Chapter 30 #2
“Bossy.” Her words slur together, but then she giggles, pressing her fingers into the back of my hand where it rests on her stomach. “Feels nice though. Like I’m safe.”
I close my eyes, the air leaving me in one hard rush, my heart hammering against her spine. I don’t think, just kiss the crown of her head before I can stop myself.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “You’re always safe with me, Lu.”
Her breathing evens out, little hums slipping between exhales, and I lie there long after she’s gone under, holding her, drowning in the feel of her in my bed.
Because this, her, so quiet and soft and curled against me, feels better than any kiss, any fuck, any game we’ve played so far.
Hockey has taught me that nothing lasts—not leads, not seasons, not wins. But Tallulah Parnell? I’d stake forever on her.
***
The light wakes me first, sharp across the sheets, catching on the glitter on her skin that she didn’t wash off last night. Dusty’s curled at her feet like a guard, tail flicking, even in sleep.
And Lulu. Christ.
She’s sprawled across my chest, my T-shirt hanging off one shoulder, hair a snarl of curls.
Her breath fans warm over my sternum, lips parted on the softest little snore.
We’ve never really done this much. Never stayed over more than once or twice, not since we nearly got caught.
But she’s here, in my bed. And it feels so fucking right, I almost don’t move, afraid it’ll break.
She stirs eventually, blinking herself awake, groaning as she pushes hair out of her face. “I feel like death,” she croaks.
“Look like it, too,” I mutter, brushing glitter off her cheek before I can stop myself.
She smacks me weakly, then grins. “Careful, husband. You’ll scare off your bride.”
“Don’t.” It comes out harsher than I mean it, but her giggle softens the sting. I reach across to the nightstand and hand her the Advil and water I placed there last night. “Here.”
“You’re a saint, Pookie.”
“Don’t call me that.”
She hums in reply, leaning over to press a kiss to my jaw, and I fight the urge to pull her in, kiss her deeper.
We stumble to the kitchen together, her bare legs peeking under my shirt, with Dusty padding after us. She digs out her matcha while I brew coffee, both of us leaning heavily against opposite counters like survivors of the same wreck.
Once hers is ready, she curls onto a stool, sipping slowly, a smirk tugging at her mouth. “You’re supposed to make me breakfast, you know. It’s in the vows.”
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes across the counter. Eli.
I swipe to answer, already bracing. “Yeah?”
“Millerrrr.” His groan rattles down the line. “Tamara keeps saying there were… dares? And I swear I remember you dipping Lulu like a ballroom dancer, but that can’t be right. She’s messing with me, right?”
“Dares got outta hand, that’s all.”
He huffs. “Knew it. Fucking knew it. Just drunk shit, not real?”
Tell that to the plastic ring burning a hole in my pocket because I want to wife your sister up properly.
It would be so fucking easy to just say it. To tell him the truth, admit we’re together, that last night wasn’t a joke for me. But that would blow everything up. Eli, the team, and his relationship with Lulu.
“Not real,” I say flatly, pacing toward the sink.
Eli wheezes like I’ve saved his life. “Thank God. Fuck, my head hurts. Did I eat nachos?”
Yeah. Probably off the floor. “No clue.”
He groans again, muffled this time, as if Tamara’s shoving the phone away. “Alright, good talk. You’re a solid dude, Miller. Made sure Lulu got home safe, right?”
Safe in my arms all night. Safer than I’ve ever kept anyone.
“Yeah,” I say instead, cool and calm. “I made sure.”
"Knew I could trust you," he murmurs. "Thanks, bud. " Then he hangs up.
When I turn back, Lulu’s still watching me over her mug, matcha steam curling between us. She sets it down, fidgeting with the handle. “We can’t keep doing this forever, you know. Sneaking around.”
My chest tightens. “I know.”
Her shoulders square, bracing herself. “I want to tell him. Eli. He’ll lose his mind, but… he’ll get over it eventually. And I’m sick of pretending I’m not with you when I am. Proudly and completely.”
The words hit me low and sharp and warm all at once. Proudly. Completely. Fuck, I want to haul her in and crush my mouth to hers, just so she knows I feel the same.
She hesitates, then shyly continues. “And… Christmas is coming up.” She toys with the mug handle, eyes darting to mine. “I’d really like you there with me. That is, if you don’t already have plans.”
I huff a laugh, though it feels rough in my throat. “Plans? Not really. My parents never made a big deal of holidays—they mostly told me to train, stay focused on the season. If I did anything, it was maybe an occasional dinner with extended family.”
Her face softens in a way that cracks me wide open. She slides off the stool, coming around the counter until she’s in front of me. Her hands find my hoodie, tugging lightly, and my chest aches when she whispers, “Then this year, be with me.”
I want to say yes. God, I want to say yes so bad it hurts. And I do, in a way. I lean down, press my forehead to hers, and whisper back, “Yeah. Yeah, I want that…”
She exhales, shaky with relief, and my hands settle on her hips, anchoring her there. Then the ache in my chest sharpens, and I force a slow breath, tipping her chin up with my finger so she can’t look away. “You have no idea how much I want that, Lu… But we’re not telling him yet.”
Her brows knit. “Logan—”
“Listen to me.” My thumb strokes her jaw, my voice sure even though my pulse is racing.
“Your school production is in two weeks. You’re already carrying the weight of that on your back.
If we tell him now, it’ll blow up and add pressure you don’t need.
I’m not letting that happen. We wait until after. Then we tell him together.”
She hesitates, searching my face like she’s trying to gauge if I mean it. I do. More than anything. Finally, she nods, breath catching.
“Okay. After.”
Relief punches through me. I tilt her chin and kiss her slow, lingering like I can press every promise I can’t say yet straight into her mouth. “I’ll wait as long as you need, Lu. But I’m not letting go.”
Her arms slip around my waist, cheek pressing to my chest. “Good. Because I don’t want you to.”
And standing there with her in my shirt, her matcha still steaming on the counter behind us, it hits me all over again—Christmas, Eli, the whole damn world.
I love her.
And the only thing scarier than knowing it is knowing I’ll never want to stop.