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forty-three

CAROLINE

Austin, TX, USA

I’ve never experienced two months like this.

Both a whirlwind ride and a slow-motion music montage. Like a ripple in time set aside just for us.

It’s been two whole months of me and Rhett—for real.

Long enough for it to still feel brand new, yet also like something that’s always been.

Long enough for the winter holidays to pass in a blur of flights, rinkside grins, and quiet mornings tangled up in each other.

Long enough that I can say Rhett’s kept true to his word.

Long enough that I’ve gotten used to having my walls down and my heart open.

Long enough that I like it—and don’t want it to stop. Maybe ever.

It’s been good. Really good.

Every day feels exciting. New. Special.

And today, just a little more so.

It’s Rhett’s birthday. There’s no game tonight, no press, no obligations. Just time .

I asked him this morning how he’d spend the day if he could do anything. He didn’t hesitate.

So now we’re here, at a roller rink on the edge of Austin that looks like it hasn’t changed since 1985—equal parts disco ball and neon fever dream.

“Is this everything you dreamed of, birthday boy?” I ask, tugging on my rollerblades. I barely reach for one of the straps before Rhett kneels in front of me and takes over, his fingers fast and practiced.

“Oh yeah,” he grins. “I went to a place just like this all the time growing up.”

“And the rest of the time?”

“Hockey,” he answers without pause.

“Obviously,” I say. “What about during summer?”

“More hockey,” he shrugs. “In Lake Placid.”

“Yeah?” My brows lift. “When were you there?”

“Every summer from when I was eight until I left for U of T. I actually rollerbladed a ton there too. Good cardio.”

I smile. “That’s cute.”

“I am cute,” he replies easily, finishing the last strap. He glances up, that soft mischief in his eyes. “Crazy it took you so long to realize it.”

I lean down, brushing a kiss against his mouth. “Aren’t you going to ask what I spent my time doing?”

“I already know.” He stands, offering me his hand. “Being a nerd.”

“Shut up.” I roll my eyes but take his hand anyway as he helps me up.

“Am I wrong?” he laughs as we wobble toward the rink.

“No. But still—shut up.” I swat at his chest playfully, and he easily dodges me.

“I think what matters more,” he murmurs, leaning in close, “is that I know what you like spending your time doing these days.”

I open my mouth to respond, but his voice drops to a whisper right against my ear. “Actually, I thought I might take a little extra time tonight doing?—”

“Rhett Sutton!”

We’re cut off by a wave of energy—half a dozen boys skating toward him like he’s Santa Claus and a Marvel superhero rolled into one.

Rhett straightens, laughing as they swarm him.

They ask for everything from autographs to photos to hockey advice.

He signs everything passed his way with a careful hand.

Answers every question like it’s the first one he’s ever heard.

Listens like they’re telling him the greatest secrets in the world.

I drift to the edge of the rink, watching.

There’s something about the way he crouches to their level. The way he ruffles their hair. The way he looks them in the eye the same way he would a respected elder.

Just as the last boy skates away, one more approaches with his father. His eyes go wide.

“O–oh my God,” he stammers. “Can I please take a picture with you, Mr. Sutton?”

“Of course,” Rhett says, winking. “As long as you get my good side.”

The dad snaps the photo, then one of himself and Rhett. “Thanks, man. And hey—good luck against Chicago this weekend.”

“I play hockey too!” the kid chimes in. “You’re my hero.”

Rhett’s smile falters for the briefest second before he recovers. “Stick with it,” he tells the boy, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be looking for your name in the NHL draft ten years from now.”

When he finally makes it back to me, I can’t help but say it. “You’re good with kids.”

He shrugs. “Kids are the best. So happy. So innocent. So full of life.”

“They look up to you, you know.”

He scoffs. “I don’t know about that.”

“They do,” I insist. “That kid just told you you’re his hero.”

“Well, he needs higher standards for himself,” he mumbles, reaching out to twirl a strand of my hair.

Deciding to let it go, I switch subjects.

“I almost forgot we leave for Chicago tomorrow night,” I say.

“Yeah,” Rhett replies, brows pinching. “Me too. Almost.”

“How do you feel about it? Playing them? I know it’s been a long time, but is it weird to go back there?”

He tucks the strand behind my ear. “Can’t say it’s my favorite game on the calendar.”

I tilt my head. “Rhett, what exactly happened?—”

Before I can finish, the lights dim into a wash of blues and purples. “Wonderwall” by Oasis starts playing, echoing through the rink. Rhett’s face changes instantly.

“This your song?” I ask.

“It’s my favorite,” he says, holding out his hand. “Skate with me.”

And I do.

We skate until the rink closes. Until the world narrows to just us, floating in neon light and laughter.

Later, we stumble through the door of the apartment, still breathless, still kissing like we’re teenagers. We drop half our clothes in the kitchen—my pants by the door, his jacket on the counter—and we’re halfway into his bedroom before he stops.

“God, I hate myself,” he groans. “But I gotta use the little birthday boy’s room.”

I laugh into his neck. “Too much all-you-can-drink soda?”

“We were party animals tonight.”

“Go,” I grin. “I’ll be right here. ”

“Thirty seconds,” he promises, kissing me once more before slipping into the bathroom.

I wander to his bed, smoothing my hair. But something catches my eye.

The jewelry box.

The old one from his closet. It’s sitting out now, right on his nightstand.

I walk over, my fingers brushing the lid.

The bathroom door opens. “Alright,” he says, reappearing. “Where were we?”

He kisses my neck, arms wrapping around my waist—until he notices where I’m standing.

“Why do you have this out?” I ask.

“Oh.” He hesitates, raking a hand through his hair. “I… actually wanted you to have it.”

“What?” I blink. “Why?”

“Call it a gift.”

“On your birthday?”

He shrugs. “I know you liked it.”

“I do. It’s beautiful. But I thought it was something special to you.”

He doesn’t answer. Just scoops me up and carries me to the bed, laying us down side by side.

“You want to know the truth?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“There’s nothing I’ve ever had that was even remotely as special to me as you are.”

My breath catches.

I reach for his hand, and he takes it, interlacing our fingers. He brings mine to his lips and kisses my knuckle—soft, careful. Then his gaze falls to the rings on our fingers, and his brows slowly pull together.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Cub, I just…” He shakes his head. “I’ve gotten lucky a lot in life.

And I’ve screwed up time and time again.

I thought for a long time my luck had to have run out.

That karma was coming for me, and I’d just wait for the inevitable.

But somehow, here I am. With you. The luckiest goddamn idiot in the world.

I just…don’t understand it. Don’t know what I did to deserve you. ”

I pull him to me, pressing my lips against his.

“You don’t need to understand everything.”

He exhales a shaky breath, like he’s been holding it for years.

“Cub, I think I lo?—”

I press my hand to his mouth before he can finish. I don’t need him to say it.

Because I know. I feel it too—sharp and quiet and terrifying, pulsing like a second heartbeat under my skin. But still, I’m not ready.

“No,” I whisper. “Not yet. Please.”

He stares at me with a question in his eyes that he doesn’t ask. And I’m grateful. Because I don’t have an answer.

I don’t know why this last part of me won’t let go.

Why, even with everything I feel, some instinct still pulls me back.

Maybe it’s the years I spent not believing him—thinking he was just another charmer who wanted the chase.

Maybe it’s the way I’ve trained myself to stay composed, to lead with control instead of vulnerability.

Whatever it is, it’s still here. Holding me back. Holding me together.

“Okay,” Rhett says softly, pulling my hand from his lips and pressing it to his chest. Right over his heart.

The silence stretches. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just… quiet. Real.

“I just need a little more time to process it,” I say. “To believe this is real.”

Not because I don’t believe him. But because the part of me that always prepared for disappointment hasn’t stopped bracing.

He lies back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other still holding my hand. I shift closer, curling into his side. His fingers trace slow, steady lines along my spine, each one softening the wall I’ve built.

Guilt twists quietly in my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “And I have no problem waiting on you. I’ve had lots of practice.”

I study him in the dim light. His face, open and honest. His mouth, tugged into a patient smile. His eyes, full of something so steady it scares me.

“Rhett?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re really special, too. To me. But also just in general. You should know that. I hope you know that.”

He blinks, then turns and kisses me—gentle, unrushed. I breathe him in. The warmth of his skin.

The quiet way he sees me. The steady beat of his heart.

The words hover at the edge of my tongue. I love you. I do.

But instead of saying them, I press closer. I tangle my leg over his, slip my fingers beneath the hem of his shirt, and pull him down with me.

And for tonight, I decide to listen to my head instead of my heart.