Chapter 23 Clark
CLARK
The morning of our return to Nebraska arrives with golden sunlight streaming through the basement windows, and for the first time in ten years, I wake up knowing exactly where I stand with April Hansen.
She’s my girlfriend.
My actual, real, not-fake girlfriend. Well, we didn’t define terms exactly. But it’s basically true. I mean, I think so. I hope so.
Slightly disoriented, I lie in my bunk for a moment, listening to her breathing above me, the soft rustling as she shifts in her sleep. The dogs are starting to stir—Moose’s snoring has stopped, which means he’ll be demanding breakfast any minute.
But I take this moment just to exist in the wonder of it all.
April had a crush on me in high school and her feelings have continued into the present day. How did we not know that it was mutual? We wasted ten years being fools, but we’re not wasting any more time.
I climb out of bed quietly, not wanting to wake her yet, and head upstairs. Mom is already in the kitchen. She’s making French toast—a family favorite—and wearing a knowing smile.
I review the poignant moments from this weekend.
When I stood in this same space, my head spinning off in a dozen different directions as I thought about what my sister said, what Whitaker did, and all of the heartache we could’ve avoided.
Most of all, I worried that when April woke up, she’d want to leave and maybe never see me again.
She stayed.
And all is right in the world.
“Morning, sweetie,” Mom says, pouring me a cup of coffee. “Sleep well?”
“Better than I have in years.”
She pats my cheek. “I’d say it’s because you’ve had a few days off to relax, but I think I know the real reason. I’m so happy for you. For both of you.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I take a sip, working up the courage to ask what I need to ask. “Can I talk to you about something?”
“Always.”
I lean against the counter, choosing my words carefully. “When did you know about April and me?”
Mom laughs softly. “I’ve known since you brought her to Thanksgiving your freshman year of college. The way you looked at her—it was the same puppy dog look your father gave me until I could no longer resist.” She shakes her head fondly.
“That obvious, huh?”
“To a mother? Most certainly.” She refills her own cup.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“I share most of my opinions, but I knew this was something you needed to navigate with April, not your mom.”
I nod, understanding now.
“Though I’ll admit, the fake dating campaign threw me for a loop initially. But then I realized that boy finally has an excuse to be with the girl he loves. He’s going to fake it ‘til he makes it. If I know anything about my son, it’s that he never gives up.”
I pull her into a side hug. “Thanks for always believing in me.”
“Completely. Your father and I had a running bet on when you’d finally tell her.”
“Who won?”
“Neither of us, actually. We both thought it would take longer.” She squeezes me back. “Plus, technically, your sister spilled the jelly beans.”
The basement door opens, and April appears, wearing one of my old Knights hoodies, her curls a beautiful mess, eyes still sleepy. She spots me and smiles, and my heart does that splooting thing it always does around her.
“Good morning,” she says softly.
“Morning, beautiful.”
Mom clears her throat delicately. “I’m going to go check on the dogs in the backyard. Take your time with breakfast.”
She disappears through the back door, leaving April and me in the quiet kitchen.
“Your mom is the best,” she says, moving to pour herself coffee.
“She really is.” As she stands at the counter, I realize I can wrap my arms around her from behind. Press a kiss to her temple. Just because I can. We watch Mom and the dogs through the window.
April leans back against me with a contented sigh. “This is nice.”
“It sure is.”
We stand there for a moment, existing in our new reality. But I can feel tension in her shoulders, see the slight furrow between her brows when she helps herself to a slice of French toast.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
“Just ... everything. The real estate appointment to see the potential space. Finishing the campaign. What happens when—”
I sit down at the table with her. “One thing at a time. Remember?”
“I know. But I can’t help it. My brain—”
I finish, “Overthinks everything. Meanwhile, I’m the scatterbrain. We kind of make the perfect pair if I do say so.”
She giggles.
I draw her to standing and kiss her forehead and then drop my forehead to hers. “We’re in this together now. Whatever comes next, we figure it out.”
She nods, but I can tell she’s still worrying. Before I can press further, Mom comes back inside with all five dogs in tow, and breakfast preparations resume as the twins thunder down the stairs.
After a lazy morning with my family, it’s time to return to real life. On the charter flight back to Nebraska, April sits beside me, our hands clasped on the armrest between us. Every so often, she’ll glance at me with a small, secret smile that makes me want to kiss her senseless.
Which I do. Several times. Because I can.
“The guys are going to give us so much grief,” she says as we begin our descent into Omaha.
“Oh, just wait until we see the girls.”
“Clark Culpepper, not caring what his teammates think? Who are you?”
“A guy who just spent ten years pretending to be okay with friendship. I’m done pretending about anything.”
She squeezes my hand, her eyes shining. “I really like this version of you.”
“This is just the regular version. The version that doesn’t have to hide anymore.”
We collect the dogs—who are thrilled to be back on solid ground—and load them into my Jeep for the drive back to Cobbiton. April connects her phone to the speakers, and we sing along badly to pop songs while the dogs howl the chorus.
This is what I want. Every day. Forever.
About halfway home, April’s phone buzzes with a text. She glances at it and her whole body tenses.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She inhales a long breath. “Nothing. Just ... my parents.”
I wait, giving her space to tell me if she wants to.
“They’re asking if I’m coming to visit next month for my mom’s birthday.”
I grunt. “That’s right. She and I have the same one. Do you want to go?”
“Not particularly.” She stares out the window. “They’ll just spend the whole time asking when I’m going back to law school and getting a real job.”
My jaw tightens. I hate how they make her feel. Hate that they can’t see what everyone else sees—that April is smart and driven and that the Barkery is brilliant.
“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. But if you do, we’ll celebrate my birthday when you get back. Or I could come with you if it works with the game schedule.”
“Thank you. If I go, it’ll be awful. If I don’t, I’ll feel guilty. Either way, they’ll use it as more evidence that I’m selfish and irresponsible and—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “Sorry. This isn’t your problem.”
We stop at a light and I glance at her, slouched in the seat. “April, your problems are my problems. That’s what this means. And for the record, you’re not selfish or irresponsible. You’re the most selfless person I know.”
Her eyes get shiny, and I squeeze her hand.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“Anytime. Now, let’s play French toast.”
She smiles at our game. “Okay. French Toast makes me think of breakfast.”
“Breakfast makes me think of this morning.”
“This morning makes me think of your mom’s French toast.”
“My mom’s French toast makes me think of cinnamon.”
“Cinnamon makes me think of fall.” She sighs.
“Fall makes me think of hockey season.”
“Hockey season makes me think of playoffs.”
“Playoffs make me think of stress.” I grumble.
She chuckles. “That escalated quickly.”
“Your turn.”
April taps her chin. “Stress makes me think of deep breaths.”
“Deep breaths make me think of balance during my dryland training.”
“Balance makes me think of you and me.”
“Yeah?” I nod, thinking about it as I go past her exit and continue down the highway.
“Yeah. We balance each other. You’re spontaneous, I’m planned. You’re scattered, I’m organized. You bring adventure, I bring steadiness.”
“We make sense,” I say softly.
“We really do.”
I pull into a familiar parking lot.
Her eyebrows lift in surprise at our location. “All Ears Diner?”
“Being spontaneous makes me think of randomly stopping for French fries and milkshakes.” And here we are, full circle, because I don’t want today to end.
The diner is a classic truck stop with its chrome fixtures, red vinyl booths, and the smell of coffee and grease, but there is also a dog run because travelers passing through need a place for their animals to go—and the owners didn’t want it to be on the sidewalk out front.
It’s exactly what we both need after all the travel.
We let the dogs go wild and then load them back into the Jeep with water and treats before heading inside, and choose a table where I keep an eye on them with the windows half down. Thankfully, it’s not warm out.
The waitress brings us menus and we don’t even bother to look. “What can I get you two?” she asks.
“Fries and a peanut butter banana milkshake,” I say.
“Same, but vanilla,” April adds.
The server winks. “Coming right up, lovebirds.”
April giggles, then turns to me. “Wait. You said peanut butter.”
I rake my hand through my hair. “Yeah. Being back here, I can’t deny that I’m stressed.”
She nods, rightly assuming playoffs are coming up and I still have to resolve the situation with Whitaker even though we spoke briefly.
He and I smoothed things over, but I’m not sure where my career is headed.
Except out of town. I have a quick turnaround with a flight leaving early tomorrow morning for Oklahoma.
It’s a gimme game, but we can’t get too cocky.
Yet, the unsettling feeling pooling inside of me has me tense.
But I direct our conversation away from my problems. April and I talk about her meeting to see the commercial space for the Barkery.
April pulls out her phone and reveals the latest updates to the business plan.
She shows me a few digital images of the interior layout and adds a couple of items to the list of equipment needed.
“Walk me through it again,” I say, even though I’ve heard this pitch a dozen times. I never get tired of watching her face light up when she talks about her dream … and she’s so close to seeing it come true.
She does, explaining the bakery side with the industrial mixer and the dog-shaped cookie cutters, the training area with agility equipment, and the color scheme that’s both professional and welcoming.
“The location is perfect,” she says, her voice full of longing.
“Right between the Busy Bee and Once Upon a Romance. High foot traffic and good visibility, plus parking in the back with that big field adjacent to the area by the Barn—it would involve a bit of legwork, but maybe someday it could be Cobbiton’s very own official dog park. ”
“You’ve thought of everything.”
“I’ve had years to think about it.” She bites her lip. “Thursday feels huge. Like everything could change.”
“It will change. For the better.”
“But what if Sophia—?”
I roll my eyes. “Sophia would be crazy not to want you in that space. Plus, ultimately, I don’t think it’s strictly up to her.”
April’s chest rises and falls on a stilted breath, nervous and uncertain. Behind that, I imagine for all of the support I offer—and my family too—part of her wants her parents to back her, to believe in her. I’m afraid that’ll never happen.
I reach across the table and take both her hands. “You’ve got this and I’ve got you.”
Her smile teases her dimple from hiding. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
Our food arrives, and we dig into our fries and milkshakes. April steals some of mine even though they’re identical to hers, and I steal sips of her vanilla shake.
We’re laughing about something my cousin Bart said when I hear the telltale high-pitched squeal that signals female fans.
“No way, is that Clark Culpepper?”
I tense immediately. April notices, her smile faltering slightly.
Two women approach our table, both probably in their early twenties, wearing Knights jerseys with my number. One is filming on her phone.
“Hi, I’m actually—” I start to tell them that this isn’t an opportune time, but they interrupt.
“Can we get a picture?” one of them asks, already moving to my side of the booth.
“I’d really rather not—”
“It’ll just take a second!”
April has gone very still, very quiet. I can see her retreating into herself, becoming smaller.
“Ladies,” I say, standing up and creating distance. Most fans are respectful, but every once in a while, they can be oblivious and demanding. I gesture to April. “We’re here together.”
They both deflate slightly. “Oh. Right. I saw the Love at First Wag campaign. Didn’t realize it was, you know, still a thing.”
I want to say This is April. She’s not just my girlfriend—she’s my best friend and the most important person in my life.
But I hold back. I’m afraid to define it.
What if she wants to take things slow? Being at home felt like a dream and now that we’re dropped back into reality—with the demands of hockey and her trying to launch a business—I don’t want to scare her off. For there to be too much too soon.
“Thought it was for publicity,” the second says.
April visibly flinches.
My smile falters. “Now, if you’ll excuse us,” I say.
The women apologize and leave, and we sit back down. But the moment is like a quickly splitting sheet of ice.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Fine.” But her voice is tight.
“April—”
“It’s nothing, really. I just ... I’m not used to that kind of attention now that we’re—”
Noticing she doesn’t say it either, I let out a heavy breath. “It comes with the territory sometimes. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” She forces a smile. “It’s part of an NHL player’s life, right? I need to get used to it.”
But there’s something off in her tone that makes my chest crater because what if she decides that she prefers her quiet life?
We finish our food in near silence, and we don’t joke or laugh or play word games on the drive to her place. April stares out the window, and I can practically hear her overthinking.
When I pull up outside her apartment building, she starts gathering her things immediately.
“April, wait—”
She turns, and without hesitating, I pull her in for a kiss.