Page 95 of Second Shot

After a few moments, he lets go of me, but he looks uneasy.

I say softly, “You need to let all of that go. Let it go just like you did your father and all those bad memories. Remembering hurtful things like that, it only hurts you. I’ve put it behind me, Ry, and you should too.”

“Have you truly put it behind you?” he whispers.

“A hundred percent.”

He lowers his head. “And you think one day you’d like to marry me?”

I smile because he sounds like a scared little kid. “Absolutely. I think we should live together a while longer first. We have a lot going on right now. No need to rush things. When the time is right, we’ll do it.”

“Okay.” He nods, the tension gone from his face.

“We have some time off coming to us. Do you want to go on the trip to Greece that Niko is planning?”

He brightens. “Yes. He assured me we could have our own private suite. I’d be like a little honeymoon before our wedding.”

I grin. “You really do have wedding fever, don’t you?”

He shrugs. “I know what I want, and that’s you.”

My heart aches with affection as I stare into his green eyes. It’s hard to believe those eyes once filled me with fear, but now they’re my refuge. “I want you too, Ry. That’s not going to change.”

His smile is sweet. “Then I can wait alittlelonger while to propose.” He snaps his fingers. “Maybe I’ll propose to you in Greece. Wouldn’t a Greek wedding be romantic?”

I laugh, feeling happy. “It sounds complicated.”

He arches one brow. “Well, that’s kind of our thing, Gabe. Complicated.”

He’s not wrong. Things between us were complicated from the start. But a lot of the best things in life are. The solar system is complicated. DNA is complicated. Love is definitely complicated. But all of those things? They’re where life begins.

So yeah, I’ll take complicated.

Because complicated gave me Ryan Caldwell.

Epilogue

Ryan

The villa perched on the cliffs of Mykonos is something out of a travel magazine, all white-washed stone and infinity pools that seem to spill directly into the Aegean Sea. As our driver navigates the winding road that leads to what Niko keeps calling “paradise,” I catch my first glimpse of the place we’ll call home for the next two weeks, and my jaw literally drops.

“Holy shit,” Foster breathes from the seat behind me, his face pressed against the window like a kid at Christmas. “Niko, you magnificent Swedish bastard, you really outdid yourself.”

Niko grins from the front passenger seat, his icy-blond hair catching the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windshield. “I told you boys I’d find us something special. Stanley Cup champions deserve Stanley Cup accommodations.”

The villa sprawls across what looks like half an acre of clifftop real estate, with terraced levels that cascade down toward the water. Bougainvillea in shades of magenta and coral spills over white stone walls, while olive trees provide patches of shade across manicuredgardens. The infinity pool appears to float in mid-air, its edge blending seamlessly with the horizon where the sea meets an impossibly blue sky.

“This place must be obscenely expensive to rent,” Marlowe observes, but there’s appreciation rather than criticism in his voice.

Niko shrugs one shoulder. “What’s the point of having money if you don’t spend it? And who better to spend it on than your brothers?”

Brothers. The word hits differently now than it would have months ago, back when I was the new guy trying to prove I belonged. Now, looking around this van filled with teammates who’ve become family, I realize that’s exactly what we are. Chosen family bound together by shared dreams and the kind of trust that only comes from going to war together.

Gabe squeezes my hand where it rests between us on the seat, his fingers intertwining with mine in that casual intimacy that’s become second nature. Four weeks since we won the Cup, and I still can’t quite believe this is my life. Stanley Cup champion, and somehow lucky enough to be loved by the most incredible man I’ve ever met.

The van pulls through elaborate looking gates, stopping in front of an entrance dominated by massive wooden doors and windows that seem designed to let in every possible ray of Greek sunlight. A man in white linen emerges togreet us, apparently the villa’s concierge, who introduces himself as Dimitri and promises to make our stay “unforgettable.”

“Welcome to Villa Poseidon,” he says in accented English that makes everything he says sound like poetry. “Your home for the next two weeks.”

---