Page 33

CHAPTER THIRTY

T hatcher’s confession has heat building in my gut as I watch him move away from me to take the seat in front of me. He had the perfect opportunity to kiss me, but he didn’t. My need for his lips on mine is actually causing my eye to twitch. How many almost-kisses will we have before I get what I’m finally admitting to wanting? I almost ask, but that seems a little too eager, doesn’t it? Maybe I should make a move? Or else I’ll be waiting years for another song to prompt that kiss.

When his dark-brown eyes meet mine, the warm glow of the candle making them seem darker, I blurt out, “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

His lips lift at the side as he leans back in his seat, unbuttoning his jacket with one hand like he doesn’t belong on the ice, but the runway. “Because if I do, I won’t stop.”

He says it so confidently, so effortlessly, leaving me stupefied. Breathless, I ask, “And the problem…?”

Thatcher chuckles, and my clit throbs at the huskiness in his voice. “Have you gotten into exhibitionism since you’ve been gone?”

I snort a laugh at that. “That would mean I’d have to actually hook up with someone.”

He raises his brows at that. “Is that right? Been busy?”

I curve my lips. “Yeah, being a mom.”

“The best mom,” he tells me, opening his napkin in his lap. “You know that, right? You’ve done a great job with her, Audrina.”

My heart swells with pride. “Thank you.”

“So, no one caught your eye?”

I sigh very dramatically. “Nope, was never looking.”

He likes that; I can tell by the way his lips arc into a wicked grin before he mutters, “Good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah. I like how that makes me feel.”

“Had nothing to do with you,” I tease, to which his grin grows wider.

“Still lying to us?” he asks, his voice all throaty and dirty. “For shame.”

I can’t hide my grin as heat trails down my spine and my cheeks flush. He makes it really hard not to want to climb onto this table and lay myself out like a feast for him. Thankfully, a waitress comes out to hand us our menus, and when I see what the fixed courses are, I actually squeal. Just as Arwen does whenever Thatcher lifts her in the air. “You planned an hors d’oeuvres dinner for me?”

For the first time in so long, I hear the excitement in my voice. I’ve been living only for Arwen the last three years, but tonight, this is for me. I’ve always wanted a meal like this. Where all you get is yummy appetizers because I eat too fast when I have a lot of food in front of me. I shouldn’t be surprised by what he has planned. He knows how much I love hors d’oeuvres, but even so, I can’t kick the giddy feeling in my gut. “I selected this place because they have the best appetizers. Plus, Jennings Sr. had his chef prepare some dishes that are from the spring and summer menu, so I hope you’re hungry.”

I wiggle in my seat. “I am.”

“Good,” he says, a small smirk on his lips as he pours me a glass of white wine that will go with the first couple courses. I’m geeking out as his eyes meet mine, and slowly, his smirk turns into a full-blown grin. “You’re stunning, dushen’ka . I love when you smile.”

My cheeks burn, and I look away toward the skyline, the many sparkling buildings glowing in the dark night sky. The whole world is out there, but I want to be nowhere other than right where I am.

When he taps the table, a habit from needing to get Ingrid’s, and now Arwen’s, attention, I look back to find him holding his wine up to me. I grab mine, and our glasses meet in the middle before his gravelly voice wraps around me like a fuzzy blanket. “To new beginnings. As an us.”

I roll my eyes. “You’ve ruined that word for me.”

“No way,” he says, his eyes challenging. “I’ve made it mean more.”

I watch him for a moment, and why do I agree? He’s too handsome for his own damn good. All dark, his hair falling into his eyes, his beard neatly trimmed, and his dark-brown eyes pinned on me. He looks like a walking sex god in a Tom Ford suit. His shoulders fill the suit to perfection, and it’s pretty sexy the way the jacket hangs open, the white shirt under it tight along his abs. Nothing is out of place; he is so perfectly put together.

But I miss his hat.

He’s so dreamy, though it’s not only his looks; it’s also how much thought he put into this date. He’s making it special, and that means more to me than how hot he is. Not that I don’t appreciate how delectable he looks. I do, and that’s when I realize that, as I suspected he would, Thatcher Orlov has blown my walls to smithereens.

I had no chance.

Our foundation was built for us to grow on. But unlike before, we’re choosing to do it together now.

“And you? Anyone special get you to practice exhibitionism?”

He scoffs, shaking his head before his eyes search mine. “No one has ever embodied the word like you, so no.”

“The word?”

“Special.”

My heart sings, but I feign that it doesn’t. “Any un-special ladies?”

His eyes burn into mine. I can tell he doesn’t want to tell me, that he is nervous how I’ll react, but we’re doing this whole communication thing, and he says softly, “There were a couple when you first left, but there hasn’t been anyone in over two years.”

I press my lips together. “Good for you.”

His eyes narrow. “They meant nothing.”

“I know,” I say confidently. “But it’s funny that I was labeled a whore, but I’m the one who’s been celibate.”

His brows furrow as he exhales. “You were never a whore.”

“I am well aware,” I tell him. “And even if I had been, it wasn’t like you locked me down.”

“I didn’t, like a fool.”

My heart skips a beat as I stay locked in his gaze, and I can’t help but wonder if everyone was right. If we were both truly blind to what was right in front of us. I chew on the words as the first round of hors d’oeuvres is brought out. While my mouth waters at the sight of all the food, nothing compares to what Thatcher makes me feel.

The waitress prattles on as I volley the question I want to ask back and forth, unsure if I’m ready. “Goat cheese and salami stuffed dates, burrata and prosciutto shortbread, phyllo-wrapped Brie with hot honey and anchovies, and a huge favorite right now, chef’s special carrot, onion, and spinach bhajias with a mouthwatering mango chutney.”

“It looks incredible. Compliments to the chef,” Thatcher says, reaching for his fork. I don’t move, though. My eyes are fully trained on him. My heart slams into my ribs, begging to show itself to him in the hopes he’ll take it and keep it safe. But I don’t allow that to happen. I have to know. With a voice as brittle as the phyllo dough, I ask, “Is it true?”

He pauses, his hand holding a date that he was bringing to his mouth, as his brows rise a bit in question. “Yeah. No one?—”

I shake my head, interrupting him. “No, I mean, have you truly had feelings for me since we were younger?”

Time stands still. Thatcher doesn’t look away as I assumed he would. Instead, he nods ever so slowly as he sets his stuffed date on the plate before him, wiping his fingers on the napkin. “Yes.”

The simple word has my eyes blurring with tears as I take in my next breath. “How long?”

“I don’t know. Maybe forever?” he answers sheepishly.

“No, when did you know?”

He swallows hard, and yet, he holds my gaze. I can tell he’s nervous—hell, I know I am—but still, his eye contact doesn’t waver. “That winter we moved to Attleboro when William took that coaching job for the Giants.”

My heart stops dead in my chest. “We were only eleven.”

He nods, but his smile curves ever so sweetly. “You made a big deal about wearing my number instead of having ‘the coach’s daughter’ on your back. He was hurt by it, but you didn’t care. You wanted my number. I decided at that moment, I never wanted any number on your back but mine.”

Chills run down my spine as I look over at my wine, remembering how pissed my dad was. I felt bad, but I was so proud of Thatcher. He had worked so hard to get into the AAA league. He had made it, and I wanted him to know I was proud. I think that was when Mom and Maeve started to encourage our little coupling. I still only saw him as a brother, a friend. Until I didn’t. “That summer, we turned twelve, and we were at the beach when a bunch of my friends were drooling over you.”

“I was rather fine for a twelve-year-old,” he says smugly, waggling his brows at me.

I give him a dry look. “You had a pigeon chest and limbs like a squid’s.”

He chuckles loudly, and we share a smile. “You wound my twelve-year-old ego.”

“Can’t have you getting too big for your pants,” I remind him, and his smile is infectious. A tether that insists I yank him across the table. “You kept asking me to play soccer with you guys, and the guys were teasing you for it. And when they said it was them or me, you chose me.”

“Those guys were jealous of my hotness and the fact that the hottest girl could outplay them.”

I scoff. “Hardly. I, too, had a pigeon chest and squid limbs.”

“You were gorgeous. Always have been,” he says breathily, which has my heart pounding in my chest.

I try to breathe through the pounding, not to let it affect me, but it’s all I feel. My vision goes blurry from how hard my heart is slamming into my ribs. My voice is uneven and barely there as I try to hold back my tears. “You should have told me.”

“You could have told me.”

He’s not wrong. “I thought you were just being an overprotective brother type.”

He shakes his head at that, but his eyes are very serious. “Never in my life have I thought of you as a sister, Audrina.”

My chest goes tight as a tear escapes, rolling down my cheek. He looks tortured as he grips the table, like he wants to gather me in his arms to hold in the tears. “I wish things had been different.”

An agitated look comes over him, and I notice how white his knuckles are. “I don’t.”

My eyes widen. “What?”

“Hear me out,” he says softly, holding up one hand while his other continues to grip the table. “I feel like I had to lose you to know I was a fucking idiot. I was so used to you being there, always in my corner. I knew, after a bad day, I’d have your smile to be in awe of. I knew if I needed to talk, you were there. At my games, always my plus-one, and you never complained. I held you back. I know I did.”

“Some could say I did the same to you,” I suggest, but he shakes his head.

“No, Audrina. I took you for granted. I kept you where it was safe, and I knew neither of us could get hurt.” I stopped breathing the moment he said my name, and still, I’m unable to move or breathe as he continues. “Losing you showed me that if I wanted you, I had to work for you. I had to find you and convince you I would always cherish you. Not take you for granted. I couldn’t just live with you, claim you in my head, and think things would go the way I wanted. I needed to find you, prove to you I could be the man worthy of you, and then continue to show you that daily.”

I wipe away a lone tear and look down at my wine again as I draw in deep breaths to try to calm my out-of-control heart. “Thatcher,” I whisper, my voice unsteady. “I never felt like I wasn’t important to you. I knew I was. I never got the vibe that you wanted more.”

“As I said, I was scared not only of the rejection, but also of losing my best friend.”

I bite my lip, letting his words wash over me. I’d felt the same. I’d rather have had whatever stagnant relationship we had than have nothing with him at all. “God, this is so messy.”

“It doesn’t need to be,” he insists, claiming my gaze. “I was wrong to get mad at you for Dart, and even more wrong for never truly letting it go.”

I swallow hard. “I shouldn’t have slept with him. I wanted you.”

“You could do what you wanted,” he tells me softly, though I don’t miss the tightness of his jaw. While he knows his words are correct, he doesn’t like them. “I wish you hadn’t, but you weren’t mine.”

“I hurt you, and if I had known that was going to happen, I wouldn’t have done it.”

“I know, but you didn’t know how I felt.” He takes in a deep breath, letting it out of his nose. “I was wrong for everything I said to you in front of everyone. I knew that right off the bat. In my head, I even told myself to stop, but I got so pissed and it was like the old wound of you with Dart had opened again. I could see it all happening again, and I snapped. I truly didn’t mean to hurt you, calling you the things I did, and I am sorry for that.”

When his eyes meet mine, his shoulders drop, and I feel like this is the part where he spills his guts to me. My mouth is dry, while the muscle in my chest throbs in pain and is pounding erratically against my ribs. It feels as if it’s about to explode out of my chest and land on the table before us.

If I had known then what I do now, I don’t think I would have run. I think I would have fought harder, but we were both so hurt from the mistake I’d made when I slept with Dart. Thatcher can say that I had every right to do what I wanted with whomever I wanted, and I know that I did, but we both also know my heart has always been and will forever be his. I thread my fingers through his, all the pain, longing, and fear pulsing between us, just like the living, breathing thing that Ingrid had mentioned.

This is a huge moment for us. This is the turning point, the fork in the road. One way leads to us raising Arwen while I hold the past close and allow it to slowly ruin me because no one—and I mean no one—will ever be Thatcher Orlov. Or I can go the other way, which leads to forever with the man I love, raising our daughter and making our future what I’ve always wanted for us.

The lump in my throat makes it hard for me to speak, but somehow, I’m able to whisper, “I forgive you.”