EPILOGUE
Even though I went to college in Michigan, I was never actually here during this part of the year. I’d go back to Massachusetts for summer breaks and spend my time at an indoor ice rink, practicing until I couldn’t tell if I had hypothermia or heat exhaustion.
But I like seeing summer in Michigan through Asher’s eyes. Really, I like seeing anything through his eyes.
And I can’t pretend that those eyes haven’t made me see the world in an entirely different way. I used to feel like all I could do was put one foot in front of the other and keep marching forward. It didn’t feel like life was ever supposed to be easy.
At least not for me anyway.
I gave up that idea in between my third eye surgery and taking care of a screaming infant who seemed to hate the sound of my deep voice for the first six months of her life.
It’s so crazy that my voice is what lulls her to sleep now, except for when she insists that Asher read her her bedtime stories instead.
I slide my hands through the smooth sand and grab a fistful.
I’m on a beach blanket adorned with all of the accessories needed for a six-year-old’s day out, sitting at one of the hundreds of lakes dotting the state, on the shoreline.
Asher’s dressed in a pair of swim trunks that make him look unfairly sexy, and he’s near the water’s edge, throwing a football with Lyla.
I whistle, letting them know that it’s time to reapply sunscreen.
“Five more minutes, Daddy,” Lyla yells toward me, looking at Asher to back her up.
“Let’s see if we can throw the ball sideways and move in that direction,” he tells her, taking two side-steps toward our stuff and flashing me a charming smile that still makes my stomach swoop low when it’s leveled in my direction.
And sure, he’s the sexiest man that I’ve ever laid eyes on, but he’s also so good with Lyla that it’s almost unbelievable. But I’ve had almost a year to get used to the fact that he really is just this perfect.
Perfect blue eyes. Perfect tousled hair, which is whipping around in the breeze. Perfect shoulders and ass and hips.
Perfectly in love with my daughter just as much as I am, which has made it easier than I ever expected to blend our lives together.
On top of it all, as if the list wasn’t overwhelming already–perfect at getting me to let down all of my walls and then build a fortress around both of us instead, so that I feel more protected and cared for than I ever thought possible.
With a little flappy door for Lyla to come and go as she pleases in our sappy bubble, since she’s developing an independent streak that rivals a feral neighborhood cat.
Except, of course, where Asher is concerned. Since we both think that he’s the best thing to ever walk into our lives.
Those two are thick as thieves these days, especially since we told Lyla about our relationship–officially–three months ago when the season ended. I was worried that she’d have an issue with me being in a relationship, which seems silly now.
If anything, I’m the third wheel in this family. They have a secret language. A secret handshake. Plus, Asher’s been working with her on the fundamentals of hockey, since she’s expressed an interest in playing.
I can’t say that I’m thrilled about that last one. I trust him though, and I know that he’d move heaven and earth to keep her safe.
They’re closing in on me now, and Asher throws the ball at me, which I catch easily. “Time for sunscreen,” I remind Lyla, in case she decides to hurl her body down in the sand and play ‘sand angel,’ which Asher insists is a real thing but we’re just going to have to agree to disagree on that.
She pouts until Asher says, “I’ll do Daddy’s back and he’ll do yours. Like a train.”
I swear to god this man has been secretly reading parenting books or something. But I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth because she sits down in front of me within seconds and makes an adorable, “Choo choo,” sound while pretending to be a conductor.
I give her some sunscreen so that she can practice applying it to her arms and neck while I go to work on her back.
She’s so wriggly and tickly that I forget about Asher’s proposition until I feel his strong hands massaging into my shoulders.
They’re warm from the heat that always seems to be coursing through his body, and I practically melt into his touch.
When I finish Lyla’s back, she stands up and we get her legs, shoulders, and face. Energetic is an understatement for her level of preferred activity, so I remind her, “No water until it dries. Okay?”
“I’m just gonna make a sand castle,” she says seriously, like I’m the idiot for thinking that she’d try to zoom back to the water like she did the first time that we went through this a couple of hours ago.
“Who am I to stand in the way of a princess building her kingdom,” I acquiesce, even though she’s already picking up her bag of sand toys.
Asher chuckles from behind me once she’s out of earshot. “That little girl has your number, no question.”
“I appreciate you saving your laughter for when she couldn’t hear you,” I say, even though it comes out a little throaty because he’s digging his strong fingers into my back, where I carry tension. “God, that feels amazing.”
“The least I can do for surviving three days with the Reynolds clan.”
I lean back against him, pulling his arms around my torso to rest on my knees. “Your family was incredible.”
And that’s the truth. It was a hard couple of days at certain points, given that we came back to Michigan for the one-year-anniversary of Olivia’s death.
Asher and I debated whether or not Lyla should come along, but ultimately, we decided that hiding the hard parts of life is only going to make them more difficult to understand or process later.
So, she did get a sanitized version of why we’re in town, but she knew that we were here to celebrate Asher’s sister, who’s no longer with us.
When she found that out, she went over to him and crawled in his lap, wrapping her little arms around his broad shoulders and giving him a hug that rivaled any that I’ve ever gotten from her.
So we think, on some level, she does understand the permanence of death, even though it breaks my heart to have to teach her these things about the world.
“You’re thinking about how Jason taught her to make fart noises with her arm, aren’t you,” Asher says in my ear, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
I laugh and lift my hand up so that I can scratch his beard. “I don’t think that she’s ever gotten so much unadulterated attention from so many people before.”
When we told her that we’d be leaving Asher’s parents’ house to drive an hour away to spend a couple of days at the lake before heading back home, I thought she was going to instigate World War 3.
He runs his hands up my shins, little grains of sand getting stuck on my legs.
I can’t believe it doesn’t bother me, but if it’s a choice between a little sand and Asher’s touch, it makes the decision a no brainer.
Especially when he says, “They love her, but then again, it’s easy to. Just like her dad.”
“So…” We have at least a few minutes alone until Lyla cajoles us both into the water, and I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t check in one last time. “Still no doubts?”
Asher laughs and nuzzles his face against my cheek. “Not the first time we talked about it and not the tenth. I practically live at your place anyway.”
When we get home, both of our year-long leases, which usually turn over in August given the proximity to the school, are ending.
I’d asked him a few months ago what he was planning.
Now that he’s graduated, his housing is no longer covered by scholarship.
I know that it’s not the Ritz, but there’s no way that he’d be able to afford to live there without it.
“Okay,” I agree, trying to accept that this is really happening.
I’m excited as hell for him to live with us full-time, even though I still find myself trying to temper my expectations.
But Asher’s swiftly pushed through every worry that I can come up with–and trust me, I have a lot of them–with his patience and love and dedication to showing up for me and Lyla.
“I’m more nervous about my first day of work,” he admits, his hands stilling on my knees.
I turn a little bit so that I can look at his bright eyes. “You’re going to be great.”
“What if they don’t like me?” he says, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
“Asher, you’re a really gifted coach. You’re so patient and thoughtful with them. The biggest problem is that they’re all going to be secretly–or not so secretly–in love with you.”
One of the assistant coaches for the Radford women’s hockey team is going out on maternity leave for the season.
And yeah, when I found out, maybe I did float the idea to the women’s head coach that Asher could be a great temporary fit.
I’m not above talking up my boyfriend because everything that I said about him was true.
“They’re not going to be in love with me,” he finally says, and I have to laugh at the genuine confusion in his voice.
He did a couple of workouts with the team at the end of last season, and the coach felt like it would be a good fit, too. Except that I caught one of them, and I saw how those girls were looking at him.
Little do they know that he’s off the market, and I plan on keeping it that way.
So even though it’s only temporary, he’ll get some coaching experience under his belt, and then we can take things as they come. Even if I don’t see any luxurious vacations or buying mansions in our near-term future, we’ll have everything that we need.
I didn’t know that life could be so simple.
The love of a good man. A partner to tackle life’s challenges with.
A job that makes me excited to get up and go to work everyday–provided none of the guys have done something dangerous and idiotic since the last time that I saw them.
A daughter who is scarily good at trying to triangulate between Asher and I to get whatever she wants.
I smile and pull his arms around me, so that I’m fully enveloped by him. “I have heard that you’re quite the beefcake, baby,” I tell him, laughing when he lets out a grumbling sound.
He leans forward and ghosts his lips across my ear. “I only care if you’re the one saying it.”
Little shocks pulse through my body, which happens whenever he drops his voice to that octave. It’s his bedroom voice, where he’s in control and I’m happy to be taken for the ride of my life.
“Babe,” I warn, looking around to the busy beach, even though no one is paying attention to us.
“I’m sure that Lyla will miss her grandparents by the time we get home. A sleepover is probably in order,” he says, nipping my earlobe.
“She does love them,” I agree, already thinking about the night that we could have. As long as we both don’t fall asleep on the sofa from the sheer exhaustion that comes with wrangling an almost first grader.
I know that we crossed a few lines to get here, but in spite of the fact that I was never supposed to fall in love with him, I’ll never regret that I did.
I lean my head back against his chest, nestled in the space where his neck and his shoulder come together. It’s exactly where I’m meant to be.