I carefully lift the vase out of the cardboard box and set it on the counter. The flowers are gorgeous—the exact color of pink I love, not hot pink or bubblegum pink, but a soft blush pink. I stare at them for a long time, my chest burning.
What does this mean?
Is this an apology? Does he want to get back together?
Is that what I want?
I nibble on my bottom lip. I don’t know what to do. Send him a thank-you? Ignore him? Tell him I miss him like I’d miss my liver if it was sliced out of my body?
Gross.
I move the flowers onto the credenza in the living room. They look perfect against the gray wall with my gray-and-pink décor.
I gaze at them while I sit on my couch and eat my sandwich and drink my coffee. I’m just finishing when I get another call. It’s Bowen in the lobby again, with another delivery.
This one’s in a box, wrapped in glossy black paper with a pink bow.
I open it slowly to find a bottle of Möet & Chandon Rosé Impérial.
Holy shit.
I’ve never had the stuff. I could afford it, but wow, that’s a splurge for a bottle of wine.
There’s another card inside.
Roses are red, violets are blue.
I’m an idiot and I need you.
Stupid tears. I press the edge of my hand beneath my stinging nose.
I check the time. It’s two o’clock. I don’t even know where he is. Is the team home from Columbus? What is he doing?
I hold my phone in both hands.
Then I send him a text: I’m not drinking this rosé alone.
I don’t get a response right away, so I set down my phone.
So much for my plan to get back to normal today. I was going to get caught up and edit some video but now all I can do is pace around and think of Josh, my mind spinning in useless circles.
An hour later, my phone rings again. It’s Bowen.
“Another delivery?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay, bring it up. Thanks, Bowen.”
Now what? I hop around, nerves jittering, stomach fluttering like hummingbird wings.
I rush to the door to answer the knock. But it’s not Bowen…it’s Josh.
He’s holding a small pastel-green box in both hands. But it’s his face my eyes are glued to—solemn. Handsome. Intense. His eyes brim with emotion.
Our eyes meet and he doesn’t move a muscle. We gaze at each other in a protracted trembling moment of questions and nerves and…hope.
“Are you the delivery?” I ask, my voice husky.
The corners of his mouth twitch. “Yeah.”
“Oh.” I swallow. “Come in.” I step aside and he walks in.
“These are for you.” He turns and hands me the box.
I take the box, instantly recognizing the Ladurée decoration and logo. “Oh…” I set it on the counter and carefully open it to reveal a dozen pink macarons. “Are they Marie Antoinette?”
“Yeah.”
“My favorite.” My heart has climbed into my throat.
“I know.”
“Thank you. And for the flowers. And the wine. I…” I look up. “And for the poems.” My lips quiver into a smile. “No poem with these?”
“I kind of ran out of creativity.” He rubs the back of his neck, his forehead wrinkled. “How about this? Roses are red, violets are blue. I’m an asshole.”
I choke on a laugh. “Oh, Josh.”
His smile is wry. “Can we talk?”
My inhale is shaky. “Okay.”
He unzips his jacket and drapes it over the back of a stool.
“I’m here to apologize,” he says right away. “I was an asshole on Saturday night. I’m sorry I said what I said to you, about it not being your business whether Easton and I talk.”
I shake my head. “No, you were right.”
“No, I wasn’t.” His tone becomes more forceful. “It is your business. Because…” He stops and takes a long pull of air in through his nose, not looking at me.
I tuck my hair behind my ear, waiting uncertainly.
“It’s your business because I care about you. And I care about what you think. And I feel like you’re my business…” He winces. “This doesn’t sound right.”
I think I know what he’s saying. I think…I hope…
“I shouldn’t have interfered,” I say quietly. “I…I care too, Josh. I wanted you to be happy. And I thought fixing things with Easton would help you.”
“And you were right.” He gnaws on his lip.
“But I should have talked to you about it first. I know you don’t like things sprung on you. I tried to bring it up a few times, but you hadn’t even told me about Easton, so it was hard. And then we had that chance to get you two together…”
He rolls his eyes. “I probably wouldn’t have listened if you’d tried to talk to me. Because I’m an idiot.”
I cover his big hand with mine. “You’re not an idiot.”
“I have been. About a bunch of stuff.” He drops his gaze to our hands, turns his, and curls his fingers around mine.
“I wanted things set right but I wasn’t willing to take the risk and be vulnerable to make it happen. I think deep down inside I knew I was going to have to confront some painful truths about myself. I felt like I wasn’t worth loving because my friends didn’t even care enough to be there for me when I was at my lowest, but the truth is…I wasn’t there for them either. I’m ashamed.”
My eyes widen. “Oh, Josh. Is that what Easton told you?”
“Yeah.”
I press my hand to my hurting heart.
“He was right, though,” Josh adds quickly. “Totally. But…he did apologize. We both had valid reasons for not being able to help each other…both going through our own shit…but we both could have made more of an effort. It shouldn’t have taken this long.”
I nod slowly. “Do you think you two can be friends again?”
“I don’t know. But all I can do is try to be a friend to him. A better friend than I have been.”
My lungs expand and I can’t breathe for a few seconds. “Oh.”
“And…” He meets my eyes. “I want to try to be a better man for you too.”
I blink rapidly, my eyes prickling as I stare back at him.
“I was afraid. I’ve been afraid for a long time…that’s why I don’t like surprises. I like knowing what’s going to happen. You…were a surprise.”
I’m sitting very still, my heart thudding, barely breathing.
“The best surprise,” he adds. He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses it.
A hot tear leaks out and slides down my cheek. “Really?”
He closes his eyes briefly. “Don’t do that.”
“D-do what?”
“Belittle yourself. I know why you do that—all the self-deprecating jokes.”
I can barely get out a whisper. “It’s because I’d rather belittle myself before someone else does.”
He nods. “Yeah. But don’t. You’re amazing. Strong and smart and talented. Look what you’ve accomplished. You’re a warrior, baby.”
A warrior. My heart squeezes. “So are you.”
“I’m trying.”
“I’m going to try too. I know I’m a lot…I’m screwy and weird and impulsive. I’ll try to be better.”
He shakes his head. “No. Don’t change that. I…love you for those things.”
My throat closes up and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest. “You love me?”
“I love you.”
My bottom lip quavers. “I love you too.”
He pulls me into his arms, up against him, his body hot and trembling and so, so strong. Our mouths meet in a long, fraught kiss…desperate, grate
ful, relieved, and hopeful. I open to him and let his tongue slide inside, kissing him back, my hands holding on to his shoulders like I’m drowning.
I feel like I’m drowning. Sinking. Falling. Surrounded by shimmering light and muted sounds. I’m breathless and dizzy and floating.
I pull back and he rests his nose alongside mine, his hands in my hair.
“I love you,” he growls again. “Christ. I love you so much. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
I gulp in air through my constricted throat. “It hurt that you never told me about Easton.”
“Ah shit.” He sighs. “Yeah. I didn’t want to talk about that.”
“You told me you had a friend who betrayed you. I figured out it was him after Lilly told me you two used to be friends and you played for the Warriors together. Was that why you weren’t happy about being traded here?”
“That was part of it, yeah. But being traded anywhere would have been a nightmare for me.” He pulls back and peers into my eyes. “Except…I have other stuff to tell you, but I realized that if I hadn’t been traded, I wouldn’t have met you. So really, it was the best thing that could have happened to me.”
“Oh.” My wet eyelashes flutter again.
“I should have told you about him. Because that’s what partners do…right?”
I pull in a shaky breath. “Right.”
“I need to tell you about Carter.” He pulls me onto his lap and presses my face to his chest. I snuggle in, loving how I fit there perfectly. “He’s…dying.”
My head snaps up. “Oh no.”
His face wears a taut, tormented expression. “I saw him Monday afternoon. His mom called and said I should come. Fuck.” He closes his eyes. “That guy…he’s so fucking brave. And life is so fucking short. And fragile. I knew I had to fix things with you, or at least apologize to you for hurting you. Carter went through a lot of shit, and he did it so courageously, and I was being a big weenis.”
I choke on a laugh.
“He made me think about if I hadn’t been traded—I wouldn’t have met him either. And he made my life better.”
“I’m so sorry.” I lay my palm on his cheek.
He nods, his mouth a tight line. I can see he’s fighting back emotion.
“I went through a lot of shit too, in the hospital, like Carter, but…I’m here. I have a chance. I was afraid I wasn’t going to play again…but I have. I battled hard, like a warrior, and I did it. And for Carter…I want to do more.” He pauses. “And for you. I want to love you and be here for you when you need me and even when you don’t. I want to go out and do unexpected things with you—”
“I’m going to a hookah bar next week!” I interrupt him.
He laughs, then frowns. “I’m not smoking a fucking hookah.”
I grin. “Okay, fine.” My grin fades into a soft smile. “I want that too. And I want to be there for you, always. I know now how much it hurt you that your friends weren’t there.”
“As Easton kindly pointed out, I centered myself in the tragedy, instead of thinking about what everyone else was going through. I didn’t get to go to the funerals. My coach came to visit me once, but other than that, I never went back to Swift Current. I should have.”
“Easton’s a smart dude.”
He lifts an eyebrow, then one corner of his mouth pulls up into a crooked smile. “I guess.”
“Remember what you told me, in our interview?”
“About what?”
“About pressure. You said that the best things you can achieve come from challenges.”
“Right.”
“And we all have challenges.”
“Yeah. When I was in the hospital they told me that life isn’t a book written by someone else. We have to create our own story line. I got it…but I didn’t really get it. And that poem you read me…”
“ ‘To a Mouse’?”
“Yeah. Stuff happens that we don’t plan. And when it does, we need to write our own story line. So…I’m writing mine. I sacked up and came here to apologize and tell you I love you and if you sent me away, well, I’d write a different story. But this one is happier.”
My smile must be bigger than Central Park. “I agree.”
He kisses me then, our mouths joining like we’re trying to inhale each other. I press myself against him. I can’t get close enough. I stroke my hands through his thick hair, kissing him back, deep, devouring kisses, our tongues sliding together, lips crushed against each other. A melting sweetness throbs inside me, every nerve ending in my body straining toward him.
He drops soft kisses on my nose, my forehead, my cheekbones, then my jaw…
“Josh…”
“Mmm?”
“If you kiss my neck, shit is going down.”
His body shakes with laughter against mine. And he brushes his lips over my neck.
Chapter 27
Josh
“Do you think you’ve learned enough about sex?”
Sara makes a noise. “Phhht. I’ll never learn enough. You’re going to have to keep teaching me for a long, long time.”
“You sure you’re not using me for sex?”
“Ha ha. I admit, at first that was what I wanted. But then I got greedy…and I wanted you to love me.”
In her bed, with my arms wrapped around her, I squeeze her. “I do.”
“And I’ll keep teaching you how to have fun.”
“Please do.”
“But remember…you said you’d tell me if I piss you off.”
“Right.”
“Only…maybe you could do it nicer than last time?”
“Fuck.” I close my eyes and press my cheek to her hair. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. I’m kidding. Sort of.”
“I’ll do better. And you tell me if I’m not.”
“Deal. Remember? We agree to try to compromise.”
“Right.” My throat pinches. “Right.”
She’s silent for a minute. “I’m writing a book.”
“Huh?”
“It’s a crazy idea, but an editor at the publishing house where Connor works told me I should. And Connor said that if an editor at a big publishing house says you should write a book, you write it, right fucking now, and send it to her.”
“Wow. That’s great.”
“I don’t really know if I have anything to say.”
“That doesn’t stop you.”
“Hey!” She twists and looks at me.
I grin. She grins back.
“You’re right,” she says.
We get out of bed eventually to order food.
“Thank God I showered today,” Sara says as we eat Vietnamese. “If you’d shown up yesterday, you would have turned around and left again.”
“Doubtful.”
She shrugs. “I was feeling a bit sorry for myself.” She presses her lips together and gazes at me. “I’m still afraid to believe this.”
“Don’t be afraid.” I lean over to kiss her, hating that there’s any doubt in her mind. “Maybe we have shit to learn, but we can help each other. Like we have been.”
She nods, eyes bright.
After dinner, I grab my phone and check messages. I go very still and when I read the one from Laura. I drop my phone and close my eyes.
“What is it?”
I swallow, my throat pinched up tight. “Carter passed away. Around four this afternoon.”
“Oh. Oh no. I’m so sorry.”
She moves closer and lies on me, sliding her arms around me. I hold her tight. We’re quiet for a long time. I knew it was coming, but it’s still fucking hard.
“You okay?” she whispers eventually.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “I’m so goddamn lucky I got to meet that guy. Neither of us planne
d it, but it was amazing. If I hadn’t been traded here, I wouldn’t have met him either.”
She nods.
Knowing Carter has shaped me, just like knowing Sara has, and knowing Easton, and nearly dying in a bus crash. Everything that’s happened to me has shaped who I am. I just wanted to be the me from before the accident, and not be afraid anymore. But that me is gone. I’m a different person now.
And I’m not afraid.
Because having someone else to care about and worry about takes away the selfishness of my fears. Loving Sara makes it easy to be brave.
“Roses are red…”
She lifts her head to peer up at me. Her eyes are damp, even though she didn’t know Carter.
“Violets are blue. My heart is full of love for you.”
Her face glows as she touches my face. “Same.”
Epilogue
Sara
I always thought I was too weird for someone to love. And I didn’t know if I’d ever find someone I would love. But I found someone—my someone, who sees me for who I really am, someone who accepts that I’m honest and smart and, yes, maybe a little crazy. I’ve had mental health struggles and I probably will again, I’m impetuous and distractible, but Josh loves me anyway.
I’m at my desk, sitting in front of my laptop. Josh is stretched out on my couch, reading. The playoffs start tomorrow. We’ve been going out and doing fun things because we won’t see each other much over the next few weeks. Or months, depending how things go for them. I hate that, but I know this is his life. And I’ll be cheering him on.
I’ve been feeling great. So happy and content and confident.
Until now, as I see myself talked about online on a WAGs (Wives and Girlfriends) blog. And when I say talked about, I mean trashed.
It’s not like this has never happened to me. I’ve taken my share of criticism and abuse from trolls and haters. I know it doesn’t matter. But this time…it’s because I’m with Josh.
I’ve never said anything publicly about our relationship. I’m totally open about my life. People who watch my videos know nearly everything about me. But relationships are different. That brings another person into the mix and I feel protective of Josh.
You Had Me at Hockey (Bears Hockey) Page 23