"You think they're over there debating whether apple or cherry is America’s favorite pie on July 4th, or you think they're having an actual conversation?"
I jumped at the unexpected words from Quentin. I met him for the first time at Devon’s graduation that morning, and he presented as the serious type that didn’t make jokes. Uncertainty flooded me when Terrie asked whether or not she should extend the invite to Devon's graduation to her husband. The men hadn't spoken for the better part of a decade; was it worth a potential argument?
When I shared the news with Devon that I told her to bring his father, he kissed me gently and thanked me for thinking of his mother in that instance. Terrie kissed both of my cheeks and hugged me tightly that morning, nearly in tears over the fact that her husband and son were not only in the same state, but in the same room for the first time in years. Unlike her, I wasn't holding out hope that they would be anything other than polite, albeit silent, toward one another.
I chuckled as I noticed Devon indicate toward where I was standing with his father. The effort that he put into forcing a pleasant expression on his face was commendable. I knew him well enough to know that he was wishing I was standing next to literally anyone else. I blew him a kiss with an exaggerated wink, and his false smile gave way to a devilish smirk. Butterflies tangoed violently in my stomach at the look in his eye.
"Thank you," Quentin said as his son sided stepped a well-wisher and continued on his path straight toward us.
"Hmm?" I asked, and my stomach fell as Devon allowed himself to be pulled to a halt by Joseph Martin. He owed his future career to the man. He would never brush past him, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t slightly uncomfortable with the man standing next to me.
Quentin cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say thank you for getting my son to stop wasting his life away on that silly sport."
I clenched my fists tightly by my side as my blood boiled. Where in the fuck did this stranger get off on telling me thanks for something like that? Devon choosing me over his career as a player was the hardest choice he ever made, and I never treated that subject lightly. He deserved more respect than that. I swallowed the scoff that bubbled in my throat and tried to remind myself that I shouldn't be the person discussing such personal matters with Quentin. I chose to stew in my anger over the man's audacity rather than respond.
"I never thought it would be a woman that would get him to stop chasing useless dreams.” I tempered my breathing and focused on Devon's bright smile as he spoke to Joseph. Apparently, Quentin was shit at reading moods. He continued, “I don't know why the boy wasted so much damn time on it in the first place. He was never that good anyway.”
"He was phenomenal," I spat at the man, finally losing my patience. "Your son has a true talent for the game, and I begged him to make sure he knew what he was giving up when he chose to quit playing and move here. I never wanted to come between him and his dream, and I am so thankful that the man he's talking to now recognized his talent and drive and directed him toward a career that still gives him the opportunity to work with something he loves."
I turned to face Quentin fully. His eyebrows were raised comically, and his jaw sagged slightly. Both my hands and my voice shook as I continued, “Your son is an amazing man, and I suppose I should be thanking you. He wouldn't have worked so hard to try to make you proud of him if you hadn’t pushed him away. He would have never ended up in Charleston if not for you. I feel sorry for you, Mr. Cote, that you can't take pride in the best thing you've ever done."
"Charlie," Devon's soothing voice washed over me as his hand found mine. He squeezed it tightly, and I fought the blush that was all but inevitable as a result of my words. Dammit. Devon deserved that conversation with his father; it wasn’t my place to say what I did to him. Why hadn't I ever learned to keep my big mouth shut?
I made a noncommittal sound in the back of my throat as Devon began to pull me away from his shell-shocked father and toward our house.
"Are you okay?" He asked once he led me to the couch in the sitting room.
"I'm sorry," I said as I plopped onto the sofa and pulled him down with me. I cuddled into his side and closed my eyes, trying desperately to let the feeling of our safe space comfort me. "I overreacted. I shouldn't have said all of that awful stuff to your dad."
"Was it all true?" He asked as he gripped my chin gently and pulled my face around, forcing me to stare at the fire burning deeply in the whiskey colored depths of his eyes.
I sucked in a deep, shuddering breath and marveled at the determined look on his face. “Yes,” I answered, my voice quavering.
"And did you mean it?"
My answer was vehement. "Every damn word, with all of my heart."
"I wouldn’t anything less from you,” he said before placing a kiss on my forehead. He held me silently for a few moments more before asking, “Can you do me a favor, though?”
“Anything.”
He pulled away from me, and I mourned the loss of the comfort his body pressed against mine had been providing me for years. He cupped my face in his hands gently and kissed me, pulling my bottom lip into his mouth and biting down just enough to get my blood boiling. It was when I attempted to wrap my arms around his neck that he pulled back.
Devon rested his forehead against mine, his panting breaths puffing against my lips. I squirmed in my seat, and he cupped my cheeks. “I need you to promise me that you’ll be equally as passionate when you’re saying your vows as you were when you were telling my dad off.”
My eyes lost focus and my arms fell to my sides. “Wait, w-what?” I stuttered, unsure that I actually understood what he was saying to me.
“Charlie,” he said while stroking my cheeks gently, “I’m asking you to marry me.”
“Okay.”
Devon chuckled and pulled away from me slightly. He cocked an eyebrow, and I felt my entire world tilt on its axis at the sight of the devil-may-care smirk that he had been throwing my way since day one. A deep, carnal type of fire ignited somewhere near my core, and I shifted in my seat wishing I could alleviate some of the fire before I melted in front of him.
“Okay, you understand what I’m asking you, okay? Or okay, yes, okay?” He asked with a quirked eyebrow, and I raised shaking fingers to brush over his lips. He kissed the tips gently, and I closed my eyes momentarily. Could this be real life?
“Charlie,” he implored, and I opened my eyes. Yup, there was definitely a sexy as sin man sitting next to me on a blush pink sofa waiting for my answer. A rose-gold ring laid in his outstretched hand, and I marveled at the pretty diamond that rested on it. My stomach clenched in the best kind of way as I pulled the ring from his palm.
I rolled my eyes as a silly grin broke out on my face. “You’re an idiot,” I said as I pulled his face close to mine once more. I placed fevered kisses on his lips between each of my words, “Of. Course. I. Will.”
About the Author
Christiana Watson is an emerging author of contemporary romance. This is her debut novel. For more information, visit www.737BrassBooks.com/christianawatson
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Breakaway: A Hockey Romance Page 24