Epilogue
Two Months Later
“I think that’s probably enough,” I say as I watch Jameson add yet another piece of wood to the stack he has going next to the fire pit. “We’re not going to be out here all night.”
I burrow my hands deeper into the fleece-lined pockets of my down vest. It’s a clear and crisp late-September night, perfect for having friends and family over for s’mores and drinks around the fire pit we just built into the new patio.
“Mama, look!” Ivy calls as she and Iris go down the small plastic slide in the corner of the yard. Jameson has big plans for this yard—a play structure and an in-ground trampoline for the kids, and a hot tub for us. But I’ve convinced him to wait until they’re a little older before we do all that.
Right now, the entire new garage has been framed out, but it’s still a construction zone over on that side of the yard.
Luckily, Jules was able to put up a temporary fence around the space to prevent the girls from accidentally getting into the area, or any construction debris from getting into the yard.
“Wow!” I say. “Can I see you do it again?”
Jameson laughs softly where he’s kneeling next to the wood at my feet, and he caresses my calf. “Tire them out, please. We need some alone time tonight.”
“Miss me while you were in New York?”
“You have no fucking idea.”
“Oh,” I say, reaching down and running my fingers through his hair, “I think I do.”
He stands and, as always, towers over me. “You missed me, too?”
“You couldn’t tell last night on the phone?”
“Shit, Lauren, the way you looked with your toy inside you . . . I wanted to record it and watch you over and over again.”
“I would kill you if you ever recorded me,” I tell him.
Our agreement when it comes to phone sex—which happens now pretty much every time he’s on a work trip—is: no evidence.
The last thing I need is naked pictures or videos of me on my future husband’s phone.
I’ve heard of too many situations where people’s phones get hacked and photos get leaked.
“I never go back on my promises,” he says solemnly, then brushes his lips across mine. “You can trust me.”
“I do. Implicitly.”
“Ewww,” I hear Graham’s voice from the gate near the driveway, and when we glance over, he’s walking into the backyard with Jules and Audrey. “Why are Uncle Jameson and Aunt Lauren always kissing?”
“Shut the gate,” Audrey reminds Graham, who turns and takes care of it.
He’s really grown up this summer—he went from being a little kid to seeming much more mature.
I don’t know if it’s the fact that he’s grown several inches in the past few months, or that he started Kindergarten, but he suddenly seems like a real person with thoughts, ideas, and actions all his own.
“Trust me, buddy,” Jameson tells him. “One day you’ll fall in love, and you’ll want to kiss that person all the time, too.”
“Girls are gross,” Graham complains loudly.
“Hey, what about Iris and Ivy?” Jules asks.
“My cousins are okay. But other girls are gross.”
“Again,” Jameson says, “you’ll change your mind.”
Graham looks at Jameson like he’s crazy but doesn’t contradict his uncle—he looks up to him too much to outright claim he’s wrong.
Twenty minutes later, our backyard starts filling in.
Morgan and Paige arrive together, and a couple friends we’ve made in the neighborhood come with their kids.
Colt shows up by himself and makes a beeline straight to Jameson.
He looks agitated, which is far different than his normal carefree demeanor, but I’m distracted from that conversation because there’s someone at the gate I don’t recognize.
He’s younger than me, and looks kind of lost, so I head over to him.
“Hey,” I say, “I’m Lauren.”
“I’m Drew. Jameson has said lots of great things about you.”
“Well that’s a relief to hear! Drew . . .” I pause, trying to place him because Jameson didn’t mention anyone named Drew stopping by tonight. And then I realize who he is. “Oh! You’re Drew Jenkins”—I literally face-palm—“of course. I work in marketing for the Rebels. Welcome to the team.”
“Thanks. I’m really excited to be back in Boston.”
“Yeah, Jameson mentioned you have family here?”
“I grew up in West Roxbury,” he says mentioning the Boston neighborhood that feels almost like a suburb and is directly south of our town of Brookline.
“My whole family’s still there. My sisters live on the same street as my mom.
” His lips turn down at the corners, but I can’t quite figure out why and don’t feel like it’s my place to ask.
“They must be very excited to have you back here. Where are you living?”
“My family has a cabin up on Lake Winnipesaukee, so I was up there for most of the summer, but I just bought a place in the Back Bay. Moved in earlier today.”
“You’ll be right in the thick of things, then,” I say, since the Back Bay is where many of Boston’s best shops and restaurants are located.
With two NHL contracts already under his belt, Drew has to be in his mid- to late-twenties, but with his wispy, light brown hair and his ridiculously long eyelashes, he could pass for younger.
Jameson and Colt must see Drew just then, because Colt shouts out, “Jenkins!” and waves his arm at him. Drew glances back at me.
“I think you’re being summoned by your team elder,” I say.
“Oh my God,” Drew laughs, “do people really call him that?”
“Only if they want to piss him off. I wouldn’t recommend starting off that way.” I think I remember Jameson saying something about Drew getting off on the wrong foot with some of his teammates in Colorado. “In fact,” I say, grabbing his forearm, “definitely don’t do that.”
“I won’t. It was nice to meet you, Lauren.”
“You too. I’ll talk to you later,” I say and turn back toward the house.
I know Audrey was headed toward the house to grab the platter of s’mores supplies a minute ago, and I want to make sure she found everything since I imagine Jameson will start the fire up soon.
But I’ve only taken a few steps in that direction when I see her standing on the deck, frozen in place, looking like she’s seen a ghost. And when I follow her gaze, her eyes are locked on Drew.
She doesn’t even notice me until I’m right by her side. “You okay?”
“What’s he doing here?”
“Drew Jenkins?” I say, just to be sure.
“Yeah.”
“He got traded to the Rebels. I assume Jameson invited him over because he just moved into his new place in the Back Bay.”
“What?” She whispers the word out so quietly it’s almost silent. Her eyes still haven’t drifted away from Drew.
“Why do you seem so shook?”
She exhales a ragged breath, then gives me a small, tight smile. “I’m not shook. I’m just surprised to see him here. We went to college together.”
“Did you guys know each other well?” I know I’m prying, but it’s not like Audrey to not spill all the info, and the fact that she’s being a bit cagey has me wondering what the rest of the story is.
“Yeah, I tutored him in calculus my junior year.”
“Is it . . . good to see him?”
Audrey presses her lips between her teeth as her eyes drift back to Drew again.
“Not really,” she says, and then turns toward me suddenly, keeping her back to everyone on the patio and lawn and her head tilted forward so her hair covers her face on both sides.
When I glance in that direction, Drew’s eyes are focused on Audrey’s back and there’s confusion written all over his face.
“Shit. I need to leave,” Audrey mumbles.
“I’m going to head inside. Would you do me a favor and send Graham in?
He’s going to be mad if I make him leave early, and I don’t want to cause a scene out here. ”
“Audrey, what’s going on?”
“I’ll explain later. Please, just send Graham in as quickly as possible.”
She makes a beeline for the glass doors and steps off the deck and into the kitchen, sliding the screen closed behind her. She must move farther into the house, because I don’t even see her through the screen.
I glance once more at Drew, whose eyes are now focused on the door Audrey just went through. Then I find Graham, who is trying to catch my girls as they go down the slide. I hustle across the lawn to him. “Hey, bud,” I say, “your mom needs to see you inside.”
He complains a bit without outright refusing to go, then insists on giving both Iris and Ivy a hug. I haven’t told him he’s leaving, but it seems like he gets that sense.
“What’s going on?” Jules asks as she approaches. She must see the concern written across my face.
“I’m not sure,” I say quietly because I don’t want Graham to hear me. “Audrey saw Drew Jenkins—he’s a new player for the Rebels,” I clarify because Jules actually goes out of her way to avoid hockey, “and now she’s hiding inside and wants Graham to come in so they can leave.”
Jules swallows so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t choke. “Okay, well we drove together, so I’ll go too,” she says to me. “Graham, let’s go, bud.”
I glance over at Jameson, who’s still engaged in conversation with Colt, but Drew’s no longer there. My eyes scan the yard, but I don’t see him anywhere.
“I’ll walk in with you,” I tell her, as Graham sprints ahead of us and into the house.
When Jules and I get inside a few moments later, Drew is kneeling down talking to Graham. Audrey’s arms are folded across her rib cage and the look on her face makes it clear that she’s not thrilled about any of this.
When Graham says, “I’m five and I’m in Kindergarten,” Drew glances up at Audrey, and from this angle it’s easy to see the confusion written across his face.
“It was good seeing you again, Drew,” Audrey says. Her voice holds a certain level of finality—a permanent goodbye.
“Audrey,” he starts, rising quickly to his full height. “We need to talk.”
“We really don’t,” she says as she squeezes Graham to her side.
“We do.” His words leave no room for negotiation. “And we can either do it here, now, or you can give me your number and we can talk later. But we will be talking.”