“Yeah, and look where it left him.” He scrubs his hands through his hair, grunting. “Why am I the one? Why do I get to keep playing hockey? Why am I not the one who got hurt? Why is this happening to me?”
Whew, boy. He gets deep when he’s drunk. To think, I imagined our big conversation revolving around me ending things, which was what I had planned to eventually do after explaining that I never intended to get sucked into his world.
“Can I offer a gentle suggestion? And I’m begging you, please don’t take this the wrong way.” Maybe that’s too much to ask when he’s drunk, but I have to try. “You might want to consider talking to somebody. A therapist. They can help you work these things out.”
His face hardens. “A therapist?”
“Yeah. You’re carrying a heavy burden right now, and you don’t deserve it. They could help you work out your feelings, so you wouldn’t feel guilty. Like I said, it’s only a suggestion.”
He sits up straighter, snorting. “Yeah, right. I’ll go into therapy.”
There was a fifty-fifty shot that he’d take it the wrong way, so I’m not entirely surprised by his reaction. “I’m sorry if that upset you. I only care about you being able to enjoy all the good things in your life without feeling bad about them.”
“Sorry. I can’t see myself doing that.”
“It’s completely up to you.”
He heaves a sigh, shoulders sagging. He’s looking pathetic and guilt is written all over his face. I feel sorry for him. Something tells me that even if he does end up with a contract—and he should; honestly, he’s an incredible athlete and dedicated to his sport—he won’t be truly, deep-down happy. He’ll always carry this with him. He’ll always wonder why he gets to be the one all these good things happen to.
“I think we should call it quits.”
Whoa. Wait up.
“Huh?”
“Don’t take it the wrong way.” He glances at me from the corner of his eye. “I don’t want you to think I’m dropping you right after I got good news.”
“No, I don’t think that.”
“It’s just …” He sighs again. “It’s just that I don’t expect you to ever be one of those girls. The ones who make hockey their life. Or football or baseball or whatever. You have your own life and your career, and that’s great. I wouldn’t want you to take time away from that.”
He has an interesting way of twisting things around; I’ll give him that.
He’s the generous guy, isn’t he? Wouldn’t want me to take time away from my life. What he’s actually saying is he wants a girl who’s going to give him everything. All of her time, her attention, her devotion. Somebody who’ll make his life her life. His dreams, her dreams.
And he’s right. I’m not that person. I’d rather walk side by side with a man, both of us having dreams and goals of our own, which we help each other with, than maintain a one-sided relationship, where all of my energy is poured into somebody else.
No, thank you.
“I understand. Thanks for being honest.”
He waits. I get the feeling he’s expecting more.
“Thank you for letting me into your world,” I venture. Is that enough?
“It’s been great. And I hope you got everything you needed for your book.”
“Oh, for sure. I’m about to wrap it up actually. I’ll send it over to my editor sometime this week.”
“I’ll look for it when it comes out.” He stands and then wobbles. “Shit. I had too much to drink.”
“Why don’t you chill for a while? No hard feelings or anything.”
“Thank you,” he says.
I leave the sofa to him and sit down at my desk. He stretches out, and within minutes, the sound of his soft snoring fills the air.
He’s a nice guy. But he’s a lot to deal with too. I’m glad I didn’t have to be the one to break things off. Here I was, worried he would call me all sorts of names, the way the hero in my book did to my heroine when she got scared and tried to back off, tried to cool things down between them.
Really, she was only doing it for his sake, but he didn’t see it that way. Rather than accept the fact that she wanted to protect his career and his image, he took it as evidence that she’d used his name to boost her popularity as a journalist. Once she’d earned some respect from her colleagues, he thought, she’d decided it was time to dump him and move on to somebody with an even more talent.
Now, I’m at the end. Where they’ll have their big moment. Where he’ll read the article she wrote, explaining to her readers how much he means to her. How none of her success matters without him.
Yes, I know that would never happen in real life. There are a hundred reasons why such a gesture wouldn’t fly. But I write fiction, so I’m allowed to create situations that wouldn’t exactly take place in real life. I mean, is happily ever after guaranteed in real life?
No, but it is in romance. Which is why her editor lets her get away with publishing such a piece and why the love of her life reads it and understands she was never using him. It’s what reminds him of what he loves best about her. Her bravery, her willingness to put it all on the line, no matter how foolish she might look.
Is there a tear in my eye as I work? Maybe. Maybe more than a single tear.
A text from Matt pulls me out of the world of my book. Just got a call from one of the guys on the team. Is it true? Did Luke get called up?
Word travels fast.
He did. He’s currently passed out on my couch since he broke up with me and tried to leave and I told him to chill out. I’d lost track of how many beers they’d bought him today.
He sends a handful of I’m thinking emojis with the finger and the thumb against the chin. Is he really out cold?
I look over at Luke. His mouth is slightly open, and drool is starting to leak from the corner.
Um, yeah. He’s dead to the world.
Can I come over and mess with him? I promise it won’t be anything bad. He did it to me once.
What is it with guys wanting to mess with each other when they’re passed out?
Okay, I text back, biting my lip to keep from giggling too loudly. But be quiet. And don’t ruin my furniture.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I’ve never seen anyone calmer and in complete control as my grandmother is on her wedding day.
I mean, I’m not even the one about to get hitched, and I’m about ready to ask if she has any sedatives around. “Did the caterer find everything in the kitchen?” I ask her current butler, Frank, in passing. He’s younger than Peter by a great many years, and honestly, he’s much better suited to the position.
Not that Peter can’t handle things, but she keeps her staff on their toes. I suspect the only reason Peter stayed in that position so long was the feelings that had already developed between them.
“Yes, everything’s proceeding according to plan. The guests have started to arrive.”
“Already?” A glance at the nearest clock tells me they’re right on time since we’re about thirty minutes away from the start of the ceremony. This day has absolutely blown by. That’s always how it goes when there are major, important things happening.
If I were just lying around the apartment—or worse, struggling through a difficult scene? Time would crawl on its belly. Meanwhile, when there’s a deadline looming, the whole day can pass in the blink of an eye.
Why am I so nervous? It’s a good kind of nervousness at least. There isn’t any dread in it. I know my grandmother would never do anything she wasn’t fully, completely ready to do.
“Kathryn, for heaven’s sake, would you settle down? Everything is going perfectly well.” She sits in front of her vanity table, adding the final touch with a string of pearls at her throat.
“I feel it’s my duty as your maid of honor to double-check. It’s not like you’d let me perform any of the normal duties.”
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Forgive me if the notion of visiting a strip
club is a bit beyond me.”
“God forbid I make a joke. Like I would ever in a million years visit a place like that … with you,” I add.
She snickers. “Now, I wish I had taken you up on it. You know how I enjoy watching you cringe.”
“I knew it! I knew you did things on purpose to make my skin crawl.”
She laughs softly before touching up her lipstick. “It’s a grandmother’s privilege to embarrass her granddaughter at every given opportunity. You blush so easily.”
“Thanks. I know that.” And right on cue, there’s warmth in my cheeks. “Any other pearls of wisdom you want to pass down on this special day?”
She turns on her dressing stool and looks me up and down. “Well, now that your dress and hair fit you well, I see you’ve learned those two pearls,” she says with a wink.
“That’s it? Make sure my dresses fit and my hairstyle shows off my shoulders? Those are the keys to life?”
“There are other keys, but those are two of them. Know what fits you best, know what suits you best. Don’t be afraid to stick to what you know works, trends be damned. Look at me. I’ve found what I like and made it work for me all these years.”
“Including your soon-to-be husband.”
“Hush.” She clicks her tongue, standing. “You are too much, and I don’t know why I bother.”
I can hear voices coming from downstairs. “It’s filling up down there. Are you nervous?”
“No, and stop trying to make it otherwise.” She holds a corsage of pale pink and cream roses against her chest. “What do you think?”
“That looks nice.” I help her pin it on and breathe in the scent of her perfume. That’s another thing that’s never changed. I can’t smell Chanel No. 5 without thinking about her.
“Would you like to know why I’m not nervous?”
I nod, looking up from her flowers.
“Because I know exactly what and who I want. I’ve removed everyone from my life who doesn’t line up with who I am. I owe them nothing. I owe much more to myself.”
“That’s so easy to say. Not so easy to practice.”
“I’ve had fifty extra years to practice.” She pats my hand. “Your time will come.”
I have to wonder.
“Trust me, I know what I’m doing. And the people I’ve invited to watch me exchange vows with the man I love support our union. They’re true friends who want nothing more than for us to declare our commitment and rejoice in it.” Her happy sigh is what comes close to squeezing tears from my eyes.
But dang it, I worked like hell on my makeup, and I won’t ruin it. Though waterproof mascara might’ve been a good investment for today. I was too busy worrying whether we’d ordered enough sausage puffs from the caterer for the reception.
Before we head downstairs, I have to get something off my chest. “Listen,” I whisper, taking her hands before picking up my bouquet, “I want to tell you how happy I am for you. Not just today, but always. You two deserve this love, and I hope you have so many more years of it.”
“Thank you, my sweet Kathryn.” She presses her cheek to mine rather than kissing so she doesn’t smear her lipstick. “You’ve given me so much, simply by being my granddaughter. Someone to be proud of. Someone to look forward to seeing every week. And I look forward to watching you find this for yourself. The comfort of a real, true love. Because that’s what love is between two people who’ve decided to devote their lives to their union. Not to each other, mind you—that’s a misconception. My life is not devoted to Peter. It’s devoted to us, together, our life. Which means, I must take care of myself as well to make certain I’m the best I can be for us. In return, I have the comfort of knowing I don’t have to go through life alone. No matter what happens, I’ll have him at the end of the day. And that’s more important than anything else ever could be.”
She’s determined to make me ruin my makeup. I just know it. It’s a small miracle that I manage to keep from crying as she presses her cheek to mine one more time.
“Now, it’s time, wouldn’t you say? I can’t wait any longer to marry that man.” She stands up straighter, smiles wider.
“Okay.” I go to the top of the stairs and signal to Frank, who is waiting at the bottom. That’s the cue for the violinist to move from the background music they are playing and into “Canon in D.”
The guests, assembled in the drawing room, quiet down as Grandmother and I make our way down the stairs, hand in hand.
Frank opens the drawing room doors, and everybody turns in their chairs. The room’s been emptied of all furniture, except the rented chairs, thirty in all. This is a much, much smaller event than Grandmother’s first wedding.
But sweet and sentimental and meaningful just the same.
The room is practically overflowing with flowers, which is another of my grandmother’s signatures. She might’ve wanted a small guest list, but by God, she’d have her flowers. Obviously, nobody was about to deny her.
As I make my way down the aisle, Hayley and Nicholas are wearing identical smiles. Grandmother insisted on inviting them, so there’d be young people for me to hang out with.
The next set of eyes I find are Matt’s. Grandmother impressed on me that I did, in fact, need a plus-one. No matter how much I balked, she wouldn’t hear of it. Matt gives me a discreet thumbs-up when I pass him, like he approves. And I very much approve of him in his tuxedo. Tall, dark, and handsome. The guy who’s always there for me. My best guy friend. I’m so glad we made up and that he could be here with me even though he’s dating What’s Her Name. I give him a soft smile before turning my attention back to the front of the room.
Peter waits beside the judge, under an arch of lush pink and cream blooms. As if I wasn’t already struggling to hold back the tears, he looks absolutely transformed. Radiant. Like a young man waiting for his sweetheart.
Our eyes meet, and I can’t help but think back to that terrible night at the hospital, sitting at Grandmother’s bedside. Witnessing his devotion, how completely dedicated he was—and still is—to her. Realizing he loved her, really and truly, and not as his employer.
And here we are.
I give him a wink before taking my place next to the judge. He smiles and then looks past me. Waiting for her.
The music changes, and the sounds of the “Wedding March” fill the room moments before everybody stands.
I can’t stop the tears now. It’s too much.
They only have eyes for each other, like the rest of us might as well not be here at all. I guess that’s the way it is when two people have waited so long for this, when love developed slowly between them. Maybe neither of them even knew it at the time, the years when love took root and grew into something binding them together.
All these years, it’s been the two of them. He was her most trusted and valued friend and confidant, the one person she could always turn to when she needed help or even somebody to sit next to while reading the paper. A companion.
And if nothing else, Peter is testimony to the fact that true, abiding love doesn’t ask for anything in return. Because he never did. He just … loved her in little meaningful ways over the years. He never tried to force his love on her. It was enough, I guess, to make sure she was taken care of.
It’s paid off.
“Remind me to hire this caterer someday, if I ever get married.” Hayley sneaks another hors d’oeuvre from a passing tray.
“If.” I snort and roll my eyes heavily. “As if you won’t. Please.”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
She rolls her eyes back at me. “Stop putting ideas in my head. Nicholas and I are taking it one step at a time. We’re not rushing into anything.”
I wind my arm around hers and lean closer to her while we both watch Grandmother and Peter chat with friends. “Don’t tell me you didn’t get just a little misty-eyed, thinking about this being you someday.”
She growls softly, and I know it’s because s
he can’t deny it. “That won’t be for a long time. We’re both way too busy and—”
“So, you’ve thought about it?”
“Of course.” She says it loudly enough that a few people turn to see what the heck we’re talking about.
I have to wait until the urge to laugh eases away. “Have you two talked about it at all?”
“No way. We’re still trying to figure out what happens when his time here is up. That’ll be coming soon, probably by Thanksgiving. Then, what will we do?”
“You take it one day at a time.” I squeeze her arm. “Have you talked to anybody at the office about transferring?”
“I’ve planted the seed. Nicholas did the same thing with his office. I think the odds of my getting transferred are better than the other way around, honestly. He handles a lot of the West Coast clients. I sort of float around and help the senior associates as needed.”
“I see.” It’s not easy to keep an upbeat tone, though I’m doing my best. “Well, I think you’ve already made up your mind. You’re choosing the two of you, and that’s the way it should be.”
“But is it the right thing to do?”
I’m not used to hearing uncertainty in her voice. She’s always so confident, sure of herself, with her feet solidly on the ground.
Which is why I give her a hug. “It’s right if you feel like it is. In your gut. I trust you to make the right decision, always. I don’t even trust myself half as much as I trust you.”
She lets out a shaky laugh. “It’s a big commitment.”
“It is. You’ll do great.”
“Thank you.” She hugs me this time. “You’re the best friend in the world. Anybody else might try to sabotage things so I’d stay but not you.”
“Maybe I want to get rid of you.”
At least she’s laughing when Nicholas finds us and pulls her away to where the drawing room has been transformed again. The chairs are scattered against the walls to leave room for people to dance if they want to. The music is quiet, sweet.
A soft sigh escapes me as I watch them together. She rests her head against his shoulder, and I swear, I can just about imagine her wearing a white gown.
Kitty Valentine Dates an Hockey Player Page 14