Page 18

Resolve settled deep in her bones, steady and sure.

She was done waiting on the sidelines of her own life.

Tonight, she would sit down and watch the game—not just out of obligation, but with genuine effort.

She’d let herself get swept up in it, even if just a little.

Hours later, as she watched the game, she texted him almost as a running commentary.

I can’t even see the puck on the ice!

Why did you have to go to the penalty box?

What’s a hat trick?

OH MY GOSH – THAT DUDE HIT YOU!

OH MY GOSH – YOU HIT HIM BACK?!

Holy-canape-on-a-cracker… y’all are fighting, like full-on fist-fighting?

They just showed your face, and you’re bleeding! XOXO

You look angry.

Hahahaha – I just saw you making faces and skating backward, dancing. Oh gosh, that is great! You actually shook your butt on the screen? LOL

WE WON!

Oh my gosh, this is addictive!

Karen was sitting on the old, worn-out couch, cuddled in a blanket because she could smell his cologne, and it made her feel closer to him as she watched the game.

While they weren’t together, it felt like she was almost there, almost a part of his life, and that they were taking strides forward, giving this a chance.

Instead of getting up and going into that empty bedroom, she simply turned and lay down on the couch, pulling the blanket over her, and turned off the television.

Snuggling down, she let out a sigh of contentment.

This all felt like a brand-new start, and she couldn’t wait to see what came next… only to hear her phone beep.

Nutella, I’m speechless.

I love that you watched the game and your texts. You’ve blown my mind this evening in the best way possible. Can I call you later? I know it’s late, but I’ve still gotta get a shower and find my hotel room.

Call me when you get settled.

I will. XOXO

LOL - XOXO

Closing her eyes, Karen relaxed, letting her mind wander to what it would be like to be a part of his world.

What would it be like to have him trying to be playful and romantic, and having it directed at her?

Getting to know him a little bit more over the last few weeks, she saw so many expressions and facets to his personality, giving her an inkling of what a real relationship could be like between them…

or at least those memories of what he’d been like before it dried up.

She really had done a number on them, pushing him away, and knew how lucky she was to have this chance.

She had almost drifted off to sleep when her cell phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Is it too late to call?” Jett’s voice began. “I’m sorry, I just got to my room, and one of the guys was making a scene down the hallway that really got under my skin. Sheesh…”

“Oh?” she asked, perking up.

“Yeah, they were all over each other – and well, it was shameful .”

The idea of Jett, who had little filter when it came to expressing himself, deeming something was ‘shameful’ seemed so funny to her. She began to laugh, and he joined in – and before long, the two of them were laughing together like they’d shared some epic joke.

“Shameful, huh?”

“The heat was coming off of Larsson and his wife in waves…”

“I’m surprised you didn’t sit there and watch.”

“I did for a few minutes until jealousy and a swift dose of reality hit. You’re there.

I’m here. We’re not ready for the thoughts that were going through my mind.

I’ve still got a kiss that I owe you, Nutella, and I’m telling you now – it’s gonna be so good,” his voice finished in a husky and breathless manner that left her catching her breath

“I have no doubts,” she whispered, her heart thumping wildly in anticipation and awareness.

“I want you for my wife – and not just on paper,” he admitted softly, making her melt. “I want us to have a relationship, to laugh, to spend time together, and to be close.”

“I want that too,” she admitted, feeling emotional. “I don’t… I’m trying, but I’m scared to get hurt because we don’t know each other. I mean, it felt like you picked me out of the room, and then ‘boom’ we were married.”

“That’s exactly what I did,” he admitted, laughing – and while it didn’t settle her nerves, just hearing his crazy method of picking the person you are planning on spending your life with seemed just so, so… so Jett .

“I picked you because there’s something about you that speaks to me – and I’m not gonna hurt you or your feelings because I want us to have our own kind of magic. When you married me, you became my person. You are my very own cheer squad, my best friend, the person I want to harass and annoy…”

And she couldn’t help but laugh tearfully at his words, realizing he was being as open and candid as possible. This was a moment she would never forget and a clarity between them she would forever treasure.

“I’m here for you and going nowhere – got me?

My dad never married my mom – and I’m guessing it was because he was afraid of commitment, but that ain’t me, wife ,” he stressed tenderly before drawing in a breath that made her heart skip a beat in awareness, waiting for him to continue speaking.

“I’m here, jumping all in, and if we’re sinking in the deep end…

Nutella, I’ll hold your hand as we drown together.

I’m your husband – and you’re my wife. It’s up to us to create what our marriage is together. ”

“You really mean that… don’t you?” her voice was like the merest, fragile whisper, her heart and soul responding to his words, craving them and the feelings it invoked within her.

“Coffee dates when we’re ninety, remember?” he breathed, his own just as poignant.

“I remember,” she promised tearfully, smiling.

“You’ll be sick of me – or senile – and I’m here for both,” he promised – and they both chuckled emotionally, sharing something deeper than anything she ever imagined.

He was holding out a piece of his heart and soul to her, asking to be accepted despite his quirks.

While others might draw a bright pink heart with little bows and flowers, Jett’s was neon purple with lightning and some awesome green streaks just to catch the eye… and hers, if she wanted it.

“Man, that sounds like a good time, husband.”

“Doesn’t it, wife?” he murmured. “Now, get some sleep, dream of me, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be waiting for you,” she promised, putting it out there because she wasn’t backing away now.

They were both jumping into the deep end – and she was clinging to him mentally and emotionally, holding on.

She heard his intake of breath and almost said something to explain her thoughts, why she was planning on being there, and then hesitated.

He would never expect her to explain herself to him – that wasn’t him, wasn’t his style.

“Good,” he said hoarsely, his voice trembling. “I’ve never had someone waiting for me after the game that meant something – so it will be nice to see what that feels like.”

“I guess we’ll both find out – won’t we?”

“Guess so, wife.”

They ended the call, and Karen sighed heavily in happiness, laying her phone against her chest as she tucked an arm behind her head – and couldn’t stop smiling.

A s the bus eased to a stop in front of the arena, Karen stood just off to the side, her hands nervously twisting in front of her as uncertainty clawed at her.

Should she have waited by the curb? Walked over to the parking area where the players would be unloading?

Or maybe she was supposed to stand with the cluster of other women already gathered nearby, chatting effortlessly as if they belonged here—like this moment was just another routine, just another welcome home.

But it wasn’t routine for her.

None of this was.

Her eyes darted from the bus to the crowd and back again, her throat tightening with a familiar sense of disconnection.

She had never been good at fitting in, never one to melt into the social fabric the way others did.

She tried—God, she tried—but the small talk felt awkward and artificial, like trying to wear someone else’s skin.

Each laugh and easy smile around her only deepened the quiet ache in her chest. So, little by little, she had started drifting backward, inching toward the haven of her car where things made sense, where she could breathe without performing.

Her gaze stayed on the bus, though, anchored there by a fragile thread of hope and nervous anticipation.

The doors hissed open, and one by one, players began to step down, their faces weary from travel and long hours, their bodies moving like they carried the weight of more than just their gear.

Some were greeted by families—arms flung around necks, excited voices raised in welcome.

It was beautiful to watch, but it made her feel even more on the outside looking in.

And then—her heart stumbled in her chest.

Jett.

He stepped off the bus slowly, his tall frame momentarily pausing at the bottom of the steps as he scanned the crowd. Then, without a word or sign of recognition, he turned abruptly and walked off to the right as if she weren’t even there.

Had he not seen her?

She swallowed the lump of uncertainty rising in her throat and raised her hand, ready to wave, to call out—or retreat, she wasn’t sure which.

But before she could do either, he stopped.

He crouched down, his fingers curling around something in the grass.

And then, with a suddenness that made her breath catch, he turned and ran straight toward her, his duffel bouncing against his shoulder, his eyes fixed only on her.

She didn’t move.

She couldn’t.

Jett came to a stop in front of her, holding up a ragged dandelion—its petals sparse, its stem bent—but he offered it to her with such solemn tenderness that her throat tightened.

“A flower for you,” he whispered.

She blinked back the sting in her eyes. A weed, yes—but it had petals. It came from the ground. It was alive. And he’d thought of her.

“I love it,” she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion.

“It’s a weed,” he chuckled nervously, his gaze soft and searching as it lingered on hers. “But I think it’s time to find a florist because I miss giving you flowers.”

“You’ve only given me flowers once.”

“Twice,” he corrected with a grin, gently tapping the top of the dandelion. Then his smile softened, faded into something more intimate, more real. “You look beautiful.”

Her heart skipped, thudded, fluttered. She tried to breathe past it.

“I didn’t see you get hit in the head last night,” she teased, her voice trembling just slightly, unsure if the moment was real or if she’d somehow dreamed it into being. “And why haven’t you hugged me yet?”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Do you need one?”

“Maybe.”

“How about you have an open-ended invitation to hug me anytime you could ever want to.”

“Anytime?”

“Yes.”

“Three in the morning?” he asked, his tone playful, but his eyes still locked on hers, searching.

“Let me sleep through it, but yes,” Karen smiled up at him, warmth and affection spilling into every corner of her expression.

“Sounds like an amazing invitation,” he murmured as he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her in close.

And just like that, the chaos in her mind quieted.

The uncertainty, the loneliness, the wondering if she belonged—it all faded as he held her.

Here, in his arms, she didn’t have to pretend.

She didn’t have to find the right words or force a smile.

She could just be… and he accepted, welcomed, and cherished.

This is what he’d been offering – and she welcomed it now that she knew and understood.

“Gosh, this feels good seeing you here,” he said softly.

And it did.

It felt like home.