32. Jamie and Annette
Chapter thirty-two
Jamie and Annette
Risking a Return
Annette
It’s been a very long drive, and every mile brings back another memory.
By the time I turn onto his driveway, I know one thing with absolute certainty.
I'm not driving toward a patient, I'm driving toward the man I love.
Fifteen minutes later, I turn onto Jamie's road.
My heart immediately forgets everything it learned about staying calm.
By the time his cabin appears through the trees, both of my hands are gripping the steering wheel.
Eight weeks ago, I left because I thought loving Jamie meant making his choice for him.
Today, I'm finally giving it back.
I pull into the driveway.
For several seconds, I sit there staring at his front door.
Then I whisper the only thing left to say.
“Go.”
I get out of the car.
***
JAMIE
The knock at the door surprises me.
I glance toward the clock.
Almost five.
Caleb wouldn't stop by without calling first. Liam never knocks. He simply walks in and announces that civilization is collapsing because someone bought decaffeinated coffee.
For a moment I assume it's one of the neighbors.
Then I open the door.
Annette is standing on the porch. Neither of us speaks. For several seconds I simply stare at her, convinced I've imagined the entire thing.
Those same loose strands of hair have escaped her ponytail, and her eyes are unmistakably red. She’s been crying.
My heart sinks. "Annette..."
She gives me a small, uncertain smile. "I listened."
Everything inside me stills. "The voicemail."
She repeats: "I listened to every word…many times, Jamie, many times."
***
For one impossible moment, neither of us seems to know what happens next.
I take a step onto the porch.
"I wasn't trying to pressure you."
"I know."
"I just couldn't let you believe…"
She closes the distance between us before I can finish.
Not quickly.
Not dramatically.
Simply one careful step at a time until she's standing close enough that I can see the tears gathering in her eyes again.
"You should have told me."
"I know."
"You should have told me months ago."
"I know."
She shakes her head, smiling through tears.
"I spent weeks convincing myself I was protecting you."
"I know."
"And all that time..." Her voice catches. "...I was breaking both our hearts. I am so very sorry I left like I did. So very sorry."
The words hit harder than I expect. I reach for her hand. She lets me. Her fingers curl around mine as though they've been waiting to do exactly that.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly.
She looks up. "For what?"
"For making you figure it out by yourself."
A tear slips down her cheek.
"No."
She gives her head a tiny shake. "I'm the one who kept stepping backward every time you stepped closer."
"You thought you were helping."
"I thought loving you meant letting you go."
My chest tightens. "It doesn't, Annette."
"I know that now."
The evening breeze stirs gently around us. Somewhere across the lake, a loon calls its familiar cry.
Everything else fades into the background.
Annette lifts her free hand and rests it lightly against my cheek.
"You really fell in love with me over terrible coffee?"
"It wasn't the coffee."
"No?"
"It was the woman who somehow made terrible coffee taste worth drinking."
She smiles in that wonderfully unguarded way I've missed for weeks.
"I can't believe that line actually worked."
"I can't believe I finally said it."
Neither of us moves, we simply stand there looking at one another.
It feels strangely familiar.
Like all the conversations we've had after therapy when neither of us was quite ready to say goodbye.
Only this time...there isn't a goodbye waiting for us.
Annette draws a slow breath.
"I love you."
The words are almost whispered. Almost. But they reach me with perfect clarity. And she repeats, "I think I've loved you for a long time."
For a heartbeat I can't answer.
Not because I don't know what to say, but because hearing the words somehow means more than I imagined they would.
I rest my forehead gently against hers.
"I love you too."
The sentence settles between us with quiet certainty. No fear. No uncertainty. Just truth.
Annette smiles.
"So..."
"So?"
"Are we finally finished pretending this is just rehabilitation?"
I laugh. "I think that ship sailed somewhere around the peony conversation."
"I was wondering."
"So was I."
She shakes her head.
"We're hopeless."
"No." I gently brush a tear from her cheek. "I think we're finally honest."
***
Her eyes search mine for another long moment before she slowly rises onto her toes.
When her lips meet mine, the world seems to grow wonderfully quiet.
There is no desperation.
No frantic attempt to make up for lost time.
Only the quiet certainty of two hearts finally arriving exactly where they're meant to be.
The kiss is gentle.
Unhurried.
Filled with every smile we've shared, every stubborn argument, every encouraging word whispered through long rehabilitation sessions. It carries the memory of hospital hallways, lakeside walks, and the afternoon she patiently buttoned my shirt when I couldn't manage it myself.
It carries all of us.
When we finally part, neither of us moves very far.
Her forehead rests lightly against mine, and I feel her smiling before I see it.
"I've been waiting for that," she whispers.
"So have I."
Our eyes meet again.
No more uncertainty.
No more wondering.
Just us.
I brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingertips linger against her cheek.
"Welcome home," I murmur.
Her eyes glisten.
"I think I've been home longer than I realized."
The words settle quietly between us, filling every corner of my heart.
I cradle her face in both hands, marveling that this remarkable woman somehow chose me, then lean down once more.
This kiss is different.
Longer, more tender and filled with promise.
For a few precious moments when I draw her close, nothing else exists.
Not hockey.
Not injuries.
Not tomorrow.
Only the steady rhythm of our hearts, finally keeping time together.
For the first time since my injury, I don't feel like I'm standing at the beginning of recovery.
I feel like I'm standing at the beginning of the rest of my life.
***
I look at her for another moment as an idea begins to form.
“There's something I want to show you.”
She tilts her head. “What?”
“Actually...” I pull out my phone. “A few things. But first I need to make a call.”
Her eyes narrow. “Jamie...”
I grin. “Trust me.”
“Those words have gotten me into trouble before.”
“This time they'll get you somewhere good.”
After I hang up, instead of answering, I reach for her hand again. "Come with me."
She slips her fingers into mine without hesitation. "I thought you'd never ask."
Together, we step off the porch and walk toward my truck.
Annette keeps one hand resting lightly in mine across the center console. Every so often, she glances out the window before looking back at me with a smile that still catches me off guard.
"What?" I finally ask.
She shakes her head. "I just realized something."
"Should I be worried?"
"Probably not."
"That's not especially reassuring."
She laughs. "I've spent months wondering what was going on inside your head."
"And now?"
"Now I know."
I smile. "I think you always knew."
"I knew pieces." She turns slightly in her seat. "I didn't know you were carrying all of that by yourself."
"I wasn't trying to."
She gives my hand a gentle squeeze. "You don't have to anymore."
The words settle quietly between us. I don't answer. I simply turn my hand over and lace my fingers through hers.
It feels astonishingly natural.