19. Serena #2
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s not nice to gossip?” she teases, pink tinging her cheeks as she runs the tips of her fingers along the edge of her wineglass while she sits silent for a few moments before finally lifting her beautiful face to me.
“Not gossip, exactly. I heard you’re leaving the Revolution.”
Her fingers still, and she stares at the wine for a few long minutes before finally looking back at me. “I hate this.”
“Hate what?” I ask, needing to know where her head’s at. Serena always took her time processing things, and I’ve thrown a metric fucking ton her way in the past few weeks.
“This.” She lifts her hand, and gestures between us. “I hate that this is so normal. I hate that all I want to do is break down and tell you everything. I want to ask your opinion. I want you to love my plan. But I also want to protect my heart.”
My chest tightens, knowing I deserve that. But it doesn’t make it suck less.
“And the worst part?” Her voice drops. “I want you to love it. I want you to be excited for me. I want you to tell me it’s perfect.”
“Serena—”
“I hate that the memories we made here are some of my favorite memories,” she keeps going. “But they also hurt so much, I’m not sure I’ll ever get through the pain. I’m so fucking scared I’ll never heal.”
Shit. Maybe this place was a bad idea.
“But most of all, I hate how much I want to ignore all the chaos and warning bells going off in my head. Because when I’m with you, my heart wants to override my brain.” She lifts her glass and sips her wine, then runs her fingers over her lips. “You wanted honesty.”
“I do,” I tell her and then shut the fuck up because if this is what she needs, I owe it to her to hear it. Even if it’s killing me.
“I’m trying to be honest here, Hendrix. But I don’t know what else you want me to say.”
“Anything you want, Serena. I want you to say anything you need to say. I want you to know you can trust me, but I get that I have to earn your trust back. I want you to talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking. Good, bad, and in-between. We’ve got to start somewhere.”
Because I’m not willing to consider the alternative. I’ve spent three years without this woman, and I’m done pretending she’s not mine.
“So how about we start with soccer. What did your doctor say after you blew out your ACL last year? I’ve had to get my information from the fucking family phone tree.”
That earns me a smile.
“You were keeping tabs, Sinclair?”
“I never stopped keeping tabs. Not once. So how about you fill in the blanks.”
The air shifts between us. It’s softer and somehow heavier as I reach for my beer, mainly to keep my hands busy so I don’t reach for her. Even if I’m not sure I’ve been so fucking desperate to reach for anyone before.
Thunder cracks in the distance, and she jumps. It’s small, but I don’t miss it. I never do. Serena always hated a storm. Once upon a time, she would have reached for me. Tucked herself into my side without a second thought. Now her hand stays wrapped around her wine glass as she pushes through.
We spend the next three hours catching up like two people who once knew everything there was to know about each other and who might actually be able to get back to that point again.
And I soak it all in, sitting across from this beautiful woman, in awe of her strength and determination. She was always incredible, and I can’t look away.
She tells me about her surgery. Rehab. About how hard she worked, determined to get back on the field. Hell, she’d rehabbed a torn ACL before. She’d do it again. Until she finally realized her body had other plans and her career was over.
And when I push about the Revolution, she opens up about her old team and her chance to bring it to Philadelphia.
Her. Team.
Her new dream.
And damn if I don’t want to be part of that.
“Serena,” I whisper as I open her door and tuck her soft hair behind her ear. “You’re home.”
Her lashes flutter open slowly, those soft eyes taking a minute to focus on me. “Oh my God. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m so sorry.”
I hold my hand out for her and steady this beautiful woman as she climbs out of my car. “It’s fine. I kept you out way past midnight, Cinderella.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything else as we walk up her front steps, stopping under the porch just as the rain starts. The storm seems to have chased us back home. “Hendrix . . .” she finally sighs, and I drop my hands to her hips, holding her in place.
“Listen to me, Serena. Just listen before you say anything.” She sways toward me, her chest rising and falling with each deep breath. “I told you once that when I asked you out, it was going to change my life.”
“On the beach before I left for college.” With a shaky hand, she fists my shirt. “I remember.”
“I told you that once we did this, you would be it for me. You’d be my life. The only woman I’d ever love.” Fucking hell. Why is this so hard? “It was true, princess. It’s always been you. It’s only ever been you.”
“I don’t understand . . .” Her eyes search mine. “What are you trying to say, Hendrix?”
“I’m trying to tell you you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. It’s only ever been you, Serena. There hasn’t been anyone since. And as much as I want to carry you upstairs and remind you of all the ways we’re good together, I’m willing to wait for you to be ready. I was always willing to wait.”
I lift a hand to her face and trail my thumb over her bottom lip.
“We may not have been together, but you never stopped being mine, Serena Kingston. And I’m going to make you believe it too, no matter how long it takes.
” I pull her head forward and drop my lips to her forehead.
“Now go inside and lock the door before I change my mind.”
“Hendrix . . .” She looks at me, her pupils blown wide and her pale skin lit up with pinks and purples from the stained-glass door. “Goodnight, Superman.”
“‘Night, princess.”