Page 91 of Afterglow
“June.”
“Perfect.”
I titter from disbelief. “Perfect? How is it perfect?”
“My contract extension is up by then.” The man grins, downright giddy. “We can find a place together.”
Disbelief persists with an incessant shaking of my head. “Wait, wait, wait…let me get this straight.”
Fletcher giggles.
“You’ll walk away from a team and city you love, to…be with…me?”
“Bea,” he starts, tone shifting to something more serious. “I’d do anything for you.”
“But what aboutyourcareer?”
“I’ll figure it out,” he says with a shrug. “Europe has hockey leagues, too, y’know. My agent’s been asking about what’s next and trying to get things lined up. Now I can give him a legit answer.”
“But—” The protest is worthless.
“Do you not want me here?”
“Of course, I want you here. Just not at the expense of?—”
“Ah, ah, ah.” His long first finger presses to my parted mouth and silences my argument. “Nothing is gonna be at the expense of anything. And even if it is,” Fletcher adds, “it’ll be worth a lifetime of happiness with you.”
My eyes narrow, brimming with fresh tears. “If this was your attempt to make me cry, then I hate to tell you,” —one fat, hot drop escapes— “it worked.”
Fletcher wipes it away. “So, you’ll have me?” His mouth teases, begging for another kiss.
I let him steal one, and one more for good measure. “Don’t I already have you?”
“Touché.” He releases me and scooches down, going back to his original position on my stomach. “Promise me something?”
“Anything.”
“I’ll have to tell the team eventually. You’ll be there, right?”
“Yeah,” I agree. “You’re never getting rid of me.”
Epilogue
Fletcher
Two Years Later
“Do you think that,maybe, if you squeeze my hand, we’ll land in time to only be a little late for Gabe’s baby shower?”
Oh, Behraz. My sweet, optimistic sun ray. That ship sailed six hours ago when our flight from Frankfurt was delayed due to the masses traveling for the winter holidays.
An unsure sound grumbles from my chest. “I don’t know, but worth a shot.” I give our twined hands a good squeeze before plucking a kiss from where they connect.
“Or maybe we could talk to the pilot about our situation, and he’ll fly faster?” Bea rattles off. “Oh! What if we show him that really cute video of the cats when they were kittens and tussling around like roly-polies? Maybe we can FaceTime the sitter, and he can watch their silliness live? You think he likes cats? I don’t know, I’m throwing out any and all ideas.”
“Hmmm,” I wonder aloud, stifling a knowing grin. “Any chance you’re nervous to get to Ottawa?”
She releases a groaning sigh. “How’d you know?”
