Chapter 19
CARTER
It feels weird to leave our wedding and just…
drive home. I’m still in my suit, which isn’t a big deal, but Sarah’s in her wedding dress.
She looks too beautiful for the night to be over already, but I’m honestly relieved we don’t have to navigate a honeymoon situation.
It’s hard enough keeping her at arm’s length on a normal day.
Toss us into vacation mode, then heap on all the expectations of being a newlywed couple? I’m not sure I could do it.
Though we are, as of tonight, living together. Which can’t be much better. I’m probably doomed no matter what.
I turn up the driveway—our driveway?—and glance over at Sarah.
There aren’t words to describe how good it felt to pull her into my arms and kiss her like I’ve been dreaming of kissing her the past six weeks.
The moment we were alone before the ceremony—it delivered, and then some.
And then watching her interact with my friends, my teammates, my mom… it all felt so right.
I’ve tried to keep myself in check. It would be easy to get swept up in the moment, to let momentum and the significance of the event propel me into feeling things we haven’t truly earned.
Sarah and I haven’t had to do any of the work involved with figuring out a relationship because we don’t have a real one.
We’ve gotten to ignore the uncomfortable stuff.
Why doesn’t she talk about her dad? Why can’t she go to hockey games? Why do I need to be needed so much that I immediately swapped taking care of my brother for taking care of someone else?
It was Holly who threw that last question at me, and I’ve been ruminating on it ever since.
But then I look at Sarah and I just…want to be with her.
It’s that simple.
And that complicated. Because Sarah is already my wife.
“How has Gordie settled in?” I ask as I park the truck in front of the house. I’m sure Gordie is fine, but I’m grasping for anything that might realign my brain, get me back to a place where I can coexist with Sarah without obsessing over how much I wish we were together for real.
“He’s a dream,” Sarah says. “We’re already best friends.”
When my lease ended a week ago, I moved Gordie into the new house with Sarah and crashed on Theo’s couch until tonight.
Technically, I could have moved into the new house too—it’s not like living under the same roof will change the nature of my relationship with Sarah—but she’s been excited about surprising me with the decor, and she wanted another week to get everything perfect.
Across the truck, she takes a deep breath in, like she’s willing herself to stay calm. It’s comforting to know I’m not the only one feeling nervous, but I wish there was something I could do that might make us both feel better.
“Should we go in?” I ask.
“Yes?” she says, and I let out a little chuckle.
“Way to convince me you really want to.”
“I do,” she quickly says, “I’m just…scared. What if you hate your house? What if I’ve picked a bunch of stuff you think is ugly and you don’t tell me because you’re too nice?”
“I’m not going to hate it,” I say.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. You’ve asked me a million questions about what I do like. And most of the time, I was fine with either option, and I only picked one because you wanted me to.”
“Shut up,” she says. “Is that true?”
I shrug. “I mean, I really didn’t like the blue velvet or the cow skin rug. But otherwise…”
“Carter Williamson, I never showed you blue velvet anything.”
I look at her and grin. “My point exactly. I’m sure I’m going to love whatever you picked out.”
With the truck turned off, the temperature is quickly dropping. Spring is fully upon us in Georgia, but the nights are still cool, and in her wedding dress, Sarah’s shoulders and arms are exposed. “Come on,” I say. “You’re going to freeze if we stay out here any longer.”
When we reach the front porch, she makes me close my eyes while she opens the door, then she takes my hands, guiding me across the threshold. The touch reminds me that now that we’re home and no longer in public, I can’t touch her like I have been all night.
Those little touches—a kiss to her temple, a squeeze of her fingers, her palm grazing across my shoulder or slipping under my suit coat to hook around my waist. They were some of my favorite parts of the night.
Second only to the kiss we shared before the ceremony.
And the tiny hitch in Sarah’s voice when she said her vows. The emotion felt so incredibly real. Over and over—it all feels so real.
“Okay,” Sarah says, a slight tremble in her words. “You can open your eyes.”
We’re standing in between the main living and dining areas, and I have to blink as I take in the transformation.
The house looks…amazing. To my left, the living room is anchored by a low-profile leather sofa and a pair of matching chairs.
The gas fireplace on the back wall is lit, casting a warm glow into the room.
The only other light is a lamp, making the whole space feel cozy.
Like home. On the wall opposite the couch, there’s a collage of artwork, and I look closely, wondering if any of it is Sarah’s.
It doesn’t appear to be, though it’s all stuff I like.
Warm tones, landscapes, trees. Things that feel like they’re bringing the outdoors in.
“That big one is the TV,” she says from beside me. She picks up a remote and changes the landscape filling the TV screen. “It looks like art when it isn’t on.”
“I wouldn’t have known had you not told me,” I say. I look over at her. “Sarah, this is amazing. I can’t believe you did all this.”
She takes my hand and tugs me toward the dining room. “I really love the table Emerson found. It’s walnut and so beautiful, and even if Emerson might have sold a tiny piece of his soul to get it delivered in time, I really think it completes the space.”
“It’s incredible,” I say, and I’m suddenly struck with a vision of sitting at this table across from Sarah, eating breakfast, watching the sun filter in through the windows. It’s so easy to imagine a life with her, to see her here, filling up these spaces with her energy and her vision and her art.
She’s already turned this place into a home for me. It’s hard to imagine ever occupying the space without her in it.
I lift our entwined fingers to my lips, pressing a kiss to the side of her thumb before I even realize what I’m doing.
Our eyes meet, and the question in her gaze makes me drop her hand and push my hands into my pockets. An awkward second passes before I clear my throat. “Thank you,” I say. “I really love how everything turned out.”
“Come see your bedroom,” she says. “It might be my favorite room in the house.”
She’s killing me here—she cannot tell me my bedroom is her favorite room in the house—but I follow her anyway. She stops at the door and spins, putting a hand on my chest to stop my entrance.
“Wait right here,” she says. “I want to turn the lamps on. And close your eyes again.”
I dutifully obey, waiting while she moves into the room ahead of me.
“Okay,” she finally says. “Ready.”
I open my eyes and step into the room, immediately sensing the calming vibe she’s created.
The bed is my bed, but she’s updated the bedding and created a clean, masculine space that still has the same cozy feel as the rest of the house.
Nightstands anchor the bed on both sides, and a low bookshelf under the window has several plants on top.
I told Sarah once that I love real plants, but I’m afraid to have them because of how much I travel. But I guess now, she’ll be here to water them and keep them alive.
Gordie wanders out from the bathroom and weaves between my legs in greeting before jumping onto the bed, flopping onto his side like he owns the place.
Sarah sits down beside him and scratches under his chin, and he immediately starts to purr. But I’m staring at the art hanging on the opposite side of the bed. I’m pretty sure this is Sarah’s work.
I slowly walk across the room, stopping in front of the canvas, my heart suddenly racing.
Because it’s…me.
Or I think it’s me. You can’t see my face, but seventy-four is my jersey number, which she had to have done on purpose.
I’m in a knee slide, moving across the ice, like I’m celebrating a goal.
Around me, the ice is shifting, moving, crystallizing into swirls of navy, light blue, and white—Jaguars team colors.
Above me, the colors shift into an outline of the team logo.
I turn and look at Sarah. She’s watching me from where she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands fiddling with the folds of her dress.
“I was just messing around,” she says, her cheeks flushed with color.
“I don’t know if you really want to have a painting of yourself hanging in your room, but I was hoping it more encapsulated the spirit of your entire team.
Also, this isn’t the painting. The one I’m doing for you as a part of our deal.
I’ve got something bigger planned for that. This is just…this was just for fun.”
I walk over and offer her a hand, pulling her to her feet. “I’m going to give you a purely platonic, very friendly hug now.”
She slides her arms under my suitcoat and grips my waist, and I wrap my arms around her shoulders, leaning down to breathe her in.
“So you like it?” she asks, her cheek pressed against my chest.
“I love it,” I say. “All of it. The painting, the house. It’s all amazing.
” For a split second, I almost tell her I don’t want to pretend anymore.
That this—all of this—is exactly what I want, and I don’t want an expiration date.
We did things out of order, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still have a life together.
But then she breathes out a relieved sigh. “I’m really glad. I wanted you to love it. You’re doing such a big thing for me—you deserve to love it.”