "You're our family too."
We stayed until almost midnight, helping Maya unpack more boxes and set up her bedroom properly. Finally, everything essential was done. The apartment wasn't Pinterest-perfect, but it was functional. Livable.
"Thank you," Maya said at the door when we were leaving. "For today. For helping me move. For making Vancouver feel less scary."
"That's what family does," I said. "Now get some sleep. You have work in two days. You need to be functional."
Driving home, Crew reached over and took my hand. "That felt good. Helping Maya. Being part of her fresh start the way she was part of ours."
"It did feel good." I looked out the window at Vancouver passing by. "Crew, we actually did it. We built a life here. We have friends. Community. Maya's here now. The clinic's thriving. You're playing. This is real. We actually pulled it off."
"We're still pulling it off. But yeah. We're doing pretty damn well."
Back at our condo, I felt something shift. Like a puzzle piece clicking into place. Maya was here. Permanently. Not visiting. Actually living ten minutes away.
My best friend. My person. Here.
Everything I'd been working toward for months was finally complete.
I had my clinic. My relationship. My best friend. My chosen family.
Vancouver wasn't just a city I'd moved to anymore. It was home.
I found Crew on the balcony, looking out at the lights. Joined him, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind.
"What are you thinking about?" I asked.
"How different my life is now compared to four months ago. Four months ago I was using pills constantly, hating Joel, barely holding it together. Now I'm seventy-five days clean, living with you, playing hockey I actually enjoy, helping Maya move furniture. Everything's different."
"Good different or overwhelming different?"
"Both. But mostly good." He turned to face me. "Harper, in three weeks we're getting married. At city hall. With Maya and David as witnesses. Quick ceremony, then back to real life."
"Having second thoughts?"
"Not even a little bit. I'm just... taking it in. How fast everything changed. How much better life is when you actually deal with your problems instead of medicating them away."
"You dealt with them. You did the work. I'm proud of you."
"I couldn't have done it without you."
"Yes you could have. You just didn't have to." I kissed him softly. "That's what partnership is. Not needing someone to save you. Just choosing not to go through hard things alone."
We stood on the balcony for a while longer, holding each other, watching Vancouver at night. Tomorrow, Maya would start unpacking the rest of her boxes. Monday, she'd start her new job. In three weeks, Crew and I would get married.
Life was moving fast. But for once, I wasn't scared of the speed.
I was excited.
For Maya's new beginning. For my clinic thriving. For Crew's recovery continuing. For our wedding in three weeks.
For all of it.
"Come on," I said, pulling Crew inside. "Let's go to bed. Tomorrow we're helping Maya unpack more. We need rest."
"We're helping her unpack AGAIN? She has that much stuff?"
"She has so much stuff. It's honestly impressive how much stuff one person accumulated in twenty-nine years."
"At least the couch is already up there. Nothing else can be worse than Bruce the Brave Couch."
"Don't jinx it. She might have a piano hidden in one of those boxes."
We fell asleep quickly, exhausted from the day. But it was good exhaustion. The kind that comes from helping people you love. From building community. From actually living instead of just surviving.
Maya was home. In Vancouver. For good.
And that made everything feel complete.