10. Mick
CHAPTER TEN
MICK
SIX MONTHS LATER
The ring has been burning a hole in my pocket for exactly six months.
After Mia moved in with me, she told me she wanted to wait until the end of the hockey season before we talked about making our relationship permanent.
It killed me to wait but I was willing to do whatever it took to keep Mia. Forever.
I steer the boat toward the center of the water, the engine a low, steady thrum beneath my feet.
The rental is a classic wooden Chris-Craft, all polished mahogany and gleaming chrome, because Mia isn’t a fiberglass-and-glitter kind of woman.
She’s timeless. She’s the kind of woman you build a life around, not just a weekend.
“Mick, this is incredible,” she says, leaning against the rail. She’s wearing that leather jacket I love, the one that smells like her perfume and stubborn independence. Her dark hair is catching the wind, wild and tangled, and her blue eyes are reflecting the first bruised purples of the sunset.
“Only the best for my best girl,” I say, keeping my voice steady even though my heart is about to pound out of my chest. I cut the engine, letting us drift. The silence of the Puget Sound settles over us, punctuated only by the soft slap of water against the hull.
I reach for the wicker basket I packed this afternoon. I pull out the chilled bottle of champagne and the deli containers from that place downtown she’s obsessed with. There’s enough pastrami and potato salad here to feed the entire Knights’ defensive line, but I know it’s her favorite.
“Champagne and deli sandwiches?” She laughs, the sound rich and bright, hitting me harder than any puck to the chest. “You really know the way to a girl’s heart.”
“I know the way to your heart,” I correct, popping the cork with a muted thud. I pour two glasses, the bubbles hissing in the quiet air. “And that’s all that matters to me.”
I hand her a glass, my fingers brushing hers. That spark is still there, the one that’s been humming between us since the first night I saw her and realized I was done for. It’s a physical pull, a magnetic north that keeps me centered no matter how chaotic things gets.
We eat in a comfortable sort of silence, the sky shifting from gold to a deep, burning orange. I watch her savor a pickle, the way she tilts her head back to catch a few summer rays. She looks so peaceful, so entirely herself, and all freaking mine.
“You’re staring again, McLinden,” she murmurs, a small, knowing smirk playing on her lips.
“I’m admiring the view.”
“The view is behind me,” she says, gesturing toward the Olympic Mountains silhouetted against the fire in the sky.
“No,” I say, setting my glass down on the small table. “It really isn’t.”
The humor fades from her face, replaced by that soft, vulnerable expression she only shows me. It’s the look that turns my heart to fucking mush.
I stand up, my knees suddenly a little weak. I’ve faced down the meanest enforcers in the league without blinking, but the weight of the small velvet box in my pocket is making my breath hitch. This is the play. The one that defines the rest of my life.
“Mia,” I start, my voice lower, rougher. I reach out and take her hand, pulling her toward me. Her skin is cool from the evening air, but she’s radiating that heat that always draws me in.
“What’s up? You’re being very serious,” she says, her breath hitching. She’s reading me. She’s always been too good at reading me.
“I’ve been counting the seconds until I could do this.” I shake my head, looking down at our joined hands.
I sink down onto one knee, the wooden deck hard beneath me. The boat sways gently, a slow, rhythmic rocking that feels like the world is holding its breath. Mia’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes widening as the first tear tracks through her makeup.
“I’ve been in love with you since the first moment I saw you,” I tell her, and I don’t care how much of a cliché it sounds like, because it’s the goddamn truth. “I tried to fight it. I tried to respect the boundaries you drew in the sand.”
I pull the box from my pocket and flip it open.
“Oh my.” She mutters staring at the ring as the diamond catches the slipping sunlight, throwing shards of white and blue across her leather jacket.
It’s a one-carat stone set in an antique platinum setting, beautiful and understated, just like she described at Harper and Jaxson’s engagement party.
“I can't imagine my life without you. I don't want to imagine it. I want the early shifts and the late games. I want the quiet mornings in the penthouse and the chaos of whatever comes next. I want to be the man you come home to, every single night.”
Her shoulders are shaking now, the tears falling freely. She looks beautiful and wrecked and perfect all at once. My chest feels tight, like I’m waiting for the buzzer in a tied game, the seconds ticking down to nothing.
“Marry me,” I say, and it’s not a command, it’s a plea. It’s everything I have left to give.
“Yes,” she sobs, the word coming out on a broken gasp. “Yes, Mick. God, yes.”
I let out a breath I feel like I’ve been holding since the first moment we met. I stand up, my hands trembling just enough for her to notice, and I take her left hand in mine. The world is turning to dark blue around us, the stars just starting to prick through the haze, but all I see is her.
The weight of the platinum band settles against her skin, and it feels like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.
For a moment, we just stand there, suspended in the middle of the Sound.
I don't let go of her hand. I can't. I need to feel the physical proof that this is real, that I haven't just hallucinated the greatest victory of my life.
I pull her flush against me, my arms wrapping around her waist, and she buries her face in the crook of my neck.
Her tears are warm against my skin, soaking into my shirt, but they don't feel like sadness. They feel like relief.
"I was so scared," she whispers into my collarbone, her voice muffled but clear in the stillness. "I was so scared that I’d wake up one day and realize this was all a dream."
I tighten my grip, my chin resting on the top of her head. I can smell the sea air and her shampoo--that scent that has haunted my dreams for months. "It has been a dream." I pull her close and place a soft kiss on her lips. “A dream come true.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes red-rimmed but shining with a light that makes the sunset look dim.
She reaches up, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw.
I can see the truth shining in her bright blue eyes.
She's all in. “Yes, it is,” she breathes, a small, watery smile breaking through.
I kiss her then, and it's different from every other kiss we've shared.
There's no desperation, no frantic need to prove a point or claim a space.
It's a promise. It's slow and deep, tasting of salt and champagne and the future.
When I pull away, I'm breathless, my heart hammering a rhythm I don't think will ever slow down as long as she's in my arms. I lead her back to the small table, keeping one arm firmly around her shoulders.
I'm not letting her more than six inches away from me for the rest of the night. Hell, for the rest of my life.