Page 112 of Rewind It Back

“Your rules are all over the place. So, phone sex is on the table?”

“Oh, it’s all on the table, Hart. All you have to do is give me a chance.”

My previously melting body stiffens in his hold.

His playfulness morphs when he realizes. “I’m joking around.”

“I know.”

He searches my face. “Take your time, Hal. I was giving you shit.”

“I know.” I fall into his chest and let him hug me goodbye.

He wraps his arms around me tightly, resting his chin on my head. “I’m leaving my truck for you to drive. It’s parked in the garage. Zee is picking me up.”

“Thank you for that.”

“I’m leaving my espresso maker for you too, if you feel like making yourself a latte.”

“But my latte art will never be as good as yours.”

“Well, at least you’re self-aware.”

I chuckle against him.

“And the rest of my house is yours while I’m gone too,” he continues. “For work, or for... exploring.”

Pulling back, I look up at him. He doesn’t have to explain. We both know what he’s referring to.

“See you when I’m back home?”

I nod. “See you then.”

His eyes roam over my face and his thumb dusts over my cheekbone as if he were about to kiss me. I can see him contemplating, struggling with himself not to, but eventually, he decides against it.

Leaving me alone in his kitchen, he takes his suitcase with him.

Once he’s gone, I try to get back to work, but it’s no use when all I can concentrate on is that closet upstairs. I attempt to find an ounce of patience, but it’s pointless. All I needed was his permission, and now that I have it, I can’t wait any longer.

Leaving the samples on the kitchen island, I take off for the stairs, heading straight for his room. That closet door is wide open, left intentionally for me to see. But before I can take a step in that direction, my nerves slow me down.

I have no idea what I’m about to find.

What was so bad that he didn’t want me to see a few weeks ago, but has no problem with me discovering now?

I can’t even begin to guess, so while trying to brace myself for anything, I step inside.

I quickly learn this isn’t his main closet. It’s filled with backup hockey gear, extra luggage, and some old jerseys he’s saved from over the years. I can tell they’re old because they have a number eighty-three on the back, and he hasn’t worn that number since college.

There doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary in here, and again, I don’t know what I’m looking for. But when I push his old jerseys apart on the top rack, I find a black box sitting on the shelf below it.

My intuition screams that this is it. Whatever I’m supposed to find, it’s in here.

There’s not a fleck of dust gathered on the lid, but the edges are worn, like this box has been opened and closed hundreds of times over the years. It weighs next to nothing and there’s a slight rattle inside from when I pick it up and carry it to the bed.

Taking a seat on the mattress, I open it.

When I look inside, my stomach hollows out in a way I’ve never experienced before. My lips part of their own accord and my breath catches in my lungs. I don’t need to do much digging to know exactly what this is. Whattheseare.

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