by Kendall Ryan
“Then go warm up,” Coach says with a grin.
We have a game tonight, and I had no idea if I’d be playing in it or not. I guess that answers that.
“Yes, sir,” I say, rising to my feet.
• • •
I had time for my entire pre-game ritual, but going through the motions felt off, like I was doing things underwater.
Tonight probably won’t be my best game, but what I lack in skill, I’ll make up for in determination. I wonder if Summer is aware of my return, if she’ll watch tonight’s game on TV. Just the idea that she might will be enough to push me.
I skated for a while before riding the stationary bike for twenty minutes to loosen up my legs, and then I stretched and grabbed a protein shake. Now I’m in the dressing room listening to one of my teammates, Lucian, announce to everyone that his wife is pregnant. There are cheers and congratulatory remarks, but inside, I feel hollow and more alone than I ever have. Knowing I don’t have a wife, a baby on the way… let alone a girlfriend, after I’d come so close with Summer, is a depressing one.
Saint pauses beside me and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Good to have you back, brother.”
I nod once. “Good to be back.”
Saint grins at me. “Let’s go have some fun.”
An hour later, we take the ice. Damn, it feels good to be back. Even better than I anticipated.
My legs feel good, and I’m alert and ready. Maybe my time away was just the break I needed.
I make my way down the ice, remembering the things Summer told me. Be ready and aware, and expect things not to go my way. I know I won’t lose my cool if they do.
In fact, when a young defenseman pushes me up against the boards during a power play, I only laugh and skate away.
“Try harder next time!” I call out to him with a smirk. The confused look on his face is priceless.
Throughout the game, I keep my head clear and myself calm through the nerves and pressure, and in the end? We manage to pull off a win against Los Angeles, and I’m on top of the world.
After the game, my phone blows up with messages, missed calls from my mom and grandpa, and a string of texts from my brothers.
But there’s nothing from Summer. It hurts more than I expected it to.
I head home to my condo, only fifteen minutes from the arena. The entire drive there, I mentally list all the reasons why I shouldn’t be the one to contact Summer. I’ve wanted to call or text her a thousand times since she left Colorado.
But she made her feelings clear, didn’t she?
The next day, I’m scheduled to fly to Toronto with the team for a series of games in Canada. I’m busy, and it’s good to be back, but it’s also been harder than I thought because I can’t stop thinking about Summer. I can’t help but wonder what she’s doing. Working, maybe? Although, it’s a Saturday, so for her sake, I hope not.
One thing is certain—she’s not surrounded by a big, loud team or an overbearing family. She’s all alone. And the idea of an incredibly sweet woman like Summer being alone doesn’t sit right with me. My mom’s right in thinking Summer won’t stay single forever.
• • •
By the time we deplane the next day, the guys have come up with a plan.
Saint and Alex drag me off to the hotel bar with the excuse of grabbing a soda, but really, I think it’s just a pretext for wanting to check up on me. Things have been busy with my return—I’ve jumped right in and haven’t had the chance to really talk with them. Not about things other than hockey, anyway.
I have a sinking feeling I’m about to get grilled. Turns out, I’m right.
As soon as we’re seated with drinks in front of us, Saint turns to me. “What’s your deal, man?”
It’s not the smoothest sentence that’s ever been uttered, but hockey players aren’t known for their sensitivity.
My eyebrows shoot up. “My deal?”
Saint shrugs. “Yeah, your . . . situation. Everything okay now?”
I relax a little, realizing his intentions are good. He’s just worried about me, I guess, and this is his way of showing it. When my gaze moves to Alex, I can see the same look of worry reflected in his eyes too. It’s more touching than I expected to realize my teammates have been worried about me.
For some reason, my mind snags on a memory of Summer. She told me once that I’m lucky I have so many people who care about me.
“Everything’s . . .” I want to say okay, but the word won’t come out. It gets stuck in my throat and doesn’t budge. After several seconds of awkward silence, I finally manage to string a few words together. “I don’t know, to be honest.”
Saint nods. “That’s fair.”
“Your family? Your mom? How are they?” Alex asks.
I let out a slow exhale. “My dad’s departure has left a huge hole in my family, and it’s . . .” I pause and draw another breath. “Well, it’s going to take some time.”
The guys nod.
“But that’s not what’s bothering you?” Saint asks.
I shake my head. When did hockey players get so perceptive? “Not really, no.”
They wait patiently as we sip our drinks.
“I met someone. Her name is Summer. And I . . .” It’s so crazy, I can barely say the words. “I’m in love with her.”
Saint’s eyes widen at my unexpected announcement. “That’s great. Right?”
Alex tilts his head to the side, watching me.
“She doesn’t feel the same.”
“Shit,” Saint mutters, and I nod.
I wish I could stop thinking about her. Wish I could move on and just focus on my career and my family like I’m supposed to. My life would be so much easier if all I cared about was hockey.
Summer is the one who told me we shouldn’t gloss over things. She wanted total honesty, wanted me to tell her all of it. All the ugly, messy truth. What about now? Am I supposed to call her and admit the depth of my feelings for her? Admit that I feel heartbroken and numb and awful every second of every day?
When I left Boston for Colorado, I was torn up inside with constant worry and guilt rioting through my veins. Now that I’m back and supposedly better, I’m torn up for a very different reason.
I never expected to fall in love with Summer, but that’s exactly what happened.
I barely keep up with the details of the conversation happening between Alex and Saint. Apparently, there’s some beef between Saint and our captain, Reeves. But to be honest, I’m too distracted to care. Why? Because I’ve just made the decision to visit Summer when I return to Boston.
One last time, I’ll open myself up and give her my full truth. Total honesty, just like she requested of me.
I’ll tell her how I feel, and if she rejects me again, then that’s it. I’ll move on.
23
* * *
LOGAN
It wasn’t difficult to get Les to give me Summer’s address, which I have mixed feelings about. He shouldn’t give out her personal information, but I may have implied that I needed it for counseling purposes, so perhaps I can’t blame the guy. Maybe he thought he was only doing his job.
It’s a twenty-minute drive across town, and then another several minutes before I locate a parking spot. It’s just after seven on a Wednesday evening. The sky is dark, and the night air is freezing as I approach her building on the sidewalk.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Her apartment building is in an area of town I’m not familiar with, and to be honest, I don’t ever want to visit again. There’s a liquor store on the corner with bars in the windows. A pawn shop and a laundromat flank her building on either side. Across the street is a bail bonds storefront.
This is a rough area. I don’t like the thought of Summer living here alone, no matter how affordable the rent is.
Expecting the building’s front door to be locked, I press the buzzer, but it doesn’t work. So I try the door, and to my surprise, it isn’t locked, s
o I let myself into the building.
The hallway smells like tobacco and is filled with doors lining both sides. Her apartment is number eighteen, and I head up the stairs and find her door. There’s a mat outside the front door with the word HOME written on it, but the O is a heart.
An unexpected pang of emotion hits me. Realizing that this is it—this little apartment is her home where she cooks and sleeps alone every night—is a sad thought. Summer deserves so much more. She deserves the world. Someone who loves her. A family to call her own…
I lift my hand and knock twice on the door, hearing footsteps approach on the other side. There’s no peephole in the door, and I realize that showing up here unannounced may surprise her. And not in a good way.
I knock again. “Summer? It’s Logan.”
She twists the lock and the door opens. “Logan?”
The first sight of her is like a soothing balm to my soul. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and she’s wearing plaid pajama pants with a baggy T-shirt. But she’s beautiful.
“Hi,” is the only word I can manage.
Her brown eyes widen with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
It’s been weeks since I’ve seen her. I’ve been from Colorado to Boston to Toronto to Calgary and back to Boston again. And I thought of her through every mile and in every time zone.
“This is your place,” I say, rather than responding to her question. Because the total honesty that she’ll want from me isn’t something I’m ready to give her just yet. Maybe because the threat of rejection is still possible and very real.
She steps aside and motions for me to enter. I make my way inside, scanning the room as I take it all in. Her place is a tiny efficiency with a futon bed. It’s cold, with none of the warmth or personality I would expect of her home.
“Have you lived here long? It’s pretty . . . spartan.”
She inhales through her nose and wanders toward the windows. “It’s clean, and it’s what I can afford right now.”
“Of course. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
Damn, I’m already off on the wrong foot.
“It’s okay,” she says, turning to face me.
Her eyes have a faraway look in them, and I realize for the first time that she looks sad. It’s an expression I’ve never seen her wear before, and I don’t like it. I want to see her smile, hear her laugh. I rub at an achy spot in the center of my chest.
“Would you like to sit?” she asks, motioning to the futon sofa.
I nod, and we take a seat.
I don’t know where to start, so I do the only thing I can think of. “You asked what I was doing here. Total honesty?”
Her gaze slowly meets mine, and she nods. “Always.”
I inhale slowly. “When you left me back in Colorado, something inside me broke.”
Confusion and maybe something hopeful flashes through her eyes. “Logan . . .”
I take her hand and press it into my palm. “Hold on. I’m not done.”
She nods for me to go ahead.
“I know it scared you, but I meant every word I said to you that day you left. I’ve fallen for you. I think about you every second.”
Summer doesn’t answer, and my heart hammers uncomfortably against my ribs.
I squeeze her hand. “Summer. Say something.”
“Total honesty,” she says. “Yeah, it does scare me. It scares the hell out of me.”
“You’re not alone anymore. You know that, right? I’ll be your family.”
“Just you?”
“Yes.” I bring her hand to my lips and press a soft kiss to it. “You can have all of me. All I want is to make you happy. To make you whole, just like you did for me.”
Tears fill her eyes. “I want that too.” She draws in a deep breath. “But I’m scared. What if it doesn’t work out?”
I press my lips to her knuckles again and then hold her hand in my lap. “Aren’t you the one who told me it’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes?”
She smiles. “I guess I was. Are you thinking I need to take my own advice?”
“It was good advice. Come on, sweetheart. Take this chance with me.”
“You’re a hard man to say no to.”
I place my fingers beneath her chin and bring her mouth to mine. Our kiss is slow, sweet, soft. When I pull back a moment later, there are unshed tears glistening in her eyes. I tug Summer into my lap, needing her close, needing to comfort her.
“I love you, Summer.” My voice is thick with emotion, and hers is too when she says it back to me.
“I love you, Logan.”
They’re the four best words I’ve heard in a very long time.
“But just so you know . . . being with me comes with a big, loud family.”
She laughs. “Yeah. I kinda figured that out.”
“They love you, you know.”
“I love them too,” she says, and I know she means it. “We can spend Christmas snowed in with them?”
“Of course.” I trail my hand along her spine, gently rubbing her back. Now that she’s finally in my arms again, I can’t seem to stop myself from touching her.
“And Thanksgiving?”
“If you like. My mom makes the best sweet potato pie in the entire world. And my brothers fight over who gets to carve the turkey.”
She lifts her head from its resting place on my shoulder and meets my eyes. “Who usually wins?”
“Grandpa Al,” I say with a grin.
“Of course he does. It sounds perfect.”
“It is, but wherever you are will be perfect too. You’re what I want. We can make our own traditions. If you want to have Thanksgiving dinner right here in this apartment, we’ll do exactly that.”
She glances toward her efficiency kitchen with its tiny two-burner stove. “My kitchen sucks.”
I chuckle at her honesty. Her kitchen does leave a lot to be desired. “I’ll build you a better one.”
“My hero,” she says wistfully, grinning at me.
I brush her hair behind her ear. “I tell you I love you, but you’re more excited about me telling you I’ll build you a kitchen.” I raise one eyebrow in her direction.
“Sorry! No. Not more excited, but maybe equally excited? And I love you too. It’s just that I had a lot of good times with your mother in her kitchen. I think I might like a nice kitchen of my own someday. I’ve never had a nice kitchen,” she says quickly, babbling like she does when she’s excited.
I quiet her with another kiss. “It’s yours.”
“I could bake you bread, and scones, and a cake on your birthday . . . They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
“You already have my heart.”
We kiss and hold each other on her sofa for a long time. When I finally pull back, I meet her eyes again. “You looked so sad when I first walked in.”
She nods. “I was happy to see you, so happy. But then I realized that I couldn’t put my arms around you, couldn’t hug you or kiss you or touch you, and that made me so incredibly sad.”
I brush my fingers along her collarbone. “Sweetheart, you can touch me as much as you want.”
This makes her laugh, and it’s the best sound.
“I missed you,” I say, pressing my lips to the top of her head.
You can’t appreciate the sweet if you never have the bitter.
And having Summer back in my arms is the sweetest thing in the world.
24
* * *
SUMMER
Two months later
There comes a moment when you know a house has become a home.
It starts as the smallest bit of warmth in your heart the second you step over the threshold, but with a little time, it spreads to your knees, then fills up the spaces between your toes.
You know it’s coming when the smell of dirty work boots and dinner in the oven isn’t just familiar, it’s comforting, like an old sweater that still fits, or a song you for
got you knew all the words to. It’s a perfect, special feeling that doesn’t come around too often, a feeling I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to feel again.
And then the Tate family changed all that.
The first time I stepped into this house, I was a stranger, only here for one reason—to convince a hotheaded hockey player to seek counseling. A few short months later, that hockey player isn’t so hotheaded, and the list of reasons why I’m here could stretch from Lost Haven to Massachusetts.
Reason number one? I’m madly in love with him.
Reason number two? I’m meeting his extended family, all of whom have flown from different parts of the country to stay in the cabins on the Lost Haven property.
Why? Well, that would be reason number three—
Logan and I are getting married tomorrow. And sitting here, surrounded by the people who are soon to become my official family, I’ve never felt so at home.
“Go ahead, lovebirds! Open another present!” Jillian calls out between nibbles of a homemade currant scone.
While she promised to keep this bridal shower small, the pile of presents in the middle of the room is anything but. I’ve spent what feels like hours on the couch with my knee pressed against the hard muscle of Logan’s thigh, each of us taking turns peeling tape and silver wrapping paper off of packages.
With each present opened, a new wonderful feeling bubbles to the surface. Pride. Joy. Complete and utter bliss. And most of all, disbelief that this beautiful life is really mine. A loving family, a sunny winter day, and in less than twenty-four hours, the promise of forever with the incredible man beside me.
“Go ahead, babe.” Logan nods toward the pile of boxes and gift bags, which is still awfully big, despite the hour and a half we’ve been chipping away at it. “You pick the next one.”
“No, you pick,” I say. “I picked out the last one we opened.”
“Who cares who picks!” one of Logan’s cousins shouts from the kitchen, piling a plate high with what’s left of the finger sandwiches. “If we don’t speed up this operation, the bride will still be opening presents on the honeymoon.”