Breakaway

28. Pope

Chapter 28

Pope

My parents come with me to the arena for my meeting with Coach O’Connel, Assistant Coach Jeffries, Hayden, and the team doc meeting me there while Coach Mattheson joins via video. It’s the first time my parents will hear the details of training camp. The first time anyone but Hayden will.

I throw up twice—once at Hayden’s apartment and again in the bathroom of the locker room.

Hayden gave me the advice this morning to write it all down since I’d be so nervous. My hands shake as I hold the paper in front of me and wait for Coach Mattheson to join. All eyes are on me. The worst part though is that Hayden is in the chair beside mine, yet I can’t reach for him for comfort. All I get is his shoe pressed against the side of my own.

Coach Mattheson looks completely unimpressed when he joins the video meeting, his face large on the projector screen to show every inch of his annoyed expression. “It’s the day after Thanksgiving and a game day. Can’t this wait?”

My stomach dips, but Hayden nudges my shoe as he speaks up. “It can’t, sir. It’s waited long enough.”

Coach Mattheson gives Hayden a look that would shut up anyone less stubborn than the man I love. Hayden just lifts his chin in defiance, eyes narrowed.

“Ethan would like to talk about training camp,” Coach O’Connel says, interrupting the stare down.

That gets Coach Mattheson’s attention. He sits up, one eyebrow raised. “That so?”

I cringe when the paper crinkles between my hands. They’re shaking too hard. I drop it, deciding it’d be better to let it rest on the table while I read.

“Well?” Coach Mattheson asks.

I try to remind myself he’s not a dick. He’s just pissed at me. He wants me to earn his respect back—he gave it for free the first time, he said, and this time it won’t be so easy. I get that.

It still stings.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry, again,” I begin, this part not on the paper. I force myself to look at him, then at everyone in the room. “What happened in August was mostly out of my control, but there were ways I could have handled it, different ways, that would have made things easier for all of you. I’m sorry I took the selfish route and behaved the way I did.”

Both Hayden and my dad sit up, not agreeing, but I wave them off and begin reading. “When I was a little boy, I promised myself—”

I don’t know how long it takes me to read. There are a lot of times I have to stop to clear my throat or to remember to breathe. At one point, a tear falls down my cheek, but I wipe it quickly and continue. No one asks me to pause. No one interrupts with questions.

When it’s finally over, I carefully fold the paper up with my trembling hands, unable to look at any of them.

Someone clears their throat. It’s not Hayden to my right or my dad to my left, but that’s all I know.

“First and foremost, I appreciate you confiding in me—in us—Ethan.” I snap my gaze up to the projector, finding Coach Mattheson leaning forward with his arms on the desk, his face close to the camera. His eyes are kind, but sad. “I understand why you made the choices you made. All I can hope for is that moving forward, you trust us to help you. We’re a family—the Devils, the Storm, all of us. I’m sure you’ve started to learn that already under Coach O’Connel. I’d like to hope that the family feeling is what helped you finally come forward, but whatever it was, I’m thankful you did before it was too late.”

I swallow hard. “Thank you, sir.”

“What needs to happen next is the addressing of your health. Doc?”

The team doc sits forward. “I will need a little longer with Ethan on his own to ask a few questions, but I’m assuming I’ll need to refer him to a colleague of mine for medication. As far as therapy, which I would suggest, we have the Devils’ therapist he could see virtually or he’s more than welcome to find a fit for himself in the area here.”

“Ethan? Does that sound alright?” Coach Mattheson asks.

“Yes, sir.” I smooth the creases in the paper. “Thank you.”

“Ethan?”

I look up, my heart pounding. “Sir?”

“Get your health in check and you have a spot on my team, alright?”

For a moment, I want to jump up and whoop.

Then I become very, very aware of the man sitting beside me.

A man who works for the Storm, over six hours away from the Devils.

“Thank you, sir.”

“No rush,” the doc adds, and it’s like something loosens in my chest, making it easier to breathe. “It will no doubt take a while for you to get the right medication regime. I don’t say that to rain on anyone’s parade, but any of my players who have had to work with me know that I come at things realistically so no one ever gets their hopes up. The first med we try might be perfect, which takes about two months usually to be sure of as it takes that long for most meds to build in the system. That’s the best case scenario.” Doc gives me a sympathetic smile. “We’re going to work our asses off to help you, Ethan. But it’ll need to be one day at a time. Everyone here has to accept that. Rushing will be just as dangerous as not getting help at all.”

“I agree,” Hayden says as his hand gives my knee a quick, risky squeeze. “I hate to say it, and don’t kill me, Ethan, for doing so, but health needs to come first. The Devils aren’t going anywhere, right?”

“Absolutely,” Coach Mattheson says without a moment of hesitation. “Any speculation or worries about your contract can be forgotten, kid. You’re going to be a superstar when you’re all sorted out. That’s worth letting you sit for a while. Can you handle that?”

I nod quickly. “Yes, sir. Absolutely. I’m learning a lot here. It’s been invaluable.”

My dad snorts under his breath. I kick him at the same time my mom on the other side of him does the same.

“Doc, he’s all yours, then.”

“Alright, everyone out.” Doc makes a shooing gesture. “I get Ethan all to myself now.”

Hayden gives the back of my neck a gentle squeeze as he passes. It’s kind of ridiculous how much easier it is to breathe after the simple touch.

It’s kind of ridiculous how much I love him, period.

I’m meeting with my new psychiatrist via video chat only two hours after the meeting at the arena.

Dr. Racine is younger than I expected. Kinder, too. He’s relaxed and soft-spoken with smiles that don’t feel forced or cheesy and eyes that analyze without judgement. As doctors go, he’s not so bad.

We spend the first part of our talk going over everything the team doc told him, Dr. Racine asking questions from time to time like, “Did you receive any therapy after your mom passed?” or, “Dr. Truman used the word drained. Is that how you’d describe it?”

We even talk about the panic attack I had and other moments of anxiety I’ve experienced, determining if that’s also chemical or if it was more situational.

It’s exhausting, but not nearly as much as I anticipated. I even feel a little better by the end of the first part of our chat, though slightly queasy.

“Now let’s talk about medication,” is how he segues into the action-oriented part of the appointment. He starts by explaining how depression works in the brain, something I’ve never bothered to look up. Then he explains how different types of medications can help, depending on how a person’s depression works. “I’m going to get you started on a low-dose SSRI. The one I’m going to use is my go-to for depression like yours, where the goal isn’t just taking the edge off but a more dramatic need. We’ll do the low dose for two weeks before doubling it to the standard, so your body can adjust. With that said, there’s a possibility of you experiencing side effects, okay? The biggest ones with this particular med are nausea, headaches, and dizziness. Taking it with a good breakfast will help keep those at bay. Since it’s Friday now, I’m going to talk to you again next Friday to see how you’re feeling. Any side effects should be lowered by then, if not completely gone. If they aren’t, we’ll talk about options.

“Now, there’s another med I’m thinking we will add to your regimen down the road. It won’t be for another three months or so, I want you to be well-adjusted to this first med and reassess where you are, but I wanted to let you know that it’s a possibility so you don’t feel blindsided down the road. It’ll be a kind of booster med, mostly for your exhaustion. It’ll help you push through the worst of the fatigue and brain fog without any crashing like those energy drinks—which you’re going to stop drinking, right?”

I nearly laugh as he raises his eyebrow just like Hayden. “Right.”

“Good.” He does something on his tablet before looking back at me. “And Dr. Truman said you’re going to find a therapist?”

“Yeah. I’m going to look for someone local. I don’t think I’d like doing video for that.”

He nods. “Excellent. Well, I’m going to put the prescription in now. You have a game tonight, yes?”

“Yeah, in about two hours.”

“Start the medication tomorrow, then. You should take it with breakfast every day, but if tomorrow you can’t get it from the pharmacy until later for any reason, just take it with dinner.”

I make a note of that, worried I’ll forget. “Is there anything else I need to worry about?”

“The medication will come with a sheet you should read. It’ll cover interactions—the biggest one is no alcohol. It’ll also cover side effects and when to receive medical treatment for them. You can call me at the number I gave you anytime you need, as well.”

“Okay. Okay, that’s—yeah. Good.” I manage a small smile, trying to figure out how to tell him how much I appreciate all of this. It’s hard to put into words, honestly. My eyes start to burn even thinking about it. “This is—it’s huge for me, Dr. Racine. I can’t tell you—just, thank you so much. I never thought—I know you don’t know my story, but for some personal reasons, I never thought I’d be able to get help. I know you’re just doing your job, but I’m really grateful.”

“I’m grateful to have the chance to help you. Truly.” His smile softens. “I’ll be honest, I looked you up before our appointment. I don’t want to make assumptions, but I think I can piece some things together after reading your file and speaking with you. I’m glad you finally decided to get help and I’m glad to be a part of that.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He takes his glasses off. “And Ethan?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re going to get better, okay?” He leans forward, his eyes serious. “It really does get better. We’re going to get you through this. All of us. You’ve got a team behind you now. You’ll be okay. I promise.”

My eyes start stinging again. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He smiles. “Talk to you Friday, unless you need me sooner. Good luck, Ethan. And break a leg at that game tonight.”

After thanking him again, I hang up, my hands shaking so hard I have a hard time tapping the damn button.

For a few seconds, I just sit there staring at the black screen, reality slowly sinking in.

I have a diagnosis.

I have a treatment plan.

I’m going to get better.

I start sobbing. Hard, heavy, heaving sobs that wrack my whole body.

Hayden shows up at some point, putting his arms around me and holding me close.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, stroking my back as I cry into his chest. “It’s going to be okay.”

And for the very first time, I honestly believe him.

The pills suck.

The nausea is the worst. The headaches are pretty easy to fight off with a lot of water and Tylenol and the dizziness isn’t so bad as long as I’m taking it easy. But the nausea kicks my ass.

I eat a lot of saltines and drink a type of ginger ale called Vernors that just about anyone who lives around here promises would cure death itself. There’s also a lot of lounging around, watching Netflix, and dealing with overbearing loved ones.

I made the mistake of leaving the drug information out on the counter for Jules to read, since I went back to our place after picking them up from the pharmacy. He read that the medication can sometimes cause a dramatic shift in thinking, including suicidal thoughts, and went on high-alert. For the first three days, I’m not left alone for a minute between my parents, Hayden, or Jules.

Once my parents left, Hayden and Jules buckled down. It was easier since the side effects started waning and I could practice at full-health. Of course, Coach had asked if he could share a limited amount of information with the team since I might be missing practices on and off as my body adjusts to the meds. I’d said it was fine and had received a lot of texts in the group chat, followed by a lot of requests to come visit. Jules had come home from practice Monday with an entire tote bag full of gifts from everyone.

I should have known that they’d be unbearable when I returned Tuesday for my first practice back. You would have thought I’d died and miraculously come back the way they all piled onto me. I may have cried, but so did Jules, Knut, and Petrov, so I didn’t feel too bad about it.

I make it to Thursday before getting really sick, puking my guts out only twenty minutes into practice. The shaking starts when I try to get off the ice. Panic wells up in my chest, my eyes watering.

It’s stupid, what I do next, I know it in my head, but it doesn’t matter. It’s like when you get the flu or something and you’re lying on the bathroom floor, and you know logically that you’re just sick, that it’ll pass, it always passes, it’s just the fucking flu, but you still get all jittery and scared and feel certain you’re fucking dying.

In that moment, I swear I’m fucking dying.

“Hayden,” I say, crouched down by a splatter of puke on the ice, one of the guys holding my shoulders to keep me from falling into it. “Want Hayden.”

Maybe I could have passed it off as being sick and wanting the closest thing to a doctor currently on sight.

Then Hayden arrives and I wrap myself around him in a hug that’s not at all professional and he wraps his arms around me and immediately promises, “You’re alright, baby.”

Funnily enough, I don’t even realize I came out until an hour later when I’m stirring awake after an in-and-out nap in the quiet room. Then I gasp and try to sit up. Chuckling, Hayden presses on my shoulder to make me lie back down. “Damage is done, baby. Might as well keep resting.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” He raises an eyebrow as he places a cool washcloth on my forehead. “I’ve been out of the closet since I was twelve, Ethan. You’re the one who came out.”

Well, that’s one way to come out, right?

I snort a laugh. Then groan because my head is killing me and my stomach still feels all wrong.

“I called Dr. Racine. He thinks since the side effects faded, then came back, that your body just wasn’t ready for a full practice yet. You were pretty damn zapped after yesterday’s game. I thought you were just out of shape, but maybe I should have made you take today off. Or not even play yesterday. I should have—”

“No. Hey, don’t blame yourself.” I give his hand a squeeze. “We’re figuring this shit out together. I’ll sit out tomorrow’s game and take the weekend too. Go from there. Maybe these meds can’t keep up with this lifestyle. My dad said there was one for athletes, right? Maybe we should ask him what it was. I completely forgot.”

He nods, looking relieved to have a way forward. “Yes. We’ll take the weekend and go from there, and I’ll ask your dad for the whole file he mentioned.”

“A weekend of relaxing and reading scientific research.” I wink at him. “A jock and nerd’s dream.”

By week two, it’s been determined the current medicine isn’t working for me. I’ve lost seven pounds and feel like complete shit.

They switch me to the one my dad had discovered, the doctor warning that I have to be extremely careful with this one as far as keeping my calorie intake and hydration levels up.

I stare at the bottle for a long time after removing it from the bag, déjà vu overtaking me as I remember the smoothie Hayden brought me and the way Jules and I had studied it. That feels like forever ago. If I’d asked for help back then, I’d probably be adjusted by now.

“Ethan?”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know.” Hayden sits beside me, resting his head on my shoulder. His hand rubs soothing circles on my back that don’t actually do much to soothe. I feel itchy. Anxious. Frustrated beyond belief. “We won’t know if they work if you don’t try, though.”

I grit my teeth. But how miserable will they make me while we fucking test it?

And if they don’t work, I start all over again? What kind of bullshit is that?

“Baby…”

“I’m working on it!” I snap before immediately recoiling. I shut my eyes. “I’m sorry. Fuck .”

“It’s okay. Do you want some space?”

“I just want to be better ,” I whisper, my voice wobbling.

He kisses my temple. “You will. You’re so strong, baby. You’ll get through this. I’ll be right here the whole time, okay?”

I wipe the tears from my cheeks.

I hate these pills already.

But I take one and join him for breakfast.

This pill doesn’t make me nauseous, but the headaches and dizziness are there, worse than the other ones. Shakiness, too. I can’t hold my fucking stick straight. And maybe it gives a little too much energy because I can’t sleep more than a few stray hours a night.

I’m agitated. All of the time. I feel like I’m a second away from exploding whenever I’m awake.

Jules drags me to the arena after I come home and answer his, “Why aren’t you at Hayden’s?” with a sharp, “I don’t fucking live with him!” I had tried fighting it. He’d threatened to call my mom.

“What are we doing here?” I growl.

He grabs the hood of my sweatshirt and pulls me into the building and toward the ice. “Get a fucking goal set up. I’ll be right back.”

“I’m not on skates!”

“You think I’m gonna let you go on blades when you’re so dizzy lately? I know you know how to walk on ice in your shoes, asshole. Go.”

Furious, I grab one of the nets from the side hall and drag it toward the rink. I’m careful with it despite my anger though. Knut would have my head if I hurt one of his babies while throwing a tantrum.

Just as I’ve got the thing set up, Jules appears with a duffel over his shoulder and two handfuls of sticks.

“I really don’t feel like hockey right now.”

The words are true.

That scares me enough for my anger to waver.

He doesn’t care.

“Here.” He shoves a stick into my chest, giving me no choice but to grab it. Then he dumps the bag out. Dozens of pucks spill onto the ice, skidding and bumping together before settling into a messy pile with a few strays off to the sides.

“Hit one.”

“Into the net?”

He gives me a deadpan look. “No, at me, asshole.”

“Don’t fucking tempt me.”

“At the damn net.” He gestures, in case I forgot what a net is.

Feeling like this is a huge waste of time—and like I should have stayed at Hayden’s even though all the worried looks he kept shooting me tonight we’re driving me fucking insane—I get a puck lined up and shoot it at the goal.

It misses, which is just the cherry on top of this month to be fucking honest.

“Try again.”

“No shit.”

The next one goes in. Then another. Another.

This isn’t making me feel better.

“It sucks you weren’t lucky enough to get those first pills to work, hey?”

I grit my teeth. Hit another puck. And another.

“Hayden said the first therapist didn’t work out either?”

“No.” I slam the stick against the next puck, sending it flying hard and too far left. I growl. Line up another. Miss that one too.

“What happened?”

“Fucking bitch was flirty.”

“That’s fucking awful, man.”

I hit another puck. Another. Another.

“When do you meet the new one?”

“Yesterday.”

I hit more.

“How’d it go?”

I shrug, line up another. And another.

“Fine, I guess. Pointed out that I seemed upset. No fucking shit, right?” I scoff, getting another puck. “He gave me fucking breathing techniques. Breathing isn’t going to fucking help.”

“I mean, the goal is to keep breathing, right?”

“I know how to breathe. It’s wanting to that gets tricky.”

I don’t even care as the pucks fly past the net again and again. Fuck the net. Fuck the pucks. Fuck Jules and this place and these people.

Fuck hockey.

Fuck depression

The stick cracks, the sound filling the empty arena like a gunshot.

“There we go,” Jules says approvingly. He kicks the splintered wood pieces to the side and hands me another. “Again.”

Again.

Again.

Again.

I break my fourth stick with a roar.

I break my fifth with a sob, falling to my knees.

He sits beside me, not touching me, but close enough where he could.

“I thought it’d be easier,” I admit eventually, my body drained and my eyes finally dry. “I thought I’d ask for help and I’d get it and boom, you know? It’s—it’s not fair. It shouldn’t be this hard.”

He hugs me then.

I think he cries with me this time.

It’s dawn when we leave. I don’t argue when he hands me my pill, a high-calorie protein bar, and a glass of water. I text Hayden that I love him and I’m safe before collapsing into bed.

I wake up fourteen hours later feeling just a little more like myself.

It’s progress.

“These are the best motherfucking pancakes I have ever tasted.” I only chew enough not to choke before swallowing. “No, the best in existence .”

Hayden smiles, his chin cushioned on his fist, elbow on the table. “I’m glad.”

“You sure you don’t want some?” I ask as I reach for the last two.

“I ate the first while cooking the rest. Those are all yours.”

“Fuck yeah.”

“You know, those are the good pancakes that I told you about.” I look at him in confusion, mouth stuffed full. He smirks. “With the vanilla in the batter.”

I groan, barely swallowing before saying, “That’s not fair! You totally tricked me into loving these!”

“Maybe a little. I figured after how hard you kicked ass in your first game back last night—and how hard you slept after—anything would taste amazing.”

“ Unfair .”

He shrugs. “You don’t have to finish them. I can throw them away.”

I wrap my arm around the plate, narrowing my eyes on him. “Don’t you dare.”

He chuckles. It’s low and warm and fuck, I’m so in love with him.

I lean over, grabbing his lip in a fumbling kiss. He returns it for a few lingering seconds before pulling back with a smirk. “You taste like syrup.”

“Not vanilla?”

“Nope. Maybe we should try vanilla ice cream. See if I can taste that after.”

I eye him, making it very obvious that I’m doing so. “I’m craving something salty, actually.”

His whole face lights up. I can’t blame him. I haven’t wanted to have sex in nearly two weeks. A part of me worried I’d never want to again. But just like hockey, it’s come back to me as these meds have settled in.

Hayden fists a hand in my hair, tugging just hard enough to have me sucking in a sharp breath. “Salty can be arranged. Get on your knees.”

“A week without any side effects?” Dr. Racine asks.

“A whole week,” I confirm with a stupidly wide grin. “And I’m back to sleeping normally.”

“Excellent. That’s great, Ethan. How is your energy? You’ve played two games now, right?”

I nod. “Yeah. It’s been good. Better, I think? I know you said it’ll take a little longer to be able to tell a difference, but it feels like I’m not as spaced-out as I was feeling before we started this whole medication roulette.”

“Good. Hopefully that keeps up. I have a good feeling.” He writes something before giving me his full attention. “Let’s go two more weeks and do a check-in just after the new year. Are you traveling for the holiday?”

“Yeah. I’m going to Boston for a few days, then New Orleans.”

“I want you to stick to your current schedule as well as you can, alright? Sleep-wise, food-wise, even exercise-wise. Try to hit the gym while you’re away or see if you can skate at local arenas. We need to keep everything the same as much as possible to be able to properly determine how the meds are affecting you. Does that make sense?”

I nod, adding the advice to my notes app that I’ve started using for these appointments, my therapy appointments, and to track my side effects. “I can do that. I usually go crazy if I’m not active anyway.”

“And no alcohol, Ethan. Really. Down the road we can discuss a drink here and there for special occasions, but not now. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Excellent.” He smiles then. A big one, just like mine. That’s something I love about him—about my newest therapist, too. They both feel like they’re actually invested in me, not just in the paycheck they’ll get for providing the help. It makes all the difference in the world to feel like my doctors are a part of my support system. “You have my cell. Call if anything happens. Otherwise, have a good holiday, yeah?”

I smile again. “You too, Doc.”

My parents get the two days before Christmas Eve and half of Christmas Eve, while Hayden’s parents get us the night of Christmas Eve and the two days after.

There are a lot of presents. A lot of amazing homemade food. A lot of hockey talk and football talk. A few too many nostalgic, childhood stories.

Hayden finds out that I went through a phase in elementary school where I wanted everyone to call me Mario and went around with a fake Italian accent. He finds out the first time I drove on my own I panicked two streets over and called my dad to come get me. He finds out that I took in a stray cat once and managed to keep it in the house for eight days before my parents discovered it—the cat was named Puppy, which I thought at the time was hilarious, and I somehow convinced my parents to even let me keep it.

I learn some things about Hayden too, his mom more than happy to spill his secrets while showing me photo album after photo album. I learn he had a habit of printing off the town ordinances and going door to door to inform the neighbors of what rules they were breaking. I learn that for an entire year he insisted on being a vegetarian until they found him crying one morning—when they asked him what was wrong, he sobbed, “I just miss bacon so much!” I learn that he tried to skate once with Ian, resulting in a broken arm and a vow to never, ever do it again.

We help my dad sabotage the neighbor’s Christmas decorations after we catch the asshole on the door camera poking a hole in my dad’s new blowup Santa.

“You’ve got yourself a good one, kid,” my dad told me with a wink after we were back inside, out of breath and grinning like idiots. “If you two get a shitty neighbor when you find yourselves a place together, he’ll be a great asset.”

We help Hayden’s mom pack up her Christmas decorations that didn’t sell this year at the market, putting aside a few to take home for me and my family.

“This one is for you,” his mom tells him with a wink, handing him an intricately designed fally. “It’s a similar style to Ethan’s. They’ll look great side by side when you move in together.”

We’re on the flight back home when Hayden asks, “Think our parents were hinting at something this holiday season?”

I snort a laugh. “I’m surprised they hadn’t printed off house listings for us.”

“May not have, but my dad let me know the interest rates on houses aren’t getting any better.”

“Funny. My mom let me know the housing market in Superior is tight, so anyone who might want a house should really stalk the listing closely.”

He looks at my hand before slotting his own in it. I watch his face as he seems to hesitate, already knowing where he’s headed but willing to give him time.

“It’d probably hurt Jules’s feelings to steal you from him, hey?”

My heart surges in my chest, ready to accept what’s being offered without consulting me. I tell it to calm the fuck down. “I’m sure he’d be okay, but… I don’t know if I’m staying in Superior, you know? As far as houses go…”

“True.” He keeps looking at our hands. “Detroit, probably, hey?”

“I’d like to hope so. Trades happen, but I have a good feeling…”

He nods slowly. “I could see myself in Detroit.”

My heart is frantic at this point. I don’t bother trying to calm it. I’m a little frantic too. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He finally looks at me, a nervous smile on his lips. “What would you think of that?”

“I think I could see you there, too. Or in Superior, if you don’t want to leave the Storm. I’d understand. We’d make it work.”

“I knew I was leaving Superior before I even arrived. You made me doubt that for a minute, but knowing you’re not staying either makes it pretty damn easy.” He shrugs. “I’m actually thinking of trying to groom Maggie to take my place at the end of the season. She’s green, but I think I can get her where she needs to be before I leave. Maybe—maybe—one more year after this one. I love the team—and Ian—enough to not be able to leave until I feel confident they’re in good hands. But after next year, no matter what, I’ll be gone.”

“So… next summer?” I ask.

“Next summer, for sure. This summer, tentatively.” He grins. “I mean, interest rates aren’t getting any better, after all.”

I grin back. “You know, I heard that somewhere.”

“We’ll have to make sure it has a big fridge, of course.”

“Oh?”

“For all the tart cherry juice.”

I groan, shaking my head. “ No . That’s where I draw the line. None of that is allowed in the house. I’m adding it to the fucking wedding vows.”

He blinks at me.

I blink at him.

Fuck. Did I say that last part out loud? I did, didn’t I?

“You know,” I mumble, awkwardly waving my hand in a vague gesture toward the future. “One day.”

I somehow find the courage to look at him. He’s smiling a soft, warm smile.

“Yeah, baby.” He leans forward, pressing his nose to my temple. “One day, for sure.”