27. Evan
Chapter 27
Evan
M y family is still watching from the kitchen. Bunch of nosy jackals...
"I’m guessing each of you immensely enjoyed watching me get emotionally manipulated by a home video? One that each of you had a hand in."
"Technically, it was a multimedia presentation," Sophie interjects.
"Oh, well in that case..."
"With color-coded images."
"Of course."
"And a very professional soundtrack."
"Sophie."
"What?" She grins. "Just being thorough. You know, like when I used to document your saves with different colored pens…"
I kiss her again, mostly to shut her up. Mostly.
"Get a room!" Ryland calls from the kitchen.
"This was a room until you all started spying," I call back.
"It's my house," Julia points out. "I can spy if I want to. And I absolutely want to."
"Besides," Natalia pipes up, "we helped make the video!"
Sophie laughs against my chest. "They have a point."
"They usually do." I look down at her. "You really did all this? For me?"
"No." She meets my eyes steadily. "For us."
The word hits differently now. Not scary, just...
Real.
"Dad?" Natalia appears at my elbow. "Does this mean Sophie's coming back? For real?"
I look at Sophie, who's watching me with those warm brown eyes that see too much. That see me like no one else has.
"What do you think?" I ask her. "Want to come back? For real?"
"I don't know..." She pretends to consider. "The Ice Man can be pretty grumpy..."
"Hey!"
"And he's a horrible golf instructor..."
"That's just…"
"And he makes really questionable coffee choices..."
"Says the woman who puts vanilla in perfectly good…"
She kisses me mid-sentence.
"Yes," she says softly. "I want to come back. For real."
"Good," Julia announces excitedly. "Because we have some things to discuss."
"We do?" I keep my arm around Sophie, not ready to let go.
"Yes. Like how you're going to make up for being an idiot these past weeks."
"I wasn't…"
"You kind of were," Ryland cuts in. "I mean, you practically bit my head off multiple times at practice."
"One time!"
"I beg to differ. Either way, it still counts. You were a mess."
"Can we focus?" Julia pulls out what appears to be a list. "First item: Sunday dinners are mandatory again."
Sophie grins ear to ear. "Absolutely."
"Yes. Mom's been stress-cooking enough for an army because she hated that you were apart."
Julia consults her list. "Which brings us to item two: no more pushing people away because you're scared."
I shake my head. "I wasn't scared…"
"Please." She fixes me with a look. "You were terrified. Still are, probably."
I glance at Sophie, who's watching me with that patient expression that somehow makes me want to be honest.
"Maybe a little," I admit.
"Progress!" Cynthia calls from the kitchen. "He admits he has feelings!"
"Don't push it," I growl, but there's no real heat in it.
Because how can there be when Sophie's looking at me like that? When my daughter is practically vibrating with happiness? When my family is collectively deciding my emotional well-being is their business?
"Item three," Julia continues. "The feature."
Sophie tenses slightly against me.
"What about it?" I ask carefully.
"Well, there are two versions sitting on Lexi's desk." Julia looks meaningfully at Sophie. "One that reads like every other sports article ever written..."
"The professional one," Sophie murmurs.
"And one that actually matters." Julia pulls out her phone. "Want to hear my favorite part?"
"Jules…"
But she's already reading. "'Some say Evan Daniels is made of ice. They don't see how much warmth he holds inside. How carefully he guards it. How much courage it takes to let anyone close enough to feel it...'"
"That's enough," I say roughly.
"Is it?" She looks between us. "Because I think you need to hear this. Need to understand what you've been fighting so hard against."
"I know what I've been fighting against."
"Do you?" Sophie turns to face me fully. "Because from where I'm standing, you've been fighting yourself. Fighting the possibility that someone might actually choose you. Might actually want to stay."
"Sophie…"
"No, let me finish." She takes a deep breath. "That article? The real one? It's not just about hockey. It's about family. About love." She smiles slightly.
I pull her closer, kissing her again.
"Gross," Ryland stage-whispers. "They're being cute."
"Hush, Ryland," Natalia tells him. "It's romantic."
"It's something," I mutter.
"It's everything," Sophie corrects softly. "If you let it be."
And maybe that's the key, isn't it?
Letting it be. Letting her in. Letting myself have this.
"About that article," I say carefully.
"Which version?"
"You know which one." I meet her eyes. "The real one."
"What about it?"
"Submit it."
She blinks. "What?"
"Submit it. The real version. The one with all the..." I wave vaguely, "feelings and stuff."
"Feelings and stuff?" Julia repeats incredulously. "Very eloquent, little brother."
"Shut up." But I keep my eyes on Sophie. "I mean it. Submit the version that matters."
"Are you sure?" She studies my face. "Because once it's out there..."
"Once it's out there, everyone will know exactly who you are." I brush her hair back. "The woman who saw past the ice. Who made me want to feel again."
"Oh my God," Ryland groans. "Now who's being romantic?"
"Still gross," Cynthia adds.
But Sophie just looks at me with those eyes that see too much.
"You really mean it?" she whispers.
"Yeah." I rest my forehead against hers. "I really do."
Because here's the thing about walls: sometimes they keep the wrong things out. Sometimes they need to come down. Sometimes...sometimes, you need to let the warmth in.
Even if it means risking everything. Even if it means letting people see you. Really see you. The way Sophie always has.
"I love you," she says softly. "Ice and all."
And for the first time, those words don't feel scary. They feel like coming home.
"I love you too." The words come easier than I expected. "Even if you put vanilla in perfectly good coffee."
She laughs against my lips. "Even if I’m terrible at golf?"
"Even then."
"Even if…"
I kiss her again, ignoring the chorus of "awws" from our audience. Because some things are worth an audience. Worth the risk. Worth everything. Especially if they make you brave enough to feel again.
“Kiss her again!” Natalia chants and several people groan.
And I laugh.
Because maybe this is what happiness feels like.
Maybe this is what love feels like.
Maybe this is what it feels like to let yourself have something good. Something real. Something warm. Something and someone worth holding on to.