Chapter 24
THEO
I don’t last fifteen minutes before I quit trying to sleep and reach for my phone. There’s no way I can actually relax. Not with the taste of Becca still on my lips. The ghost of her touch making my skin hot with awareness.
It’s been less than thirty minutes since I said goodnight.
Is it too soon to text her?
Probably. But I decide to do it anyway. It’s only half-composed when my phone buzzes with an incoming message.
Becca
Hi.
I grin as I delete my first attempt and key out a much simpler response.
Theo
Hi.
Becca
I can’t sleep.
Theo
Me neither.
Becca
I can’t stop thinking about how close you are. Just … right across the hall.
Theo
Same.
Becca
Want to hang out?
Theo
Yes. Yes I do.
Becca
Come over? Only to hang out, though. No funny business.
Theo
Funny business?
Becca
You know what I mean.
Theo
Do I?
Becca
THEO.
Theo
I’ve been waiting for eight years, Bec. I’m not expecting sex on our first night back together.
Becca
It’s a good thing. Because I think your mom’s room is right below mine, and this is what my bed sounds like…
Across the hall, Becca’s bed starts loudly creaking, and I burst out laughing.
Instead of responding, I stand and carry my phone across the hall, knocking once before nudging her door open.
“That bed is criminal,” I whisper. The moonlight streaming in through the window is just enough to illuminate the outline of Becca sitting at the head of her bed.
“Isn’t it?” she says as she scooches over. “I think it’s as old as the rest of the house. It’s surprisingly comfortable though. As long as you don’t roll over.”
I sit down beside her, leaning back against the headboard and stretching my feet out in front of me. She curls into my side, and I drape an arm over her shoulders as she tugs the covers up and over us both.
“Want to know something ridiculous?” she says.
“Of course.”
“I missed you,” she says softly. “We were apart, what, half an hour? And I could barely stand the thought of you being close enough to touch and … not touching you.”
Warmth spreads behind my ribs. It’s too good to be true. Her words, her presence, all of her. I can hardly wrap my head around it.
“It’s not ridiculous at all,” I say. “I was already on my phone when you texted me, trying to decide if texting you would look too desperate.”
“So desperate,” she says, and I hear the smile in her voice.
I lean down and press a kiss to the side of her head. “Does that count as funny business?”
She picks up her head and lifts her hand to my cheek, guiding my lips to hers. “Mmm,” she murmurs against my mouth. “I vote no. Kissing isn’t funny at all.”
I let myself lean into the kiss. She’s right—there’s nothing funny about it. But kissing her also wakes up every nerve ending in my body, sparking the kind of heat we already decided we don’t need tonight.
Becca must sense the same thing because she tightens her grip on my t-shirt before pulling back and dropping her head on my chest with a sigh. “Okay, that’s probably not a good idea,” she says.
“For my mother’s sake,” I joke, and she giggles, then nestles in a little deeper.
She moves her hand to mine, turning my palm so she can run her fingers over my scar. She’s quiet for a beat before she asks, “Was it scary? The night you cut your hand?”
I close my eyes, memories of that night flooding my senses.
“Terrifying,” I say simply, and she tucks my fingers into hers, giving them a squeeze.
“Some parts are still a little fuzzy. I remember being up against the boards, fighting for the puck, then Kiminsky hit me from the side, and we started scuffling, enough that I lost my glove. Then he went down, and I went down, and I guess that’s when Isakov’s skate got me.
I don’t remember that part though. I don’t know if I passed out or if my brain just blocked whatever happened next, but the next thing I remember is waking up in the ambulance. ”
“That had to be so scary,” she says, her voice soft.
“All I could think about was the night I lost my dad. I just kept thinking I wasn’t ready to lose someone else.
Which doesn’t make sense when I think about it now.
I was the one who was injured. I wasn’t losing anyone.
But … the whole ride to the hospital, I felt this weight on my chest that was just like that night. The same kind of fear.”
“I think memories can do that.” Becca picks up her chin and props it on my chest. “Did an ambulance take you to the hospital the night your dad died?”
“Yeah. I was fine. Just a little bruised up, but they wanted to be sure.”
“And you didn’t know, right? That your dad was gone?”
“Not until I was at the hospital.”
“Then it makes sense that’s where your brain went,” she says, and I nod.
“Yeah, I guess it does.”
Quiet settles between us, and I let my eyes close, my breathing slowly settling.
In any other circumstance, talking about that night—either night—would leave me anxious, even irritable.
But it’s different with Becca. She anchors me like no one else does—not even Carter, which is a hard thing to admit.
My brother has been my rock, my best friend, the person I rely on most for my entire life.
I wouldn’t trade that relationship for anything.
But Becca stirs something in me that’s so much bigger.
Carter shares my blood—his presence as certain as the last name printed across both our jerseys.
But she’s here because she wants to be. She’s choosing me.
And there’s power in that. Feeling chosen.
Like maybe she believes I can take care of her the way I’ve always needed people to take care of me.
We talk all night long. Until the sky has turned a hazy, muted blue and the birds are chirping outside the window.
Becca tells me the story of how she met Mia.
I tell her about Holly and his late wife Claire and how the team still pitches in to help with his daughter, Charlie.
We talk about our favorite movies and our favorite shows and the Mumford & Sons album we’ve both been listening to on repeat.
We talk about our mothers’ newfound friendship and how happy it makes us both.
She tells me about her dad’s recent dedication to a surprisingly cutthroat cornhole league, including the leather pouch he uses to store his custom, competition-certified bean bags.
She pulls out her phone and shows me pictures of Alyssa with her new college boyfriend and Gigi holding up a bowl she made in the pottery class she’s taking this summer.
Slowly, we chip away at the time we were apart, filling in the gaps, the memories, the moments we missed. There isn’t enough time, but it’s a start. Which is what this whole night feels like. Like I’m right in the middle of beginning the rest of my life.
Hours later, I wake up, late morning sun streaming in through the window. Becca’s gone, but there’s a text from her waiting on my phone.
Becca
Went to the beach for a swim. Moms have gone antiquing. Come find me!
Ten minutes later, I walk across the sand to find Becca lounging under a beach umbrella on her stomach, book open in front of her. Her wet hair is piled on top of her head, and one of her knees is bent, her foot bouncing lazily in the humid air.
I pause when I’m ten or fifteen feet away and just look at her. I don’t know a lot about love. Whether it can happen at first sight or if there’s such a thing as soulmates. I just know that when she kissed me last night, some part of me that’s been broken for years suddenly felt whole again.
She’s the embodiment of everything I’ve ever wanted, and not just because she’s beautiful. It’s also because she’s funny and smart and compassionate. She’s confident and careful and organized and thoughtful. She’s everything.
The realization sparks a nagging fear in the pit of my stomach.
I really don’t want to mess this up.
“So … are you just going to stand there and stare?”
My eyes snap to Becca’s face. She’s on her side now, propped up on her elbow.
My neck heats like I’ve been caught, like she somehow knows I’m standing here thinking about the rest of forever.
I smile and close the distance between us, laying out a towel before dropping onto the sand beside her.
“Hi,” she says, lifting her sunglasses. She has more freckles today than she did yesterday. She always did get more freckly in the summertime.
“Hey.” I lean over and press a kiss to her lips all chill and easy, like it isn’t a monumental thing to greet her like this.
She fights a smile as I lean back, a slight blush climbing her cheeks. “Sleep well?” she asks.
“Best I’ve slept in years,” I say.
“It was the squeaky mattress, wasn’t it?”
“Definitely not the mattress,” I say with a grin. “How was your swim?”
“I saw more dolphins,” she says, stifling a yawn. “Now I think I need a nap.”
“Take one,” I say. “It’s not really a vacation if you don’t nap on the beach.”
She pulls her sunglasses back down to cover her eyes and stretches out on her back. “So true. I don’t want to go back on Sunday.”
“Don’t think about it yet,” I say. “You can’t start dreading real life until at least Friday afternoon.”
She chuckles. “Deal.”
Silence stretches for a long moment, and I’d put money on Becca thinking about the same thing that I am.
What will happen when we go back?
She’s in Atlanta for another month or so, but what happens after that?
She has a lot more flexibility with her job than I do with mine, so a part of me wants to ask her to stay.
She could even move in with me if she’s worried about the cost of housing.
But I don’t want to put this all on her.
She has a plan, and I know her well enough to trust she won’t want to abandon it, not unless she can find a different route to accomplish the same goal.
Still, I’ve seen how hard the guys on my team have to work to keep their relationships healthy during the season. All the traveling we do doesn’t make it easy. I can’t imagine trying to do the same thing with Becca living in a different city.
Becca reaches over and picks up my hand, pulling it to her lips. She kisses the side of my thumb. “We’ll figure something out,” she says, her voice soft.
I give her a questioning look. “You over there reading my thoughts?”
Her lips lift. “Your thinking is very loud.”
I sigh and lean onto my side, my elbow propped under me. “I just can’t stand the thought of not seeing you every day.”
She chuckles. “You gonna quit your job, then?”
I purse my lips like I’m really considering. “What if I just hide you in my suitcase? Take you on the road with me?”
“Those hockey bags are really big. But I don’t think I could stomach riding in the cargo hold, even on a fancy chartered flight.”
I like that we’re joking about this—that we’re willing to admit we’d rather be together than apart. But joking won’t solve the problem. I just have to hope Becca decides to stay.
Beside me, she lifts an arm, draping it over her eyes like she’s shielding them from the sun. I let my eyes travel down the length of her, taking in her soft skin, her subtle curves, her polished toenails painted a soft pink. She’s perfect. Every inch of her is perfect.
She picks up her foot and uses it to kick a little sand in my direction. “Are you checking me out?”
I grin as I shift my gaze back to her face. “Unapologetically,” I say, then I lean over and kiss her. “But now I’ll let you nap. I’m going to swim for a bit.”
She nods. “Okay.” I stand and brush the sand off my hands, then tug my t-shirt over my head and toss it onto my towel. I’m only a few steps away when Becca calls me back.
“Theo?” she says, and I turn to face her. She’s propped up on both elbows, looking at me. “I’m really happy.”
She has no freaking idea. “Yeah. Me too.”