Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
No big shiny towers, no haute-couture designer shops, no Starbucks. And somehow, everything I never knew I needed or wanted was right here in the middle of nowhere, Vermont.
I stopped at one of the only few lights in town and willed myself to think, though. It was early still. Jean-Claude wouldn’t be at the diner yet. He’d probably be home and that was good, but damn, I was nervous. I didn’t have a plan. This was me being impetuous and stupid.
Should I bring flowers? No. Chocolate? My cell buzzed, pulling me back to reality.
I glanced at the caller ID and put the call on speaker before the light turned green. “Coach. How are you?”
“Much better now knowing you’re on your way here. I won’t keep you, Trunk. Just wanted to give you a heads-up that you’re coming into a media circus. Management has had requests for press conferences up the wazoo—including one with me and you. Yeah, I know I coulda texted this, but I want to make sure we’re on the same page. One minute everyone says you’re retiring and now they want you to play God, so let’s just…get our story straight.”
“Sure, no problem.” I parked at the curb in front of Jean-Claude’s house and licked my lips nervously. “Um, speaking of straight stories…or not-so-straight stories…I’m bi and I’m coming out. We can do that at the press conference or at the next one.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m coming out, Coach.” I unfastened my seat belt and reached for my cell. I spotted the roll of tape and on a whim, I unearthed a pen from my duffel.
“Whoa. Hang on, Trunk. Are you—”
“We can talk later. I have to go.”
Okay, that was a bit of an ad lib and my timing probably sucked, but I didn’t care. I was a man on a mission.
I hurried up the path to Jean-Claude’s house and knocked on his door. No answer.
I rang the doorbell and knocked again.
Ding dong. Knock, knock
Ding dong. Knock, knock
Ding dong. Knock—
A stream of something French and undoubtedly profane greeted me as the door swung open.
And yeah, even in his wrinkled plain white tee, baggy sweats, mussed hair, and a crabby expression, I was sure I’d never seen anyone lovelier in my life. My heart swelled as a myriad of emotions flittered across his face…confusion, joy, wariness.
“Riley.” Jean-Claude cocked his head in surprise. “I thought you were gone.”
“I was. I made it to Burlington and turned around.”
“O-kay,” he drawled, still perplexed as he ushered me inside. “It’s cold. How much time do you have? Do you want coffee or tea?”
“No, thank you.” I tugged at his arm before he walked out of the foyer. “I got your note.”
“Ah, I’m sorry. I hate good-byes.”
“Not that note, this note.” I pulled the tape from my pocket and handed it to him, my heart banging against my ribs as he stared at his own writing, slowly twisting the roll to the opposite side where I’d written in big block letters, “I love you.”
His Adam’s apple wobbled as he met my gaze. “A translation.”
“Yes. And the truth. I love you, Jean-Claude.” I swiped my sweaty palms on my jacket and continued in a rush. “I drove for hours and every fucking mile felt like a stake in the heart. That’s fucking dramatic and I know it, but hear me out. I was thinking this was the way it had to be. This is new, and I’m not good at feelings. I’ve never been in love and maybe I’m a bad bet, but…I know this is real. I know it. And if you love me just a little bit—”
Jean-Claude pulled me into his arms in a crushing embrace. He released me to hold my face and rain kisses on my eyes and nose and cheeks, then crashed his mouth over mine.
When we broke for air, he smoothed my hair from my forehead lovingly. “I do. More than a little. You drove all the way back here?”
“It seemed like the sort of thing best said in person. So…there you go. I love you.”
My voice was clear as if I were stating a fact—the oceans were deep, the heavens were vast, and I fucking loved this man. No questions. No room for doubt.
I puffed up my chest, daring him to fight me on this.
He didn’t.
He pursed his lips and blinked through a sheen of tears as a slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “You love me?”
I placed my thumbs on his cheekbones, tracing the outline of his face. “Very much.”
“Why? I’m terrible.” He captured my wrist and kissed my fingers.
“I know.” I chuckled. “You’re kind of grumpy and a little bossy too.”
“True.”
“But you’re fucking phenomenal in bed and you can cook.”
He gave a solemn nod. “Also true.”
I tugged at his T-shirt and held his gaze. “I see you, I know you. You’re tough, but you’re not hard. You have strong opinions, but you’re kind and you care. And you see me—my faults, my fears, my fucked-up single-minded neurosis and superstitions, and you just…get it. You get me. I cannot walk away from this. From us. Fuck hockey. I’ll stay here and—”