Page 143 of The Goal

“Okay, the building came with an apartment. I’m not done with the renos up here. That’s going to take a while. I was hoping to surprise you around November when the bar opened.”

Feeling weak, I lean against the wall. “I don’t know what to say.”

He strides across the room and tucks a hand under my chin. “Say that this is home. For you, Jamie, and me.”

I close my eyes so he can’t see the emotion in them—the relief, the gratitude, the overwhelming love I have for him. I don’t deserve him. Not one bit, but for some reason he wants me in his life.

I turn my face into his palm and press my lips against the warm skin. “I love this place. It’s amazing. You’re amazing.” And because I can’t help myself, I rise up on my tiptoes and throw my arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

One muscular arm clutches me close while the other holds our baby close. “This is going to work,” he murmurs. “You’ll see.”

I hope so. God, I hope so.

37

TUCKER

November

“Holy shit! This place issick.”

I flush with pride at Logan’s exclamation. Weeks of hard work have led to this moment, but my backbreaking efforts are made all the more worthwhile as I witness my friends’ reactions.

And I’m so fucking touched that everyone showed up to be here for me tonight. Dean and Allie rode in on the train from New York, and Coach Jensen actually canceled an evening practice so that all my former Briar teammates could attend my big opening.

But the most important guests are my two girls. Jamie’s strapped to my chest in a BabyBjorn, wearing a custom-made pink onesie that readsTucker’s Barin gold glitter.

Sabrina is beside me, dressed a little less fancy in faded jeans and a tight green sweater. Her full tits are nearly pouring out of the deep V-neckline, and every time I glance her way my dick turns to granite. I almost wish she was still moaning about the baby weight she’s carrying and refusing to let me touch her, because even though she doesn’t have her pre-baby body back, I’m horny twenty-four/seven.

“Hitting the head,” Logan says. “BRB.”

As he disappears into the crowd, Garrett sweeps his gaze over thepacked bar. “I can’t believe how well the renovations turned out,” he marvels.

I look around, trying to see the room through his eyes. After I’d completely restored the wood paneling and exposed beams, I went on a hunt for sports memorabilia to hang on the gleaming walls. This isn’t technically a sports bar, but hey, I’m a hockey player. I can’tnothave framed photos of athletes in my bar.

And it helps to have friends in high places. Garrett got me signed jerseys from several of his new teammates—many of whom are here tonight. One of the chicks by the pool table wasted no time blasting it on social media, and within an hour of opening my doors, I had people lining up to get in, hoping to land an autograph or chat up the professional hockey players.

The groupies, however, have been surprisingly unobtrusive, letting Garrett’s teammates drink in peace without harassing them too much. I appreciate that, because the vibe I’m going for is “neighborhood bar.” A place where people can come after work (or hockey practice) and just relax. Somewhere that’s not too loud and not too rowdy.

So far, it’s exactly what I wanted it to be.

“Thanks for all your help,” I tell Garrett, who shrugs off my gratitude. He deserves it, though. He gave up way too many days off to come here and help me rip up flooring and gut the bathrooms.

“You too,” I say to Fitzy, who drove to Boston every weekend after I bought the bar, crashing on the floor of Jamie’s nursery and waking up at ungodly hours to help me out.

I hired people to do the jobs that my friends and I couldn’t do ourselves. Staffed the place too, since I have no interest in tending bar unless I have to; management is more my thing. Samira and Zeke, the two bartenders working tonight, are awesome. They already bicker like an old married couple and this is only their first night working here.

“It was fun,” Fitzy grunts before taking a sip of his Coors.

“Dude,” Dean says, coming up to slap Fitz on the shoulder. “That was a hell of a game last weekend. You guys crushed Yale.”

Fitzy frowns. “You saw it in New York? I didn’t realize it was televised.”

“Nah, someone was live-tweeting it. I was tracking his posts.”

So was I, actually. I’d wanted to drive out to Briar to watch it live, but Jamie had been fussy the night before, and Sabrina and I were wiped. The team’s kicking ass this season, though. Last year’s shitty record is all but forgotten now that Briar is on a five-game winning streak.

“Hunter scored a total beauty in the third,” Hollis says from his stool. “I almost came in my pants.”

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