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JESS

Grandma Dolly takes KJ home so they can have some celebration cake before it gets too late. I make her promise to save me a slice.

While waiting in the hallway after the game, I watch as families, wives, and girlfriends gather around their players. They cheer, clap, and hug.

Even though I’m not a hockey super fan like my grandmother, understanding everything that was going on, Liam, along with the team, was remarkable. The smile he flashed while waving at his son and me was the real win of the night.

As people filter out to go celebrate, I post to @TheRealLiamEllis so we don’t have to deal with it later. I sense a shadow looming over me and look up with a smile, expecting it to be him.

Instead, one of the Toronto players leers at me, crowding my space.

My gaze darts around him, looking for an assist from one of the Knights or a passerby, but everyone is occupied. To distract him, I want to say, Oh look, a puck!

His gaze narrows and he creeps closer. Maybe he’s just sore that he lost.

Nerves wash through me as I wave hello. “Hi! I’m Jess. Can I help you? Also, you played a bang-up game. If that’s a good thing. You knocked it out of the park. Wait. That’s baseball. Good job. I don’t believe everyone should get a trophy, but maybe a participation award because you look like you?—”

“Shut up,” he hisses.

Up close, I recognize the guy. Henri Valjean, I take a step back into the painted cement wall. “Excuse me?”

He stabs the air with his stubby finger. “I know who you are. Ellis’s wife. Now you’re on my list too.”

“On your list of people who brighten your day? I really enjoy making lists. Have you ever kept a bullet journal?” I ask brightly, meanwhile, I’m concerned he’s making a hit list of people he wants to clobber with his hockey stick.

He snarls, now pointing his finger in my face. “If you know what’s good for you?—”

If he gets any closer, I’m going to acquaint him with my extra-large coffee. As enthusiastic as I was about watching Liam and the Knights play, all I could think about was snuggling up in number forty-five’s arms and I needed something to keep me awake.

Refusing to let my voice shake, I say, “Sir, you’re being rude and acting in a threatening way. You don’t know who I am. I don’t know much about you other than your name, but it would be a lot better for the both of us if you left me alone. Or go have a cookie. Or try smiling,” I add, flashing mine with quivering lips.

“I’m looking for Ellis and when I find him, it’s game over.”

“I suppose you’ll have to get in line because I’m waiting for him too. Funny, he and I first met in a line. At a coffee shop. I had to pee really bad. Speaking of, I should probably go find the ladies’ room. Nature calls. Tootles!” I wiggle my fingers with a wave.

His harsh expression turns quizzical before he glowers, hissing, “You’re not worth it, anyway.”

Relief sweeps through me followed by tears brimming in my eyes as we go in opposite directions.

As the really truly mean guy from the Titans stalks off, the Knights player the fans call The Beast approaches, looking surly and sour. His frown deepens when I wipe my eyes.

“Great game. Grandma Dolly took KJ home. I wanted to wait.” I gesture over my shoulder to the area where families wait for the players.

Alarm ices over his features. “Jessica, what’s going on?”

I shrug. “Nothing. I’m tired.”

“You’re holding what may as well be the Big Gulp equivalent of a coffee. You’re wired.”

“I only took a few sips.”

His harsh tone softens. “Please, look at me. What’s going on?”

“Just a bad apple tried to spoil my excitement over the win.”

Liam’s gaze narrows toward the hallway. “Do you mean Henri Valjean?”

“That name sounds familiar.”

“He’s Marci’s brother.”

“The one who—?” I cut myself off because I don’t want to bring up the past. At least not right now.

“Remember you offered to listen if I talked about it later?” he asks, eyes dark.

“Yeah. I mean anytime, but now?”

He nods slowly. “You were right. I’d been shouldering the blame. Carrying it around with me. That’s not to say that Valjean doesn’t have a right to be upset, but it happened ten years ago. That doesn’t change the outcome, but …”

The end of the sentence Liam doesn’t say is that it truly wasn’t his fault. Instead, as he looks up, he utters, “Valjean.”

This time Valjean approaches with his hockey stick lifted.

“Oh, wow. It’s you again. Fancy meeting you here. Such a great game. The Titans really wowed,” I say brightly.

Valjean glowers. “I was looking for him and I told you, if you know what’s good for you?—”

I twist my hands like I’m presenting a game show prize. “Liam Ellis in the flesh and he is very good for me.” I shimmy up to his side.

He scowls at the Titans player.

“Tell your yappy little dog to get out of the way. We’re going to finish this once and for all.” Valjean lifts his stick.

Liam’s fists tighten and his glare deepens.

“Those sound like fighting words. Let’s not do anything we’ll regret, guys.”

Liam’s nostrils flare. His chest lifts on an inhale, reminding me of an old-fashioned fire bellows that feeds the flame.

“Tell her to get lost … or else,” Valjean says.

My husband grinds out, “You are talking about my wife .” Liam’s tone is assertive and protective.

Trying to keep things light and upbeat, I say, “I do yip.”

Liam says softly, “Jessica, you have a very pleasant voice.”

“Oh well, thank you. I’m not really a singer, unless in the car with the windows down. In fact, that helped me get through the long drive to Cobbiton from Los Angeles.”

But my rambling is lost as the guys face off.

Valjean spits, “Tell her to zip it or I’m going to shut her up if you don’t?—”

I watch the hurtful words coming out of Valjean’s thin-lipped little mouth and then he disappears. I mean, not really. There’s no wizardry involved. More like Liam levels him. No punches are thrown, but he shoves him down, making him sit and shut up.

“I’m done with you lording over my life, making me pay for something that wasn’t my fault.”

And there it is. He finally said it.

Valjean tries to get to his feet. Liam holds him in place with one hand.

“No, listen to me. I’ve punished myself for years. Nothing you can do to me will hurt worse than what I’ve caused myself. I’ve taken your abuse on the ice, physically and the comments you’ve made about Hendrix.”

By now, a crowd has started to gather, including Liam’s brother. “What’s going on?”

“Liam is having a therapy session,” I whisper.

A few of the other Knights must take notice and clear out the nosy nellies.

Liam frowns. “I’m done. It’s over. I’m truly sorry about that night. That you lost your sister.”

Hendrix moves to intervene, but I grip his arm, mostly because I need something to hold on to and the brothers are about the same size. Plus, I think Liam needs this moment without interference as well-meaning as it might be.

He continues, “But it doesn’t do either one of us any good reliving it.”

“You have no idea,” Valjean growls.

“You’re right. I don’t. But I was there. It was icy. Franklin said he was okay to drive. We didn’t have any reason not to believe him. Marci made him promise to go slow. He did even though she kept tickling his ear and kissing his neck from the backseat. She wasn’t wearing her seatbelt. Then we hit a slick patch. He lost control. I’ve played it over and over in my mind. Traded places. Wished that it had been me.” Liam’s voice strains.

My heart breaks for him, for both of them and for what they went through.

Liam glares at Valjean. “When we got in the car, Franklin told everyone to put on their seatbelts. No exceptions. He specifically reminded Marci. She said you never made her when you drove her and picked her up from school.”

Valjean’s face turns red and then his eyes dissolve with liquid and he presses them shut.

I quickly realize that he’s been putting his guilt onto Liam, and Liam has been turning his guilt onto himself. It’s too much to ask for them to hug it out, but Liam does extend his hand to help his adversary to his feet.

Hendrix claps Liam’s shoulder. “You okay, bro?”

He nods, then turns back to Valjean. “Now, apologize to my wife,” Liam says in a tone that suggests the Titans player won’t be okay if he doesn’t say he’s sorry.

Valjean mutters, “Sorry.”

The guys nod at each other and Valjean whisks down the hallway.

I call after him, “Thanks and have a great night! Good luck next season. Break a—” I wince. “I mean, don’t break anything. That’s a theater term.”

The guys chuckle. Hendrix gives his brother a bro hug and then I get a bear hug.

“I was wrong about you guys,” he whispers before letting me go and leaving us for Colette. Did he see our marriage of convenience for what it was … and what it is now?

When Liam and I get outside, it’s warm, almost summer. I let out a long-held breath.

Liam is quiet on the drive back to the loft.

When we park, I say, “Thanks for sticking up for me.”

He stiffens. “Don’t ever think you deserve anything less.”

“Ironic to have Mr. Meanie telling meanies to leave me alone.”

“You don’t win by being nice.”

“Bullies always lose.”

“Are you saying I’m a bully?”

“You can be rude.”

Liam cuts the engine. “How do you propose I dealt with Valjean? He’s been tormenting me and then he brought it to you. Not on my watch.”

“You could’ve called him to talk about it before it?—”

“Jessica, I’ve done everything short of writing the guy a love letter.”

“Oh.”

“Also, I’m not mean.” He pouts.

“No?”

“I’m direct.”

“You can be impolite.”

“Clear.”

“Abrupt.”

“It’s called using leverage, negotiating.”

“At times, you’re brutally honest.”

“You’re brutally friendly and upbeat.”

I twist my hand so my palm faces the ceiling. “Why is that a problem?”

“Because sometimes it’s forced, not real.”

“So you’re saying I’m fake?” I fold my arms in front of my chest.

“No, but not always honest.”

“Maybe I’ll change your name from Mr. Meanie to Mr. Cynical.”

“It’s like you wander around blindfolded, playing pin the tail on the donkey when there are people who want to touch your Bundt or?—”

I almost laugh, but instead say, “And you’re blindfolded carrying a stick, trying to bash a pinata.”

He almost smirks because he knows I’m right. “Sometimes it’s like being blasted with a firehose of confetti.”

“And that’s bad?”

He exhales and leans over to face me, eyes serious yet imploring. “I just don’t want to see guys like Henri Valjean try to take you down.”

“I thought you two made up.”

“But he told you to shut up.”

“I forgive him. It was in the heat of the moment.”

Liam’s mouth hardens. “Let me be clear, abrupt, rude, whatever you want to call it. No one talks to my wife with anything short of respect.” His tone suddenly softens as if he realizes something. “Including me.”

“Oh,” is all I can say to that. Glad he came to his senses.

We’re both quiet as the engine ticks. We get out of the car but don’t go inside. Rather, Liam lingers on the sidewalk. Like the times I’d hear that I was being moved to another home, I’m afraid he’s going to tell me it’s time for me to leave. My stomach twists with knots as disappointment and fear well up inside.

He scratches his temple. “I don’t like the idea of you hurting … or denying that something hurts.”

“I’m not the one who plays defense for a pro hockey team.”

“I mean the other kind of hurt. The invisible type you mentioned once.”

“Like carrying around guilt for years and years.”

“Or shame. Or thinking that you’re not lovable. Feeling lonely.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “In that case, Liam, will you talk to me like you love me?”

A long, long beat passes when he says more with his eyes than he’s ever said with words. “Yes, but also, how about I show you?” He steps closer.

I lift a shoulder in casual confirmation while my heart slams against my ribs because Liam’s blue-gray eyes are on me, saying one thing.

He wants me.

Threading his fingers through mine, he draws me into him and the space between us disappears. Before our mouths meet, he plants his lips on the inside of my wrist, then in that little dip in my collarbone, then he tickles my neck with his breath as he trails kisses from under my jaw to behind my ear, and to my temple.

The little tug inside me grows and my breath turns erratic.

Liam’s hands land on my lower back. I tug on his shirt.

My cheek brushes his stubble.

At last, our mouths meet. The kiss heats between us, sending the swizzles from my head to my toes.

Liam gently cups my jaw and I twine my fingers into his hair. There’s no denying our physical chemistry. I mean how could there not be, at least for me, given #MrDarcysAbs? However, it goes deeper now. So does the kiss.

We were both loners and while he made himself an island, I got lost in the crowd, surrounding myself with people like the Coogans who didn’t really care. I was afraid to be alone. Liam was afraid to let people in. We weren’t that different after all.

As we settle into the kiss, maybe we’re exactly right for each other.

It took a rude awakening and a return home for me to prioritize quality friendships over trying to prove that I was worthy of them. For Liam, it took losing sleep to see that building quality relationships are less risky than being alone.

And all of that somehow worked, in a clumsy way, to bring us together. I feel the pounding of Liam’s heart, for me. His hands are on me, his mouth. He’s mine and I’m his.

At some point, all these thoughts disappear, so do my limbs, skin, bones, gone along with complete awareness. Poof. I melt into my man’s arms and I’m a puddle.

I only surface from the bliss that is this kiss when I feel something change with the press of Liam’s lips to mine. It’s then I realize that he’s smiling against my mouth. A big, happy smile. It’s the one I didn’t even realize I was waiting for.

I whisper, “Me too.”

A laugh rumbles through his chest.

Communication is vital, whatever it looks, sounds, or feels like. Turns out, I rather like how Liam isn’t using his words.

Gripping me close, we make out some more on the sidewalk, in the soft night with the stars twinkling above.

When we part, I say, “With all that talk about confetti, pinatas, and pin the tail on the donkey, it sounds like we need to throw a party.”

“What are we celebrating?”

“Us.”

“Will there be cake?” he asks.

“Yes, Liam, yes.”

“So are we communicating now, finally?” he asks.

“I would say so.”

He says, “I have one more thing I’d like you to know.”

“That you want me to clean up my hair from the sink and stop leaving water glasses everywhere? I’m working on it.”

“No, that I love when you fold my laundry, make the bed, and tidy up the kitchen at the end of the day. I feel taken care of.” He clears his throat. “I feel loved … and—” His hands move and he speaks and signs, “I love you.”

The truth of his words and how he shows them to me are brighter than sunshine. They fill me and warm me.

“I’ve never loved anyone other than Grandma Dolly and KJ. But this is different.”

He lifts his eyebrows.

“I love you, too. I love when you wrap your arms around me. When you ask about my day, make me tea, when you fix things.”

“Yeah?”

“I really love it when you sign. There are lots of ways to communicate.”

“I’m ready to learn all of them.”

We kiss again and I feel so very loved.