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thirty-one

Elsy

When I put out the call on social media for new friends, I wasn’t sure what to expect. A bunch of people replied to my post and we’ve been messaging back and forth since.

But who am I to organize something like this?

There are seventeen people in the back room of this café. Mostly women, though there are a few guys and two people who introduced themselves as nonbinary.

Cis, het, queer, trans… I’m looking for friends, and I don’t discriminate. They’re all welcome, as far as I’m concerned.

What’s more important is who they are inside. They like romance novels and they like hockey; anything else we have in common is a bonus.

A blond woman approaches, a coffee cup in her hand. I blink when I recognize Katrina O’Connor—Anastasia’s wife.

“Room for one more?” she asks, a smile curving her lips.

“The more, the merrier,” one of the other women says.

My heart nearly bursts with happiness. This is exactly the inclusive environment I’m trying to foster.

Katrina bumps my arm with hers. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I didn’t know you liked hockey,” I counter.

She shrugs. “I talked to some players that night at the gala. I like your boyfriend. He’s cute.”

My face flushes. “He wasn’t my boyfriend back then.”

“But he is now?” She grins at me. “Girl, he’s so in love with you.”

“Yeah, he is.” I bury my face in my hands. “He told me last night.”

One of the other women overhears. I think her name is Chloe.

“Your boyfriend told you he loves you last night?”

When I nod, my face flaming, she lets out a squeal of delight.

“He’s a real-life book boyfriend,” Katrina chimes in. “Super cute, totally devoted to her, and even better, he has single friends.”

A murmur goes through the group, and I laugh.

“OMG!” Another person gasps. I’m fairly certain their name is Alex. I should have brought name tags. “I recognize you! You’re Wyatt Whitney’s partner.”

Hesitantly, I nod. I don’t want to be known as his possession. I want to be my own person.

“He gave an interview last night after that scene with his jersey,” they continue. “He talked about your job with the symphony and the new fundraising campaign they’re doing for youth music programs. It’s clear how much it matters to him.”

I blink. I only mentioned the program in passing. I didn’t realize he was paying attention.

“He said that?”

They nod. “It was super motivating. I pledged a donation. It’s nice to see a hockey player care about the arts.”

“It is,” I murmur, my head spinning.

Wyatt has never made me doubt his feelings for me. He’s never played games. He’s apologized profusely for what happened thirteen years ago.

When we’re together, I’m happy . He makes me so freaking happy. I enjoy being around him to the point I’d rather spend time with him watching paint dry rather than be by myself. And as someone who needs a lot of alone time to recharge, that’s huge .

I think… I think I love him.

I played it off last night at the pub as a joke. I wasn’t ready to think it through, especially not with everyone watching.

But now…

Coming home to him is the best part of my day, second only to waking up beside him. When he’s on a road trip, I count down the hours until I can see him again. And not in an obsessive, can’t survive without him, codependent kind of way.

More like… I can survive perfectly fine without him, but it would be a half-life. It would be a slog to get through each day. The world is tinged in shades of gray, but when he’s around, everything is in bright technicolor.

He makes my life brighter. He makes everything better.

I don’t want to live without him, not for a single minute more.

“Oh, fuck ,” I whisper. I have a vague memory of saying it last night, but I can’t remember if that was a dream.

Katrina looks at me with worry. “What’s wrong, sweets?”

“I love him.” I stare at her, not really seeing her. “I really love him.”

“You have to tell him,” Chloe insists.

Half rising out of my seat, I start to gather my things, until Katrina pulls me down.

“But not right now,” she says. “We’re being social and making friends. You can tell him when he gets home tonight.”

With a laugh, I settle back in my chair, turning my attention to the people around me.

“How do you feel about a romance-only book club?” I ask, and I’m surprised when people agree and want to make plans.

This will be good for me. I wanted a fresh start, a blank slate. I’m finally getting what I wanted—and it feels good .

The group decides on another date to meet up and a book to discuss. It’s a title I’ve read before, a book I thoroughly enjoyed. The discussion is sure to be a good one.

Maybe eventually, I’ll be comfortable inviting people into my life for real. I’ve missed grabbing dinner with friends or having them over for a movie night. I’ve missed socializing for fun and not for networking or charming patrons. I’ve missed feeling like me.

Katrina squeezes my arm before she heads off, and as I drive across town to the rehearsal studio, there’s a lightness in my chest. I hadn’t noticed how heavy that weight was until it was lifted off.

Anastasia is already in her chair by the time I arrive.

“I just had coffee with your partner,” I tell her as I take out my violin.

“Oh?” She doesn’t seem surprised. “Katrina mentioned she was going to a meetup.”

“It was good to see her. Maybe…” I swallow my fear. I can do this. “Maybe we can go for dinner. The four of us.”

My colleague smiles. “So things are going well with the hockey player?”

Dipping my head, I can’t hide my smile at the thought of Wyatt Whitney and his stupid, gorgeous face. He makes me so freaking happy. How did I think, even for a minute, I wasn’t in love with him?

“Really well.”

“In that case, we’d love to,” Anastasia says. “We can work out a date after rehearsal.”

The conductor leads us through the warm-ups and then the pieces on our docket. The session is smooth, although a tuba player has some difficulty. Not the tuba player who was asked to leave the symphony a few weeks ago—it was his replacement.

I’m finally part of the group for real. After rehearsal, two of the clarinetists and a flutist invite Anastasia and me for dinner before our performance, along with one of the French horns and a saxophonist.

It’s a lighthearted group that gathers at the Italian restaurant two blocks away from the studio. I’ve had conversations with most of the gang over the last few weeks. They’ve all been excessively welcoming.

I might have doubted it before, but I’m certain now this is where I’m meant to be.

After our performance, I’m riding an adrenaline high like none other. Wyatt went to O’Malley’s with the guys but heads home at the same time I do, meeting me in the garage under my apartment.

He kisses me like it’s been thirteen years since he last saw me, not thirteen hours. I burrow into him, drawing as much comfort as I can.

When he pulls back, he takes my hand in his and leads me to the elevator bank.

“How was the performance? Everything went well?”

“It was great.” My words come out awkward, cold. Forced.

Wyatt hums as we ride up to the apartment. Once we’re inside, shoes kicked off, he turns to me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Why would you think something is wrong?” My voice rises into a squeak.

He points at me. “Something’s freaking you out. Is it something I said? Am I too much?”

My heart breaks at the pain on his face. He thinks he did something wrong, but he did everything exactly right. He’s perfect.

“I—” The words get stuck.

“Whatever it is, we can talk through it. We can fix it,” he says, taking my hand. “Just talk to me.”

“I lied.”

Slowly, he blinks at me. “You lied?”

“I lied. When you told me you loved me…”

His face draws into a frown. “I don’t think I want to hear this.”

“I’m saying this all wrong.” I scrub a hand over my face. “Wyatt, I think I’m falling in love with you. And that absolutely fucking terrifies me, but?—”

Joy spreads over his face. “You love me?”

Swallowing my fear, I nod. “I love you.” And when the world doesn’t crash around us, I laugh. “I love you.”

He lets out a whoop of delight, pulling me into his arms and crushing me into him.

“I love you so fucking much,” he says into my ear, holding me so close I can feel the steady pulse of his heartbeat against mine.

“I love you more,” I tease, loving the way his eyes flash with happiness.

“I talked to my mom today,” he says.

“Oh?” He doesn’t mention his parents often, but I know he thinks about them. It weighs heavily on him they aren’t closer. It doesn’t bother me that I’m not close to mine; it’s better for all of us that way. I’ve got Mitch and Bex and, now, Wyatt. That’s all I need.

“I invited them to come to Austin, to meet you.”

Blinking back my surprise, I tell him, “I’d love to meet your parents.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, well, you might not get a chance. She wasn’t enthusiastic.”

My heart breaks all over again. “Wyatt…”

“But it’s okay,” he says. “I can’t be the only one trying. If they don’t want to have a close relationship, that’s their right. I can’t force them to love me.”

“They do. In their own way, they do.” I lay my hand on his cheek. “And I’ll be there to support you, every step of the way.”

“I know. I haven’t doubted that.” His stormy blue eyes meet mine. “I’m ready to start my own family.”

I freeze. “Your own family?”

We’ve talked about kids in the abstract in that we both want them, but…

“Yeah. You and Bex. Mitchell, too, I guess, since it seems like we’re stuck with him.” He gives me a wry smile. “You adopted Henry as your brother, so I guess he’s part of the family. Anyone else you want to include?”

“Our own family…”

“We can pick and choose the people we spend our energy on,” Wyatt says. “We don’t have to subject ourselves to people who don’t value us. Who don’t care about the ways they hurt us.” His sharp inhalation makes my heart race. “I want to surround myself with the people who care about me, not the people who don’t.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” I drawl. “And… the other type of family?”

“As soon as you’re ready, we can try for some kids. Teach them how to skate and how to play the violin.” A slow grin spreads over his face. “But let’s get married first.”

I laugh. “First you want to start a family, now you want to get married?”

“When we’re ready,” he amends. “I know without a doubt I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re it for me. You’re my person.”

My breath catches. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?

“We don’t need to rush,” he continues. “As soon as we’re both ready, we can get married. I just want you to know where my head’s at. I want to build a life with you. However long it takes, whatever the timeline, I want my future to be with you.”

I curl into him. “I want that, too.”

Wyatt kisses me. “Then it’s a plan. You and me, together. Forever.”