Chapter 25
NICO
There are very few places I feel like I don’t fit in, and this art gallery is absolutely one of them.
Jo tugs on the sleeve of my suit jacket, directing my attention to the photograph in front of her. Some picture of a bridge. She talks about the depth and emotion and color.
I think it’s a bridge.
But Jo loves it, so I do too.
In the month since the holiday sweater party, this is my first true day off, and instead of spending it with Sheffy and Naomi, we’re at this gallery. Not that I’m mad about it.
Never.
But my hammy has been killing me lately, and standing around, talking about art I don’t understand, isn’t helping.
Naomi’s still dealing with some nausea, so I promised to take Jo out on a date, her choice in where we go.
And that’s how we ended up here.
I shift my weight, attempting to relieve the tension in my leg. Jo’s fingers intertwine with mine, squeezing gently. She leans in, her voice a soft murmur, “Is your leg still bothering you?”
“Yeah, just—”
A familiar voice cuts through the gallery’s hushed atmosphere “Nicholas Tremblay the 3rd, what are you doing here? Haunting me?”
I pivot around with a shake of my head at the owner of the familiar voice. “I think you have that backward. You are haunting me.”
Malcolm stares at me, that tic of his eyebrow ever-present. Constantly annoyed. By me? The world? The paisley design of his tie? Who knows.
“What did I do to deserve you legal-naming me? Am I not allowed to be at an art gallery with my fiancée?”
He assesses me for a moment then turns to Jo. “Hello. I’m not sure we’ve ever been formally introduced.”
At that, I tug her into my side. “Malcolm, this is Josephine, my fiancée.” Then I dip my chin, lower my voice, though I make sure he can still hear it when I say, “This is Malcolm, the man paid to make me look like a saint.”
She backhands my stomach. “I don’t think anyone can do that.”
“Admit it, Jojo, life wouldn’t be half as fun if I was good. You like that I’m a little bad.”
She rolls her eyes and blows out a tiny puff of air, a nonverbal insult of sorts. Like, you big dummy.
Malcolm hums in agreement before splitting his gaze between Jo and me, tipping his head to the side in interest. “Though there might be some hope yet.”
“I haven’t been called to the principal’s office in months, so that should account for something.”
Again, Malcolm makes a kind of appeased sound, even as he narrows his gaze shrewdly. “You have surprised me, in more ways than one, including that you are genuinely a good man.”
Taken aback by the sentiment, I hear my voice ratchet up an embarrassing notch when I ask, “Really?”
That earns a laugh from both Jo and Malcolm, and he nods before motioning across the room at someone.
A tall, ethereal Black man with long locs and earrings floats over to us.
They’re a contrasting pair, Malcolm in his usual crisp suit and the other man in flowing linen pants and a loose silk shirt.
Malcolm introduces him as his husband Jensen, and we all shake hands. “He owns the gallery,” Malcolm explains, which makes Jo’s jaw hang open. Malcolm smiles at her. “Josephine is a photographer.”
Jensen inclines his head. “Oh? Would I have seen your work anywhere?”
She shakes her head, gone mute with nerves, so I take over. “I play for the Iron, and she’s one of the team’s photographers.”
“Assistant,” she quietly corrects, and I wave her off.
“She’s amazing. Here, look.” I pull up her Instagram on my phone and hand it over to Jensen, pointing out a few of my favorite photos.
“Do you have more?” he asks, and I nudge Jo to answer.
“On my website, yes, but I’ve been working with film more recently and—”
“Really? Why film?” Jensen motions for Jo to step away to chat, and Malcolm turns to me, while keeping his attention on our partners.
“I mean it, Nico. You have surprised me, and I’m happy about it.”
I smile to myself at Jo talking, shoulders back, standing tall. She’s not hiding, and I’m so proud of her.
“You’re still all in?”
After allowing myself another few seconds to watch her, I force my gaze to my right, finding Malcolm waiting for my answer. “Am I still all in?”
“That’s what you said to me on the phone that day you called. You said you were all in and would do anything to protect her. So, I figured I’d ask, but I think I already have my answer from how you can’t take your eyes off her.”
No, I can’t take my eyes off her. She is the most beautiful person in the room to me. She may not think it about herself and not believe me when I say it, but to me, she is perfect.
She is perfect for me.
Her never-ending patience, her slow-growing smile, her creativity and resilience, her strength.
Over the last month, I have thought so often about what I confessed to her the night of the holiday party.
I think of how she didn’t shy away from my own display of emotion.
She didn’t care that I cried, didn’t think me less of a man for what happened to me.
She gave me space to tell her the truth and then held me close all night.
Then the next morning, we had sex, a little rough and tumble, letting me exorcise things I didn’t even know I needed to.
She is everything I could want or need. Like she was made exactly for me. By coincidence or a heavenly hand, I’m not sure, but I am eternally grateful.
And she knits me things. I toy with the end of the scarf hanging around my neck as I tell Malcolm, “I’m going to marry her one day.”
If he’s surprised by this particular statement, he doesn’t show it. Merely nods. “Just make sure the proposal is better than the one you went with this time around.”
I grin and slap him on the back. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be asking you for help to plan the extravaganza.”
He snorts, though he doesn’t refuse me.
“So, what do you know about art?” I ask, and he slices his hand through the air.
“Absolutely nothing.”
“Great.” We both turn at the same time to a photo in front of us, and I point to it. “What do you think of that one?”
“It’s a tree.”
I chuckle. “Indeed.”
Jensen and Jo return then, and Malcolm and I spend a few minutes enduring art talk, more about balance and symmetry and storytelling.
I don’t understand it, but I love the way Jo lights up when she’s in her element.
Jensen is in the middle of exchanging information with Jo when another familiar face pops up in the crowd, Camden Long, the Philadelphia Founders’ star tight end, and he’s got his arm wrapped around a petite, dark-haired woman.
They weave through the crowd to stop to chat with us.
We clap hands, having run into each other at some events.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, and he juts his chin to Malcolm.
“I used to be on his list.”
I make a sound of understanding. “I’m still on the list. Waiting to be released.”
“We should start a support group,” Long suggests with a smirk in Malcolm’s direction. “I’m sure there are more of us purported bad boys floating around being tortured by him.”
“Oh yes, how terrible of me,” Malcolm deadpans. “Forcing you millionaire professional athletes to do works of charity and smile for pictures with children.”
“You followed me on a road trip,” Long says.
So I chime in, “And you Big-Brothered all of my social media.”
Malcolm shrugs. “Look at you both now. Rehabilitated reputations, stable careers, and the city loves you.”
“All in a day’s work,” Jensen says. “And I need to go do mine.” He waves to us all. “I’ll leave you to catch up. Josephine, I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
As he sails away, she leans into my side, whispering, “He wants to see my work.”
I kiss her temple. “Of course he does. He knows talent when he sees it.”
She tips her face up, grinning widely, unselfconscious, and I don’t care that we’re in the middle of an art gallery. I kiss her until Long laughs, “Jesus, Tremblay, let the girl breathe.”
“As if you have room to talk. You’re the most inappropriate person I’ve ever met,” the woman with Long snaps before he introduces her with a big grin.
“This is Nadine. My wife.”
“Jo, my fiancée,” I say, still always excited to say it.
“I may have heard something about that,” Long says. “I was shocked. Couldn’t believe it.”
It’s meant as a dig at me, but Jo freezes next to me, assuming he’s talking about her. About how she doesn’t belong with me.
Which is, of course, utter bullshit, and I open my mouth to correct the record, but he goes on before I can stop him. “Although, I can see it’s real. You really are getting married. Good for you. Congratulations.”
I glance at Jo, waiting for her reaction, and she eventually eases, understanding he meant no harm and is truly happy for us. She smiles at him. “Thank you.”
After that, the conversation flows easily.
As it turns out, when he’s not working, Malcolm King is actually a beauty of a guy.
He’s relaxed and has a dry sense of humor I like.
It’s also nice how he and Camden seem to be friends.
It shows me that he really does care about the well-being of his clients.
Jo and Nadine wander off to find the wine, which I’m happy about since she hasn’t really been able to become friends with any of my teammates’ wives or girlfriends.
She’s always working at the game, and since our situation is atypical with how it came about, it never occurred to me that I should be introducing her to people, bringing her more into the fold.
I make a mental note to talk to Naomi about it.
I’ve known her as long as I’ve known Sheffy, and she’ll be able to help Jo become accustomed to the hockey life.
Because that’s what I would like.
Jo in my life.