Epilogue - Drew
"Hey you." I lace my fingers through the net in front of me and smother a laugh when Brooke spins around, scared shitless.
"My God, Drew." She drops the camera she was holding, and it bounces off of the strap around her neck as she throws her hand to her chest. "How the hell did you get back there?"
I wink at her and smirk. "I have my ways."
"Jace let you in?" she asks blankly.
I stare at her for half a beat before clearing my throat. "Maybe."
Brooke rolls her eyes then turns back to the field, picking up her camera again. "So, what are you doing here, Twelve?" She aims the lens at one of the Gators on first base in front of her and snaps a shot before looking over her shoulder. "Did you miss me already?"
I drag my tongue over my bottom lip and mentally curse the netting between us for stopping me from showing her exactly how much. "Actually, yeah," I admit through gritted teeth. "It felt like we were gone on opposite days this week."
She shifts and takes one more photo of Jace at second, then removes the strap around her neck and sets the camera in her bag by her feet.
With her hands free, she walks back toward me.
"That's because we were—stupid schedules.
But the first game's next week, so it feels like my first official chance to prove myself, ya know? "
I nod, my chest swelling with pride for her like it always does. "I know, I know. And you're gonna kill it."
She smiles sheepishly.
We're still working on her accepting how perfect she is.
"I do miss you, though," I have to add.
Brooke slips her fingers through the net and intertwines them with mine. "I miss you too. Hopefully, after you win me a Cup we can look into… maybe… moving in together?"
I fake surprise, pulling back, my eyes growing wide. "Brooke Larkin, did you just ask me to move in with you?"
She winds up to smack me in the chest, but drops her hand when she remembers the barrier between us. "Oh, shut up. We've only been talking about it for weeks."
I laugh, incapable of hiding my shit-eating grin as usual. "Oh, I know." My demeanor grows serious as I shove my hands into my pockets. "I can't wait."
She rolls her eyes and looks back toward the field.
So much has changed since that little rink side performance I gave my now girlfriend.
I haven't played a game as anyone other than myself, and my new P.R.
manager helped me to phase out all the other shit.
Turns out, Brooke was right. Once I spoke my piece, the fans moved on to someone else's drama.
Some of them are still coping with the fact that I'm an openly taken man, but if backlash over Brooke is all they have to throw at me, I'll cover myself in glue and make sure that shit sticks.
Brooke called Miles once everything settled down with her aunt.
After a ten minute interview, she had gotten the job and was already in deep conversation about movies with the Gators' owner.
Ivy, who is a total fucking trip, is fine as long as she remembers to take her medication while she's metal detecting across ancient ruins or sword fighting with medieval reenactment groups.
Brooke gets to see her more regularly now, thanks to her routine doctor's appointments, and the two of them usually grab coffee together with Mrs. Larkin.
Blake's cool as shit—I finally got him the autograph he's apparently been wanting.
I wrote it out to Selah though because, man, that little girl is just about the cutest thing I've ever seen.
Her little brother Sawyer is too—Amy told me I have to get him on the ice as soon as he can walk.
But there's something about Say that draws me in.
Maybe it's that she reminds me so much of her aunt.
Brooke waves to someone in the dugout, and it pulls me back to the present. "Who's that? Do I have to worry about you around all these players?"
"Why?" she asks, spinning back toward me. "You afraid I might fall for one of them?"
She winks at me, and my teeth clench through my closed-lip smile. "Just kidding," she sings. "It's Ruthie."
I lean in, attempting to look inside, but am blocked by the angle. "Liam's kid?"
Brooke nods. "Yeah, apparently he fired another nanny."
I cross my arms over my chest. "Do I need to call Burnsey?"
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, smiling and walking back toward her bag. When she reaches for it, I all too quickly step up to the net. "Are you done?" I ask eagerly.
She slows her motion slightly, peering up at me. "I can be," she says. Then, her eyes slink lower, and she licks her lips. "Did you bring the bike? Cause you know, it's been months, and you still haven't cashed in that rain check."
I suck my teeth and nod slowly. "Oh, I brought the bike." Her face lights up as she grins flirtatiously. "And trust me, Mystery Girl. I have all sorts of plans."
Rolling back into town, Brooke's arms squeeze tightly around my waist in excitement.
Her legs are snug around mine, and her chest is pushed flat against my back.
Each turn I take or street I dip down, I can feel her holding her breath, wondering if this might be where I pull over.
I've almost caved a few times already—it's taken all of my self-control not to give in to the moves she's been putting on me the entire ride in.
But despite how much I always want her, I have to stay level-headed right now.
My dad and I have been working on this for months. We've had many long conversations and shopped around more than I care to admit. It's something that I can't believe I'm finally doing, but the moment I saw Brooke at that bar in Grand Oaks, I hoped this is where it would lead.
There's a reason that we were brought back together—I like to think maybe Mom had something to do with it. I wasn't lying when I told her that she was changing everything for me—my life, my game, my heart. Turns out I might have found even more of a home in her than I thought.
"Wait… " Brooke calls over the roar of the bike. I roll to a stop at the next red light and look over my shoulder. "Why are you heading downtown? This is not the highway shoulder I expected."
I chuckle under the shield of my helmet. "Oh, come on, you're way too classy for the shoulder," I toss back. "We're going residential, baby."
She doesn't respond, and I smile, picturing the confusion that's undoubtedly etched into her brow.
The light turns green, and I zip around the next turn, decreasing my speed as we reach an all too familiar street.
Brooke's arms loosen around me as I pull over toward the curb, and I grin, trying to decipher her lessened grip as curiosity or disappointment.
"Drew, I love you," she whispers as I cut the engine. "And that rain check has been burning a hole in my pocket, but I'm not sure the families in these houses would care to witness us having sex across your bike."
Swinging my leg over, I take my helmet off and straddle the seat in the opposite direction to face her. Brooke takes hers off and tosses her hair, her cheeks pink from either the spring sun or her anticipation.
"I thought you were bad, Mystery Girl." She tips her chin down and tilts her head, glaring at me in an adorable way. I lean forward, kissing her gently, and her lips curl beneath mine before I pull away. "I'm kidding, Brooke. That's not why we're here."
She creases her brow, and I wait for nerves to shoot through me now that we've reached our destination.
But they don't come.
They never do with her.
If anything, she calms my chaos.
Things with Brooke are easy, and not in the sense that we never argue or that everything is perfect.
Life didn't just become simple because she suddenly fell into it.
But my love for her outweighs any fear I've ever known.
It's stronger than any doubt or pressure I've taken on.
Truer than any expectation the world has thrown my way.
Being with Brooke feels as natural as hockey once did when I was first handed a stick. And that doesn't mean it's without its bumps and bruises and jagged edges, but it's steady. And it's real. And even when it's hard, it still feels pretty fucking right.
And that's what makes it easy.
That's what makes it everything.
"Brooke, I…"
She stops her eyes from wandering when she hears her name—and my shift in tone—and the way she looks at me expectantly physically draws me closer.
"Brooke," I continue again, shifting forward. "Since I met you, my life has completely changed."
"Drew…"
I hold a finger up and blow out a slow breath. "And some of that had to do with my own choices—finally taking back control of my life. But so much of that is thanks to you."
Brooke's jaw grows tight as her throat moves up and down, her eyes darting back and forth between mine.
I smile slowly, then reach for her hand before continuing.
"I used to feel alone—so alone—even surrounded by people, but when I laid eyes on you last year at the gala, I finally felt connected again. Like I was part of something."
Her gaze drops to our interlocked hands, and she brushes her thumb back and forth over mine. Dipping down, I curl my first finger under her chin and bring her back to me. "Brooke, I used to think that true love was something that had to take your breath away. But it's not like that with you."
"Gee thanks," she says through a laugh, her voice nearly breathless, her eyes now glossy.
I exhale through a soft chuckle, swallowing the emotion rising in my throat. "It's not like that with you," I repeat. "Because with you, it's like I can finally breathe for the first time in too damn long."
Brooke's eyes fall shut, and when she opens them, a single tear rolls down her face.
I lift my hand to brush it away, but at the last second, I change my mind.
I don't want to wipe away her emotions—the ones she gives me so willingly now.
I want to see her feel everything. And still know she's safe with me.
Instead of reaching for her cheek, I drop my arm and look over my shoulder at the brownstone we're parked in front of.
The one I've dreamed of living in for as long as I can remember.
That I want to turn into a home—our home.
That I want to fill with art and decorations and pictures… so many pictures.
The one I bought for Brooke and me.
"Brooke Larkin, will you—" I lift the leg of my jeans and slip my hand into the ankle of my sock.
"Wait, what are you doing?" she asks anxiously.
I hold up the shiny gold key I pulled out. "Will you move in with me?"
Brooke sucks in a breath and rips it from my grasp, holding it in both hands, examining it. "Oh my God. Drew, I—" She smiles and shakes her head, looking back down at the metal. "I thought you were gonna ask me to marry you."
I huff out an almost awkward laugh. "And what would you have said to that?"
Brooke's eyebrows shoot up briefly before settling back down. Her shoulders sink slightly, but not from disappointment or devastation—from ease and comfortability.
"I mean, honestly?"
I nod, nerves just now threatening to creep in.
"I would have said yes."
Now it's my body that relaxes as I dip back down into my sock. "Well, good." I hold up the gold-banded, admittedly over-size single oval-cut diamond ring, and it shines almost as brightly in the sun as Brooke does behind it. "Because that was next."
She gasps, taking it in, her palm flying to her mouth. "What is happening?" she whispers.
I pull her wrist back and hold her hand in mine. "I was hoping to change your life too, Mystery Girl."
"Our life, Twelve," she shoots back.
I nod, my chest tight with everything bubbling to the surface—happiness, adrenaline, eagerness… love. "Is that a yes?" I ask, looking into her chocolate eyes.
She smiles, and everything settles again. My perfect anchor. "Yes."
"To both?"
Brooke inhales deeply, looking down at the ring. "To both," she says, then she looks up at me and arches a brow. "God, I'm such a cougar."
We both laugh as I slide the ring on her finger.
"No big performance this time," she says definitively.
I peer up at her and fill my lungs with air, shaking my head. "Nope. Just me."
"Good." She leans in and kisses me like she always does, our lips connecting like they were meant for each other—like they always did. "That's all I ever wanted."