28. Izzy
Izzy
“Where’s my other boot?” Jack mutters, crouched beside my bed to look under it.
“Where you left it?” I call from the bathroom, trying—and failing—to fix my eyeliner for the third time.
“That’s not helpful.”
I pop into the doorway, holding the boot he kicked off somewhere between the front door and the hallway. To his credit, he was carrying me to the bedroom at the time. I hate when he has road trips, but I love when he comes home.
To me.
Jack peeks up, his dimples fully present. “It’s a miracle!”
“I know.” I shrug and head back to the bathroom before that grin of his convinces me that we should just cancel tonight and stay in for New Year’s. We’ve tried to leave twice already and keep getting distracted.
I’m wrestling with a mascara wand when he appears in the doorway, not even a minute later.
“Izzy, sweetheart.” His hands swoop around my waist and draw me in close.
“Jack.”
“Izzy.”
“We’re already late.”
“So what’s five more minutes?”
“I’ve heard that already and...” He bends forward to kiss my neck, his teeth gently nipping at the delicate skin. I struggle to finish that thought. “We’re going to be late.”
He clicks his hooded eyes up to meet my stare in the mirror, his warm breath sweeping over my skin. “Look at us, Isla.” I never knew blue eyes could be so warm, so full of fire. “Where do you want me? My knees? Tell me, and you can have it. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
A shaky breath escapes me, my pulse racing. I tilt my head back over my shoulder, our bodies still pressed together in front of the bathroom mirror. We should go… The thought disappears nearly as quickly as when his lips meet mine in a greedy, slow kiss.
It’s annoying how much I love this man. I told him I wouldn’t even get a Slurpee with him a few months ago, and now look at me… how completely ruined I am for anyone else.
This is it.
With a low growl in his throat, Jack breaks our kiss. “But you’re right, we should go.” He catches my hand, straightens up, and places a soft kiss in my palm. “You changed again. Are you nervous?”
I chuckle, trying to find my center. “Maybe.”
“That’s your third outfit. You just need to be warm.”
“I don’t know what to wear.” I’m flustered, and okay, maybe the corner of my mouth twitches because, fine, yes, he’s right. They’re all some variation of leggings and a sweater.
“You look incredible in all of them,” he says, eyes raking over me again. “So what’s wrong?”
“You won’t tell me where we’re going, and I’m nervous. I want to look—”
“Perfect?” He tilts his head. “Iz, you could wear a literal trash bag and scuba gear, and I’d think you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re biased.”
“Extremely.” Jack grins. “But I’m also right. But if you move in with him this summer, I promise you can have the bigger closet. And I have the perfect spot for a home library with a ladder.”
“You have such a filthy mouth,” I tease. “Don’t stop. Tell me more”
He kisses me again, which is how we got into this mess in the first place. When he finally pulls back, his face falls in concern. “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave. Like, really late.”
“Oh my god.” I playfully try to push him away. “Then stop distracting me, and we can go.”
“Want to change again? I’ll help you.”
“Jack!” I giggle, wrestling away from his grip. “You’re such a flirt.”
“Sometimes,” he says with a wink, “I even play hockey.”
“You’re a better flirt though.”
“That mouth of yours…” He leans back inside the bathroom, twirling me around for another kiss, before he says, “First, I like when you’re mean to me. Just makes you cuter. Second, I’m good at a lot of things.”
“If you say so.” I pat his stomach, then dive under his arms to run back to my bedroom. I make it as far as the living room before he bends, scoops me up with one arm, and carries me back to bed.
“Maybe we have time for one more distraction,” he whispers against my stomach, dropping to his knees.
By the time we actually make it to the car, it’s starting to snow. Twenty minutes later, we pull up to the old hockey rink, maybe soon to be his hockey rink. His future now that he’s announced his retirement at the end of this season.
The reaction to his announcement was mixed at best. And by mixed, I mean some fans blamed me for “ruining” his career.
I’ve spent the last two weeks ignoring the hateful comments while Jack uses them as fuel to win the Cup and end on a high note.
His parents and Bridget broke down when he finally told them the real reason: the symptoms he’s been struggling to hide after his concussions.
It was the teariest dinner I’ve ever sat through, but I was right there, his hand in mine the whole time.
Jack tosses me a granola bar from the glove box before we hop out and leave crumbles as a peace offering to Bart.
Christmas lights line the rink, and there’s hot cocoa set up on a folding table near the bleachers.
“Mr. Kelly was thrilled to help with the surprise. Ethan, Sloane, and Annie are coming by”—he checks his watch—“in half an hour. But first, I wanted to take you out on the ice. Just you and me.”
Jack laces my skates. His fingers are steady and sure, the same way they are when he touches me, and I have to resist the urge to pull him up and kiss him.
“There,” he says, giving my ankle a gentle squeeze. “Ready?”
My first steps are wobbly. Very wobbly.
“You said you could skate,” he teases.
“I lied. Obviously. I was trying to impress you.”
“It worked.”
“Yeah, well, joke’s on you because now you’re stuck with me and I can’t even stand up.”
I slip. He catches me. Or tries to, anyway. We collapse, tangled on the ice, laughing so hard we can’t breathe. He rolls us so I’m on top of him, and I’m pretty sure there’s going to be a bruise on his shoulder tomorrow, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“This was your romantic plan?” I wheeze.
“Is it working?”
“Ask me when I can feel my tailbone again.”
After a few attempts to make it around the rink, we take a break. I end up wrapped in his jacket in the stands, and we sip champagne from plastic cups.
“This is nice,” I say quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I lean into him. “Better than some fancy party.”
He grins, then his expression shifts—softer, more serious. “I love you, Izzy.”
“I love you too,” I whisper.
He kisses me again, slow and deep, like we have all the time in the world. And maybe we do. Maybe that’s the whole point.
Behind us, voices spill in from the hallway leading to the rink. I scramble off Jack’s lap as Ethan, Sloane, and Annie’s laughs echo around us.
“You two are so cute together,” Sloane shouts, cupping her hands around her mouth. “I can’t stand it.”
But then someone else steps through the door behind them.
Someone who looks exactly like Ethan and Jack, except taller, broader, with a mustache.
I freeze. “Is that—?”
“Nolan,” Jack breathes, and he’s already moving, pulling away from me to scramble down from the bleachers.
Jack crashes into his oldest brother with a hug that’s more of a tackle.
Ethan is smiling. Which he very rarely ever does unless it involves Sloane. And Annie has her camera out, recording.
“Everyone’s home,” she sings. “Me and my brothers.”
Jack steps away, hands gripping Nolan’s shoulders. “How long are you here for?”
“A few weeks, maybe. Tried for Christmas but got called out for another fire. A big one.”
Everyone is watching Jack and Nolan, but I’m focused only on his brother. He looks exhausted, sounds it too.
Jack reaches behind him to grab my hand and pull me forward. “Izzy, this is my brother Nolan. Nolan, Izzy.”
Nolan extends a hand, and his grip is firm. “You have any idea how much trouble this guy causes? Not too late to change your mind.”
“I know,” I say with a big grin. “But I’m keeping him.”
The rest of the night blurs together in the best way.
Ethan produces more champagne and snacks from somewhere, and we toast to new beginnings and brothers coming home.
Ethan and Jack race each other on the ice as the rest of us struggle to keep up.
Annie takes photos until Sloane pries her phone away.
Just after midnight, Jack and I end up at center ice, just the two of us again.
Jack pulls back enough to smile at me. “Ready?”
I glance over my shoulder at the chaos surrounding us, then back at him. “Always.”
We stand together, his arm tight around my waist. Love doesn’t always leave, I think. It can stay too. All you have to do is choose each other, over and over, even when it’s scary. Especially when it’s scary.
“Hey,” Jack murmurs against my temple. “About that moving-in thing…”
“Ask me tomorrow.”
“Is that when you’ll say yes?”
“Probably.”
He kisses me, soft and sweet, and I can feel him smiling. “I’ll take those odds.”
And honestly? So will I.