Page 38 of Spring Break with a Slap Shot

His smile grows, warming me from the inside despite the cold rain. "I love how excited you get about weather patterns."

"My point is," I continue, determined to get it all out, "I don't want safe and predictable if it means not having you. I'd rather have chaotic and messy and real."

For a long moment, Dakota just stares at me, rainwater dripping from his eyelashes. Then he lifts his free hand to my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone.

"My turn," he says softly. "I'm sorry I let you go. I'm sorry I didn't fight harder. When you told me you needed stability, someone who wouldn't be on the road half the year with a different woman in every city—"

"I never said that," I protest.

"You implied it," he counters, but there's no heat in his words. "And maybe you were right to worry. My track record isn't exactly stellar. But Harmony, what you don't understand is that everything changed when I met you."

Lightning splits the sky, illuminating his face in stark relief. In that flash, I see every emotion written there—fear, hope, and something that looks remarkably like love.

"Nothing felt the same after you," he continues. "The parties, the games, even the wins—they all felt hollow. I kept looking for you in the stands. I kept reaching for my phone to text you about something stupid that happened at practice. I kept waking up expecting to see your curly hair on the pillow next to me."

My throat tightens. "Dakota—"

"I was flying to Oklahoma to tell you that you were right about me needing to grow up, about needing to be worthy of someone like you. But you were wrong about one thing—I've never been more stable, more centered, more focused than when I'm with you. You're not my opposite, Harmony. You're my balance."

The rain seems to soften around us, or maybe that's just the rushing in my ears as blood pounds through my veins. I reach up, threading my fingers through his wet hair, pulling his face closer to mine.

"For a guy who blocks pucks for a living, you have quite a way with words," I whisper.

He grins, that heart-stopping Dakota Miles smile that first weakened my knees months ago when Kaleb introduced us at a team charity event. "Only when they matter. Only with you."

And then he's closing the distance between us, his mouth finding mine with an urgency that steals my breath. His lips are warm despite the cold rain, his body solid and real against mine. I melt into him, kissing him back with all the longing and relief and yes, love, that's been building inside me during our weeks apart.

Lightning flashes again, closer this time, thunder following almost immediately. The storm surrounds us, wild and electric, a perfect mirror to what's happening in my chest as Dakota deepens the kiss, his hand sliding into my wet hair, cradling my head like I'm something precious.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Dakota presses his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.

"So," he says, his voice rough. "Does this mean you're staying?"

The question holds so much more than those simple words. It's asking about tomorrow, and next week, and the road trips, and the distance. It's asking if I'm all in.

I think about the predictable life waiting for me back in Oklahoma. The empty apartment. The colleagues who respect me but don't really know me. The safety of a life lived according to forecasts and probabilities.

Then I look at Dakota—beautiful, complicated Dakota—standing in the rain, looking at me like I'm a miracle he never expected.

"Yes," I say, certainty settling over me like calm after a storm. "I'm staying."

His smile could power the entire eastern seaboard. "Good," he says, then glances up at the still-pouring rain. "Because I think the universe approves of this reunion. Your favorite thing and my good luck charm, all at once."

I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. "Rain is not my favorite thing."

"Liar." He kisses me again, briefly but with promise. "You love it. You have a whole speech about how rain is the great connector of the water cycle."

The fact that he remembers this random detail from one of my weather tangents makes my heart swell three sizes. "Maybe I do love it. Especially right now."

Dakota releases me just long enough to pick up the duffel bag he dropped when we collided. Then his arm is back around me, pulling me tight against his side as we make a dash through the downpour toward his car.

"By the way," he calls over the rain. "We won tonight!"

"I know!" I shout back. "Game-winning goal!"

He looks surprised and pleased. "You were following the game?"

"I follow all your games," I admit. "Even when I was pretending I was over you."

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