Chapter 25
AVAH
Skating along the ice, the coolness of the rink seeps into my skin and clings to my cheeks. There’s a certain sense of freedom that comes from being the first one on the ice, cutting fresh lines into the smooth surface with the blades beneath your feet.
Growing up with hockey players in the family, my father, my brother, my cousins, my uncles, it was inevitable that the sport would weave itself into my very being.
I played right alongside EJ when we were little.
We spent countless mornings on the pond outside our house, until our fingers were numb and our feet full of blisters.
But I never joined a team, mostly because my mom didn’t think it’s appropriate for a girl.
That doesn’t mean I can’t handle a stick and a puck.
Working the puck between the few cones I set out, I glide over the ice, pivoting sharp before shooting the puck into the net. It hits the target I hung there with a satisfying cling that ricochets off the boards.
Having my brother play for the Rangers comes with certain benefits…although this morning when I came in for some ice time, the staffer at the door called me Mrs Murphy. So perhaps I owe this morning to Declan after all.
He left last night after our…talk. I don’t even know if I can call it a fight because at the end it felt like we finally agreed on everything.
We both said things that needed to be brought out into the open and with that comes hurt.
But you can’t heal if it doesn’t hurt first. One thing is for certain, we both needed time to think.
Still, I hoped he would come home last night. As the time went by, the inkling of peace I felt started to turn into a storm of worry. I was up most of the night, scared that he’s somewhere in some dirty bar, throwing away everything we managed to turn around in the past two weeks.
When EJ texted me to let me know he was with him, safe at his place…relief doesn’t even begin to cover it. I sat there for a long time, trying to convince myself relief was all I felt, but it wasn’t.
‘We don’t owe each other anything’, his words have been echoing in my mind the entire night until they took on a whole new meaning.
Because he’s right. I don’t want him to be with me, or love me because he thinks it’s the decent thing to do after everything.
I don’t want him to stay with me out of obligation or even gratitude.
I want him to choose me.
I want him to choose me.
Not because it’s convenient, or because us being together will keep our lives from unraveling. But rather because he knows that I’m meant to be by his side.
That was the truth that hit me last night when he walked out.
It cemented the fact that somewhere along the line our agreement on paper turned into something more, something that doesn’t fit neatly between terms and conditions.
Because as sure as God is the Creator of all that is good, I want Declan to be in my life. I want to do life with him by my side.
Because I know we can be good for each other, and to each other.
I position another puck, tapping my stick twice and working the puck back and forth to get a feel for it.
My aim is the left corner, just below the crossbar.
I twist my wrist, just enough to get the right amount of leverage beneath the puck.
There’s a quiet sense of satisfaction knowing I’ll hit my target before I even take the shot.
I let loose, the puck sailing perfectly through the air and hitting my target. Cling.
“What was that?” Declan’s familiar voice, warm and rough around the edges, echoes over the ice. I twist around finding him leaning over the boards, his face caught between a grin and a frown.
“You can play, Snowflake?” he asks, stepping down onto the bench to lace up his skates. “I don’t know whether I should be impressed or upset.”
“Why would you be upset?” I ask, my voice echoing across the ice.
“Because you never told me your secret,” he says, disappearing behind the boards again to lace up another skate.
“You never asked.” I skate back toward the bucket of pucks, taking one out and dropping it on the mark. “Call it.”
“Middle left,” he says with that grin that makes his dimple deepen, that grin that has my stomach dipping.
I work the puck, flicking it slightly, then shoot. The target clings again.
“This is kind of hot, Avah, I’m not going to lie,” he says, his eyes sparking. “My wife can score.”
Hearing him call me his wife sends ripples through me. Warm, deep and unsettling in all the best ways.
He straightens up from the bench, holding a bouquet above his head so I can see it from the middle of the rink. It’s a mix of whites and blues, way too large to even be real.
“That’s a real embarrassing display of flowers you’re holding, Murphy,” I say, struggling to keep myself from smiling. The flowers really are beautiful, in a way that makes your chest ache.
“This?” he asks, assessing it for himself. “You should see the rest.”
“The rest?” I ask, my eyes widening.
“Yeah,” he says, amusement flickering across his face.
“Apparantly when you tell the florist you had a disagreement with your wife, they give you every flower in the shop.” He sets down the bouquet on the bench behind him, before gliding onto the ice and skidding to a stop right in front of me.
“Besides, you deserve big things, Snowflake, and I thought I’d start here. ”
For a moment, I let myself get lost in the gesture, in the absurdity and charm of it all.
It’s hard not to when it’s him, with his grin and that sparkle in his eyes.
He has had the ability to make my stomach flutter, and clearly he has had that ability for longer than I wanted to admit.
But that doesn’t take away from the fact that there’s tension where there should be resolution.
We still have very real frustrations and disagreements between us.
Enough that all the flowers in the world won’t be able to fix it.
I grip my stick a little tighter, the nudge to put some space between us winning as I skate backward and line up another puck on the ice.
“Listen, this morning I got word from Brady,” Declan says with warmth in his voice despite the slight tension slipping back between us. “He wants to know if we can meet up in Boston this weekend for the away game. My sister will meet us up there. And you can meet Aunt Kat too.”
I frown, letting a laugh escape me even when frustration simmers beneath it. “Is this how you fix things?” I ask him, my voice carrying across the empty rink. “Do you just pretend like nothing happened and then everything goes back to normal?”
He glances down at his skates, hesitating as if searching for the right answer.
“That’s how guys do it, right?” he says. At least he has the decency to be unsure about it. “Besides, I came with flowers. Lots of flowers.”
Frustration stirs in me, the kind that only this man has the ability to stir up.
“That’s not how it works in a marriage Declan,” I say, shooting the next puck toward the target.
It clangs against the crossbar instead of hitting the target, a clear indication of how he throws me off.
“But I guess that’s what you get from marrying someone who’s never been in a grown-up relationship before. ”
My words have the same edge as something I would’ve said before we even got married. But it doesn’t make it any less true.
I glance toward him, his expression darkening.
And just like that, the tension is back, curling around the warmth that’s somehow a constant between us.
It’s an odd balance…like the way the ice can feel solid and slippery beneath my feet.
There’s room for disagreement, for friction.
In fact, something between us demands it.
Yet, there’s something unshakable, a firm foundation that will remain no matter how many scratches we etch out along the way.
He skates until he’s right in front of me, his skates clicking against my own as he towers over me. He’s close enough for me to see the golden flecks in his eyes, the tightness in his jaw.
“Firstly,” he says, his voice low and steady. “This isn’t a real marriage, so I am under no obligation to act like a real husband.”
My brows lift. “It’s called basic human—”
“Secondly,” he cuts in, his tone sharpening. “That’s why I came here. To talk to you.”
“Talk?” I ask, feeling the way he looks at me all the way to my toes. He shouldn’t be allowed to have this effect on me. “Not apologize?”
“Apologize for what exactly?” he asks, tilting his head. “For hating that you kept his ring? For wanting to punch him in the face for hurting you? For realizing that I didn’t treat you fairly last night?”
His words cut straight into my heart. I didn’t even know I wanted him to own any of that, but now with his words, he’s soothing an ache I didn’t even know I had.
“What about apologizing for leaving last night?” I ask. “For not telling me where you are or that you’re safe?”
His eyes spark, the corner of his mouth threatening with a smile. “Were you worried about me, Snowflake?” he asks.
“Why would I be?” I ask. “Especially since this isn’t a real marriage and I’m not your real wife.”
He sighs, running his hand through his hair. “You’re going to drive me insane.”
“The feeling is mutual,” I mutter, picking up another puck and sending it sailing toward the net. At least this time I hit the target perfectly.
“What do you want from me, Declan?” I ask, turning back to him. “We had a business agreement. Essentially, that’s what it is, right?” I ask, wanting to give him an out if he wants to take it.
I’m not an idiot. Declan has never had a real relationship before. He feels comfortable within the boundaries of an agreement. If he wants that, then I’ll give him that. I’ll take it as God sending me a message that this relationship isn’t what He wants for me, and I’ll move on.
It’ll take a piece of my heart, but I’ll try my absolute best to move on.