by Elise Faber
Lexi went still, a muscle in her jaw twitching, but to Luc’s surprise, she nodded.
No words.
But a nod.
Some progress.
“If . . .” Sam took another deep breath. “I’d like for you to open this.” A beat. “When you’re ready.”
Hope in golden-brown eyes so like Lexi’s, his gaze tracing every line of her face before drifting to Luc. He inclined his head, gratitude shining brightly. Luc nodded back.
And then Sam was gone.
Lexi sat in his lap for a long time, quiet and still.
But eventually, she got up, set about finishing the planting, filling in the large hole she’d dug. He helped her, not relaxing until she brushed her fingers to his, until she allowed her shoulder to bump against his.
They worked until dark descended, until the temperature dropped.
But when they went into the house, she picked up the present from the table.
Then later, after she opened it, after she read through the stack of letters inside, ones that appeared to have been written over the course of seven years but never sent, after she flipped through the album her father had put inside the bag, she cried, big heaping gasps, cathartic cleansing sobs as she gripped his shirt.
Eventually, though, the tears stopped . . . and the next day, she wrote a letter of her own.
Peace—working toward it.
Life moving forward.
And perhaps, broken pieces mending once more.
Chapter Forty-Three
Lexi
She and Luc had spent a glorious month without drama—no personal dramas, no running, no new divorces cropping up (and her being able to joke about that made her proud of how far she and Luc had both come), and no surprise visits by her father.
Because . . . she’d had a non-surprise visit.
Or perhaps, better explained, she and her father had exchanged a few letters, and then, almost to her own surprise, she’d invited him to lunch.
They hadn’t talked about anything important.
But they had talked.
And Lexi had come to some painful realizations of her own, thinking back on the conversations, on the effort she put into the relationship, and wondering if perhaps, she had been avoiding her father as much as he had avoided her.
Oh, there was no doubt he’d done some brutal things, disappearing and not taking her calls when she’d mentioned her mother for months at a time, being the worst of them.
But . . . maybe it hadn’t been quite that simple.
Because maybe she’d needed to forget, too. Forget that she had a big, gaping hole in her life and to focus on something different, something that wasn’t painful. Maybe he’d given her the perfect excuse to forget about the emptiness her mom had left behind and to discover something completely new. Something that was light and different and cotton candy and Caleb. Something that would dissolve easily, even if she hadn’t been able to see it at first.
So, she was working through that.
Aside from the personal revelations and the work she still needed to do on that front, Luc hadn’t had any issues with the team—no trade deals that needed to be negotiated well into the night. Although, only about half of the team’s flowers were alive, and they’d had a plant funeral the other day—the guys making tiny tombstones emblazoned with the names of their flowers and having a procession to the compost bin, complete with a depressing-sounding dirge.
The other plants were looking good, however, and Oliver, Theo, and Luca all looked like they might win the competition.
Speaking of which, she snuggled up to her sexy boyfriend, letting the covers slide down her bare back and propping her chin on her crossed arms that lay over his chest. “What does the winner get?”
He frowned, his body still lax from the way they’d celebrated his return from the short road trip—she missed the man far too much.
Okay, she missed the man perfectly.
Because they were perfect together.
Not perfect in the sense that there weren’t any hurdles to make it over, or that they didn’t bicker about what to eat for dinner, or that she didn’t invariably fall asleep on the couch every single time they tried to watch a movie together.
Rather, they were perfect in the way they came together, how they cared for each other, how their broken pieces fit together, filling in the gaps and crevices, formed something that was whole.
So . . . perfect.
In the cup of coffee Luc left on the nightstand for her when he was home.
In her search for a substitute for his favorite beard oil, when his preferred brand had been discontinued. It had taken her eight (eight!) tries to get the ideal match.
In Luc carrying her up to bed every time she tried to stay up to watch a movie snuggled together on the couch, and every time only lasting at most, twenty minutes.
In the special recipe she’d created for him, combining his two favorite things, peanut butter and pumpkin, into peanut butter chip pumpkin bread.
It was perfect because they gave a shit, because they each wanted to make the other’s life better, and because there was love in every moment . . . even the ones where they were irritated with each other.
Now, Luc peeled back his eyelids, sleep already written into the lines of his face. “Huh?”
She’d have about two minutes of lucidity before he passed out.
She’d better make the most of them.
“For the plant competition,” she said, resting her ear against his chest, listening to the solid, steady heartbeat underneath. “Since you didn’t go with my choice of prize—”
“I’m not buying them lingerie,” he muttered. “There’s been far too much of that going around.”
“You liked it,” she said.
“Yes.” He had.
“So, what’s the prize?”
Luc chuckled.
“What?” she asked.
“It’s nothing.” A shrug, somewhat awkward considering he was lying down. “A stupid little prize I saw in the airport and picked up.”
“Show me.”
He sighed. “I’m comfortable.”
She stuck out her bottom lip. “Please?” she asked. “Just tell me where it is, and I’ll go get it myself.”
“I’ll get it.” He nipped the tip of her nose. “I’m putting this on your tab, though.”
Lexi rolled her hips against him, sighed and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, all fawning maiden. “However will I work it off, good sir?”
A wolfish grin, a laughing kiss. “I’ve got some ideas.” He nudged her off his chest, moved into the closet.
“Oh, God,” she said as he emerged with a red bag that matched the one she’d found moving in not long ago. “Tell me you weren’t joking before.”
He frowned.
“Because looks like the lingerie bag I found before,” she said, “and I was just kidding about that being a good prize.”
His laughter filled her with warmth. “It’s not lingerie, love.”
He set the bag in her lap. “See for yourself.”
She tugged out the tissue paper that had been jammed into the top and then shuddered. “Good God, what the hell is that thing?” she asked, pulling out the creepy stuffed animal. “Does it have real teeth?”
Luc chucked. “Teeth, yes.” He flicked a finger against the plastic chompers. “But not real.”
“It’s creepy,” she said, tracing her hand over soft, fuzzy blue fur and deliberately avoiding the gaping mouth, the pot-smoker eyes, the teeth that looked too real that were sticking straight out. “And it’s wearing underwear.”
Indeed, it was. A tiny pair of white skivvies, probably the only cute thing on the creature.
“It’s a Fuggler.” Luc made it dance in the mangled cardboard box it came in, and she shuddered again. “His name is Mac, and he’s adorable.”
That was not the word she’d choose, but Luc seemed unreasonably happy about the terrifying creature, so sh
e just carefully tucked it back into the bag, making sure to cover its face with the tissue paper.
A fact which he noted, if the smirk on his face was any indication.
He just took it from her lap and carried it into the closet, tucking it into whatever dark corner it belonged, but when he came back out, his hands weren’t empty, as she’d expected.
Instead, he held a box.
A slender, navy, velvet-covered box.
“Merry Christmas,” he murmured, setting it on her lap.
“Christmas isn’t for two days.”
He shrugged. “Merry Early Christmas then.” A nudge, sliding it closer to her fingers. “Open it.”
She reached for the box, opened it, the little hinges making a soft creaking sound.
But she barely heard it over the sound of her gasp.
Inside wasn’t filled with diamonds or other precious gems. Instead, there was a simple charm bracelet, and on many of the links were bright, colorful charms—a bright purple flower, a gardening shovel, a hockey stick, a briefcase, a wave, a tub of popcorn. But many of the others were empty, and she felt her eyes sting when she met his gaze, knowing that he’d left space for the memories they would make together, the private jokes that were theirs alone, all of those perfect moments that were theirs alone.
“You like it?” he asked.
She nodded.
He put it on her wrist, and she admired the charms, running her fingers over the colorful pieces of silver, the weight of the metal comforting on her skin. “Good,” he said, “because when I look at you, I know that my heart beats only for you.”
Her breath caught. She couldn’t speak, not with her throat so full of happiness, tangling up with tears.
“When I close my eyes, I dream of you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along the inside of her wrist. “When I wake up, I am so thankful you’re next to me. When I hear you laugh, I can feel your joy inside my heart.”
This man.
He melted her from the inside out.
Luc brushed away a tear she hadn’t known had fallen.
“I love it,” she murmured, managing to push some words out. “I love you.”
His smile lit up all those formerly dark and empty places inside her, blasting them full of fire and light and joy, and she knew that she’d never go back there. Not ever again.
Once she’d been broken.
And now she was whole.
Epilogue
Luc
It was the night before the final game.
The final round of the playoffs.
Three wins to three wins against the Kings.
The winner of the next game would take the Cup.
If anyone had thought the Breakers would be in the finals with the way their season had begun, Luc would have said they were missing more than a few screws. But despite their horrendous start, they were there.
The final match would be here in Baltimore, and he should probably be inside, sitting at his laptop, searching for last-minute information about the Kings, something the team might be able to use for the game.
But . . . they’d prepared.
They’d practiced and played their asses off.
Whether they won or lost tomorrow, the team had given every bit of themselves to the pursuit of that dream.
A soft hand trailing across his shoulders. “Are you going to get any sleep tonight?”
His heart was full, and he slid a hand around Lexi’s waist, tugging her down into his lap, her stomach slightly rounded, her eyes tired but happy.
Five months along.
Their whoops.
But the best whoops of Luc’s life.
“I was catching up on my reading,” he said, holding up the book he had, in fact, been reading, although not absorbing much, considering his mind had been on the game tomorrow.
She’d added plants to his trio of trees.
He’d added a comfy outdoor couch with extra pillows and a bin of blankets within arm’s reach.
She’d continued leaving her books out here.
He’d found her a waterproof box to leave them in. Not that she remembered. If a book was left behind, it wasn’t on purpose. It was closed between two cushions, a receipt in between its pages to mark her spot, or propped open on the arm of the couch, or on the table, a leaf becoming a makeshift bookmark.
God, he loved this woman.
“I wondered where that had gone,” she said, snagging it from him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thief,” she teased.
“Pregnancy brain,” he teased back. “Or whatever the occupational equivalent of pregnancy brain is.”
“Space cadet?” she asked, nestling closer.
“Never.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, shifted her so he could wrap his arms around her and stand.
“I’m too heavy,” she protested.
“Never,” he repeated, walking through the meandering path and up the stairs onto the deck, moving into the house.
Lexi snuggled closer, yawned. “I have a good feeling about the game tomorrow.”
He moved upstairs, into the bedroom, set her on the bed, tugging off her shoes, but just as he was about to take them into the closet, he saw something sparkling out of the corner of his eye.
His jaw fell open.
Lexi’s eyes twinkled with humor . . . but that wasn’t what had caught his eye.
“You’ve been snooping again,” he murmured, prowling back toward the bed, taking her hand, running a finger over the ring she wore on her left hand.
“Somebody left this right out in the open,” she said.
His brows rose. He distinctly remembered hiding it in a certain box.
One that was sitting closed at the end of the bed.
“Really?”
She sat up, mischief reigning supreme. A foot with pink-painted toenails nudged the box toward him. “I was adding something to it.”
Brows drawing together, he nonetheless snagged the box when she pushed it closer.
Pulled off the lid.
And . . . felt his eyes burn.
Pictures of them. Not just from the months they’d been together but from their entire friendship. Silly hammy selfies. Posed pictures on their hikes. Breakers events in formal wear. Sharing a bowl of udon.
Their life.
Happy memories, two whole people filling up a box that had once been overflowing with pain.
“There’s something else in there,” she whispered, wiping the tear he hadn’t known had escaped.
His fingers brushed a velvet bag.
“Wh—?”
She closed his hand around it. “Open it,” she whispered.
He tugged the drawstring, dumped the contents into his palm, and felt his heart squeeze tight. A charm shaped like the Cup . . . and a ring.
Not sparkly.
Instead, a simple, plain band. One that he knew instinctively would fit his finger perfectly.
And it did.
But when he went to attach the charm to her bracelet, she stopped him.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered.
He tucked it back into the bag, slipped it into the box, and set it on the nightstand. Then he slid into bed next to the woman who held his heart.
“For the record,” she murmured sleepily. “I said yes.”
Luc fell asleep with a grin on his lips.
Epilogue
Oliver
They were tied.
They were exhausted.
It was double-overtime, his legs were dead, plays were getting sloppy, and the game-winning goal would probably be some garbage shot that ricocheted off a trio of players before creeping home.
But for whose side, he didn’t know.
Oliver hoped it would be for them, of course, but truly, it could go either way.
Marcel banked the puck off the boards, and Oliver could see it wasn’t going to clear the blue line, so he hauled ass to pick it up, to clear it out.
He did, managed to get it over that
line, to give his team a little breathing room, to get it deep enough to get fresh players on the ice.
But he paid the price, taking a hard slash on the wrists, pain lancing up his arms.
He nearly dropped his stick, his hands going numb for a brief moment, but he powered through it, held tight, and continued driving forward.
Even though he took another hit, this one to the back.
Not that the refs were going to call anything.
Double-overtime in the final game of the playoffs? Yeah, no. Nothing outside of the most egregious of hits was going to be called.
But, fuck, he’d appreciate it if Mark Goddamned Shelby would stop trying to pound his spine into his body. Oliver knew that he’d be black and blue tomorrow. Totally worth it, though, if he was able to hoist the Cup.
Still, he worked along the boards, gaining a few inches.
But when he glanced over his shoulder, saw Mark was winding up again, Oliver let his instincts take over.
He kicked the puck forward, dodged to the right.
Shelby missed the crosscheck and stumbled.
Oliver saw the empty lane ahead. A sudden surge of adrenaline had him bursting forward on tired legs to retrieve the puck, to pick it up on his stick and streak toward the Kings’ net.
He had space. He had opportunity.
He was going to end this.
Fifty feet from the net. Thirty. Ten.
Just him and the goalie . . . and a glimpse of an opening on the short side.
He held his breath. Fuck, maybe he even closed his eyes when he shot that puck. Maybe that was why he didn’t see it.
But whether it was a mere blink or an unconscious close of his eyelids, they snapped open at the sound.
Thunk.
Not the ping of a crossbar or post being hit, the puck deflecting out without crossing the goal line, but the solid thunk of the biscuit colliding with the wrapped metal support . . . at the back of the net.
The buzzer went.
The crowd erupted.
And in all that joy and cacophony and chaos, he didn’t see Shelby coming.
