Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“Come outside.” He yanked my arm and pulled me to the dining patio. He narrowed his eyes against the midday sun and turned his back to any curious patrons peeking out the windows. “Life or death? Jesus, Vinnie. Everyone is watching us, and what are you doing here anyway? I thought you were going to Miami.”
I shot a quick look over his shoulder and shook my head. “No, I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”
He started in surprise. “I—what?”
“I fucking love you. And I’m staying.”
“Vinnie…”
“I love you,” I repeated. I traced his jawline with trembling fingers and swallowed hard. “You’re home, and this is where I want to be. With you. And I don’t care who knows. In fact, I want the whole damn town to know you’re the best thing that ever happened to me and that I’d give anything to be at your side from now until…always.”
Nolan threw his arms around my neck and sealed our mouths in a scorching kiss. And yes, the diner erupted in catcalls, wolf whistles, and deafening applause. We broke for oxygen and glanced sheepishly at our audience behind the pane of glass.
He threaded our fingers and pulled me behind the far side of the building, out of sight from nosy patrons.
“You came out back there, Vin. You know that, right? People are going to think you’re serious and—”
“I am.” I kissed his open palms. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, but—”
“No buts. People have been asking me what’s next for a while now, and I’ve been wondering the same thing. Where would I go, where would I play? Who’ll have me, who’ll root for me and not forget me when I’m old and washed up? I was afraid to come home ’cause I’d made mistakes I didn’t know how to fix. I won’t let that happen again, Nol. I’m not running anymore.”
“Good, but what about Sienna and your career and—”
“Sienna is my friend. I told her about us. I retired and I never had any intention of reversing that decision. My agent doesn’t take no for an answer, which has been good for my bank account, but this is a new chapter and…I have someone in my life who might want a say in where we live and what we do. See…I want to be where you are. I want those lazy Sunday mornings, lightning bugs in summer, and smooth ice in winter with you. I want to take you to Paris, carve your initials on a bench by the Seine. I want a real relationship, and I’m ready to tell the world that you’re the one I’m gonna marry someday.”
“Jesus, Vin.” He let out a half cry, half laugh, and pushed a wayward strand of hair from my eyes. “I love you so much.”
“When you said you’ve loved me for years, you gotta know it’s the same for me. It was always you. You, again…and again, always. Just you, Nol.”
We came together, tongues tangling, our lips salty with tears. I held him close, tucking him against my shoulder with my eyes shut tight, overwhelmed by a flood of emotion.
There’d never been a moment in my life where I hadn’t known Nolan—as my best friend’s little brother, my friend, my secret crush, my secret lover. And now…the man who owned my heart.
I vowed to be brave enough and worthy of him. I wanted his forever in this little town in the middle of nowhere that was in fact, the center of our universe.
And the beginning of us.
EPILOGUE
“And it’s not that I want to have you. All I want is to deserve you.”— Pierre Choderlos de Laclos, Dangerous Liaisons
Fifteen months later…
Nolan
Snow flurries skittered across the frozen pond, dusting the deck and the evergreen wreath Vinnie and Mary-Kate had abandoned in favor of strapping on their skates. Dozens of pucks and cones littered the ice as a result of their impromptu shooting clinic, while three boxes of ornaments, countless yards of fresh garland, and a twelve-foot Christmas tree lay unattended in our living room.
I glanced at the mess of holiday cheer with a sigh. It could wait. I filled a thermos with hot chocolate, shrugged on my winter coat, and headed outside to join my fiancé and our niece.
“Did you see that shot?” Mary-Kate spun in a circle, her eyes as wide as her toothy grin.
Vinnie dropped his stick, threw his arms in the air, and broke into the signature wild man celebratory maneuver that a sports reporter had fondly called the Kimbo—a combo air guitar, one-legged crouched skate followed by a fist pump.
Once upon a time, his manic antics had electrified arenas, driving fans to their feet to cheer for the dynamic D-man who’d put his heart and soul into the game and left it all out on the ice. Nowadays, it made our niece laugh, the kind of joyful sound that rang bright and clear on a cold, gray afternoon.