by Amy Olle
Her chest aching, Haven pointed at the phone. “How did you do it?”
Emily’s smile faded. “You mean, how did I catch a man like him?”
Haven frowned. “No, not at all. I mean, how did you fall in love? After losing your mom, wasn’t it… hard?”
Impossible.
It was impossible.
The damage her heart had suffered all those years before meant if she were to love someone again now and lose them, the way she’d lost Ryan, the weakened organ in her chest simply would not survive it.
After her initial surprise at Haven’s question, Emily’s expression turned thoughtful. “I was in a dark place for a long time, years, wh-while my m-mom was sick and afterwards. But then I m-met Luke and….” She lifted her shoulders in a bemused shrug. “The lights came back on.” Her watery laugh bubbled up. “He lit up the wh-whole w-world. I didn’t have a choice to love him or not. I couldn’t not love him.”
“Didn’t hurt that he’s hot as hell,” Haven said dryly.
“No, it did not.” Emily’s laughter faded and she turned serious once more. “No matter wh-what the future holds, I’ll always know I loved him and he loved me. W-We love each other, w-w-with all of our hearts, and nothing can ever take that away from us. Certainly not death.”
Haven started to cry.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Haven dreamed of Jack, and of those magical days they’d spent together in the bedroom at Emily’s inn. In all his dark, fierce gloriousness, he approached the bed—though dream-Jack sported his playoff beard—and peered down into her face.
Her heart ached with longing and grief.
Long ago, she’d vowed not to let anyone steal her heart. She’d spent half her life running from the fear, but in that moment, from within the shelter of her own dreams, she realized how truly lost she was.
Gazing up at Jack’s dream face, perfect and filled with love, a shaky sigh eased from her. “I miss you, Jack.”
A tender smile curved his beautiful mouth, and then her dream talked back.
“So why don’t you get your hot little ass out of that bed and show me.”
Instantly wide-awake, she bolted upright.
“Jack!” Her feet tangled in the sheets when she tripped from the bed. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
He straightened and eased his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans. “You have something that’s mine, and I’m here to collect it.” His features hardened into concrete. “I’m not leaving without it.”
A chill chased through her.
She shoved a hand through her sleep-rumpled hair and hiked the wide neck of her sleep shirt over her bare shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The sliver of light glittered in his eyes while he waited.
One of his dark eyebrows lifted in challenge.
With a huff, she thrust her hand under her pillow and yanked.
“Fine. Take it.” She flung his lucky T-shirt at him.
He snatched it out of the air. A smug smile played over his lips as he fingered the soft fabric.
His unsettling gaze remained fixed on her face. “I wasn’t talking about the T-shirt.”
Disconcerted, she gave her head a small shake. “Then what are you talking about?”
“You.” He edged closer. “I’m talking about you.”
Her heart started to pound.
“You belong to me, Haven.”
Her hands started to shake, so she crossed her arms. “You’re cocky.”
“Damn straight, and I’m also right. Admit it.”
She lifted one shoulder and looked away, pretending a great interest in the pattern of the quilt on the bed.
“Admit it, Haven.”
She meant to avoid the torture of his eyes, but instead, the memories of their time spent beneath that quilt wrenched her injured heart. Her vision blurred with the terror clogging the back of her throat.
“I can’t, Jack.” A tear spilled over to stream down her cheek. “I can’t love you. I can’t… I can’t… lose you.”
A ripple of alarm disturbed his features. “You won’t lose me.”
“You don’t know that.” Her voice broke. “You can’t promise me that you won’t want to leave me one day.” She pressed her clenched fist to her breastbone, trying to rub away the ache beneath it. “After Ryan died… my heart… it broke. Jack, I can’t go through that again. I just can’t.”
Just thinking of it shattered her, and started her feet moving under her. She strode past him and down the hall, her retreat slowed by the slipperiness of her slouchy socks on the hardwood floors. At the landing, she slid to a stop.
“Dad?”
Sitting on the bottom stair, Hank pushed to his feet and turned to look up at her. “Hey, pumpkin.”
“What are you doing here?” But by the time the words left her mouth, her scrambled thoughts had sorted it all out. She turned slowly to gape at Jack. “You brought him here?”
Jack dipped his head. “Your dad has something he wants to say to you. Don’t you, Hank?”
Hank’s face clouded with uneasiness. “You, uh, flew out of my office so damned fast, I didn’t get a chance to tell you what a great job you did for me. Thank you.”
She stared at him, baffled.
At her silence, an unpleasant blush swept over his features. “I heard about the offer from ESPN.”
She moved her shoulders in a shrug. “I’m going to turn them down.”
“You shouldn’t.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks. “You’d be great at it.”
Uneasy with his compliments, she folded her arms in front of her. “Yeah, well, I’ve decided I’m going to be a lighthouse keeper.”
Hank nodded. “You’d be good at that, too.”
Her arms dropped heavily to her sides. “Stop agreeing with everything I say. You’re confusing me.”
“I’m sorry about that, too.” He scratched the back of his head and stared down at the floor. “The thing is, kiddo, I know I haven’t been the best dad to you.” He looked up at her. “After Ryan….”
His expression twisted and he ducked his chin, but not before she glimpsed the slash of pain contorting his features. Her breath caught and she eased back to lean against the wall. All the grief and heartache in the world lived there, on her dad’s face.
She knew that pain. Knew it well. For it lived in her, too. It was that pain that had kept him from loving her after her brother died.
She used to think there was something wrong with her. That she wasn’t good enough to deserve her dad’s love, but he was the one who wasn’t good enough for her. He’d been too wounded, or scared, or weak to love her.
That same pain kept her from loving Jack now. Rendered her wounded and scared, and weak. So very weak.
She gulped hard, and a hot tear tracked down her cheek. “It’s okay, Dad.”
And it was. It really was, because, quite honestly, she didn’t need her dad’s love anymore. She had Jack’s, and that was all that truly mattered.
Jack.
Her dad’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not, but I appreciate you saying so.”
She swiped at another tear with the back of her hand. “Hey, did you see the flat-screen TV in the living room?”
Hank perked up. “Is it big?”
“Huge.” She pointed in the direction of the room. “Check it out.”
Her dad disappeared through the archway and she turned her head.
Jack hung back, watching her with green-gold eyes that shimmered with uncertainty. As she gazed upon his beautiful face, her heart blazed, as though cast into a fire. The fire of Jack’s love.
In the firestorm, the two halves of her heart, broken apart the day her brother died, fused together again. A tiny gasp slipped through her lips at the sweet sensation beneath her breastbone.
The old familiar ache in her chest suddenly eased and she drew a deep, fortifying breath.
With her new,
whole heart, she went to him.
“Okay, fine, I admit it. I belong to you. And you belong to me.” She sidled closer. “And I hate you.”
His smile put the stars to shame. “I know you do, baby.”
He caught her around the waist.
“I’m serious, Jack. I hate your guts.”
He nuzzled close to her ear. “Tell me more. What do you hate about me?”
“I hate your face and your body.” Her hands gripped his arms and smoothed around to his back. “I hate the way you make me laugh and how I can’t breathe when you’re too close.”
He kissed the side of her neck. “Like this?”
“Yes,” she said, breathless.
“Is that all?”
“Not even close. I hate your big heart, and the way you stand up for me.” She pulled back so that she could see his eyes. “Did you fight him because of me?”
His silence told her everything.
“Why did you do that?” she whispered. “You could’ve lost your chance to play for the Cup.”
“Because fuck the Cup. What happened to you—” He swallowed hard. “You deserve better than this world’s given you, Haven, and that pisses me off. I need you to be safe more than I need to win a hockey game.”
“It’s not just a hockey game. Jack—”
“Don’t.” His hold around her waist tightened. “You won’t change my mind, and I can’t take it back anyway.”
“Promise me you’ll never do something like that again.”
“I can’t promise you that. I’m sorry.” His hand came up to brush her cheek. “I’ll always fight for you, whatever that means, and whether you want me to or not.”
She took his hand in both of hers and pulled it in front of her face. Her fingers trailed over the knuckles where the skin remained raw and irritated from the fight a few days back.
“I’m sorry I can’t take away the pain for you.” His voice rasped with emotion.
She pressed her lips to his pink knuckles. “You already have.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, and together, they breathed.
“I don’t want to love you, Jack.”
“I don’t want to love you either. I don’t have room for you in my life. I travel all the time. I’m in training most of the year. It’ll never work.”
Their soft laughter mingled.
Her fingertips traced the outline of his jaw. “I’m probably going to love you for the rest of my life. I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because I’m the worst person to have love you. It’s going to be ridiculous. I’m going to be clingy and needy, obsessed and possessive. I feel sorry for you. I really do.”
“Don’t.” He dipped his head low. “Sounds like heaven to me.”
Then his mouth claimed hers.
Jack scanned the crowd. He spotted her immediately, right where she always was.
It’s where she’d been when Detroit went down one game to Pittsburgh’s three in the third round, and it’s where she was when they clawed their way back into the series and won in game seven in sudden death overtime to advance to the Stanley Cup finals. It’s where she stood now, watching Jack take his turn lifting the Cup above his head as he skated across the rink to a cacophony of the fan’s wild cheers.
As he rounded to her side of the arena, she came down the stairs to stand at the glass. He passed the Cup off to a teammate and though he couldn’t touch or hear her through the glass, he skated over to her. She pressed her palm flat against the Plexiglas, and he laid his hand over hers.
He could get lost in her eyes, at the way their centers melted with warmth when she gazed at him. The sadness he’d so often glimpsed in them hadn’t been evident these last few weeks, replaced instead by a soft sparkle that tugged at his groin.
Then her wide mouth slipped into a crooked smile and she lifted her other hand between them, showing him the backs of her fingers. At first he didn’t understand, so she pointed at the silver band hanging loose around her ring finger.
It was a man’s ring. A wedding ring.
Understanding knocked him back and his gaze swung to her face. Her smile turned sweet and her eyes filled with a hesitant hope. She lifted her shoulders.
His heart lurched and he reached for her, but his palms came up hard against the glass.
“Are you sure?” he shouted over the noise and glass barrier.
Dark eyes shining, she laughed and nodded.
With the thrill of having just won the Cup still zinging through him, his feet moved under him. He skated along the boards, slow at first so she could keep up with him, but as he neared the tunnel where the glass partitions ended, he couldn’t contain the love in his heart.
He charged toward the edge of the rink, and when she came around from the other side, he hauled her into his arms.
Her arms clamped tight around his neck and she buried her face in the crook between his shoulder and throat. “Marry me, Jack?”
“You don’t do commitment, remember?”
She pulled back and took his face in both her hands. “I don’t want to run, Jack. Not anymore. Not from you.”
Her mouth touched his lips and pure, sweet joy erupted inside his chest. He’d won the Cup, and he’d won the smartest, strongest, most amazing, hot-ass wife imaginable.
He’d won life.
Chapter Thirty
When it came to marriage, Haven Callahan had rules.
Well, one rule.
One soft, squishy, gooey in the center rule.
Rule Number One and Only: Screw the rules.
They didn’t do her any good anyway. One by one, Jack had broken every single rule she’d ever constructed to protect her fragile heart. He blasted right on through her defenses and claimed the battered organ. Rescued it, really.
Her arms loaded down with dirty dishes, she used her hip to push open the back door. Inside, she rounded the scarred walnut dining table and passed through the kitchen to the farmhouse sink.
As she bent to stack the first dinner plate in the dishwasher, the door to the back deck opened and Jack ducked inside the house.
Their house.
It was the Cape Cod from her vision, the one being built a few miles up the beach from Emily’s inn. Turned out, that was Jack’s house, which he’d had built on a hillside tucked up in the trees high above the waters of Lake Michigan.
A month past, they’d added her name to the deed.
“Sorry,” he’d said, a wide grin splitting his handsome face as he’d waggled the paper deed. “You can’t run now. You’re committed.”
She’d laughed. Like she could ever outrun her love for Jack.
“You need some help in here?” he asked her now.
“I’m good. Go visit with your brothers.”
“My brothers would kick my ass if I weren’t in here trying to flirt with my wife.”
His hand found her waist and she twisted in his arms. “Is that what you call this, flirting?”
He dipped his head while his hand roamed up her side. “It’s the best I can do. I’ve never been able to slow myself down around you long enough to flirt.”
Her pulse raced.
A frustrated growl reverberated in the back of his throat, and he pressed his forehead to hers while he visibly struggled to bring himself under control.
After a moment, he gave up trying to conquer the pull. “I like your dress.”
A blush of pleasure warmed her cheeks. “Thanks.”
She’d found the ivory sheath wedding dress at the boutique downtown and fallen in love with it immediately. It was the perfect dress for their small, late summer wedding on the beach in their backyard.
His fingers clutched at the delicate fabric, inching it upward. “When can I take it off you?”
“Not until everyone’s gone?” His mouth found her neck, turning her statement into a question.
“Never stopped us before,” he murmured against her sensitive skin.
She gasped. “At least wait until my dad’s gone.”
Along with Jack’s family and the Thompsons, Beverly, Mel and Harlon, and Hank, Kristen, and the boys had come to see Jack and Haven exchange their vows.
Jack pulled back, suddenly serious. “Did you talk to your mom? What did she say?”
“She said she’ll think about it, but I think she’ll say yes.” Haven dropped a kiss on his cheek and brushed away a smudge of lip-gloss with the pad of her thumb. “Thank you, Jack.”
It’d been his idea to ask Beverly to move to the island. He’d offered to buy her a house or build one for her anywhere she wanted on the three acres he and Haven now owned.
“Did you tell her we need someone to watch the house while we’re away during the season?”
“I told her.”
He frowned. “I thought for sure she’d say yes to that.”
“She will.” Haven smoothed her hands down the front of his dress shirt. “She needs a little time to get used to the idea, that’s all.”
“Well, tell her not to wait too long. Training camp starts in a month.”
“I’ll tell her.” Her fingers played with the hair at his nape. “How does it feel to be a married man?”
He buried both his hands in her hair and kissed her. “You wanna know the truth?”
She nodded.
“It’s better than winning the Stanley Cup, and I’m not gonna lie to you, that was awesome.”
While she laughed, his expression grew serious. “How about you?”
She pressed the tip of two fingers to the crease between his brows. “I have some good news.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“I’ve settled on a brand of shampoo.”
A slow smile banished the worry from his features. “Have you now? Will I like it?”
“You’re going to love it.”
She’d spent her adult life afraid to look to a future that didn’t have Ryan in it, but she wasn’t afraid anymore. With Jack, she’d found the freedom she thought she craved. True freedom. The kind that comes only with surrender.
“It’s light and weightless,” she said. “You’ll never have a bad hair day again.”
