Page 32 of You’re The One (Saints Hockey #2)

THIRTY

I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting in my car, staring at the garage wall like it holds answers. But it’s… blank.

Maybe that’s fitting.

I sit there, thinking about nothing and everything all at once. Even the damn garage looks like a showroom. Everything is so fucking white. Too clean. Too bright. Too controlled.

White walls.

White doves.

White ice.

Snow.

Clouds.

Bedsheets.

Arctic foxes.

Pupils.

Polar bears.

Salt.

Pure.

Blank.

White.

The passenger door clicks open and shut, startling me.

One more white: her dress.

The only shade of the color I don’t hate right now.

My knee-jerk reaction is to slip on the happy-go-lucky mask I’ve worn most of my life. The one that keeps things light. But I don’t have to with her, do I?

We’re not clean or controlled. We’re messy. But still so fucking bright.

Maybe the rest of my life could use a little of that.

“Do you always keep your car keys on you?” Mia asks, breaking the silence. It was deafening a minute ago, but now, with her, it’s comfortable.

I nod toward the hooks by the door, where all the keys hang.

“You’re not worried someone might steal one?”

I shrug. “I’ve got insurance. And the garage only opens with my fingerprint.”

She shakes her head. “Must be nice to be that rich.”

I wonder why she’s talking about locks and cars and keys. Then I realize she’s doing exactly what I need, pulling me out of my head.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she asks, careful not to disturb the peace she’s somehow brought with her.

“No.” I drum on the wheel.

“Okay.” She watches me, then lowers her voice. “I should tell you… I may or may not have scared your mom off. Just a heads-up. I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

A laugh escapes me. “My little pit bull.”

I shift closer, sliding my arms around her waist and resting my forehead on her shoulder. I press a kiss there.

Her arm hooks behind me, fingers finding the nape of my neck.

“I don’t know why she did this,” slips out before I can stop it.

“Bodhi said they didn’t know there was bad blood between you,” she explains. “She told them you thought her schedule wouldn’t allow her to come, and that she wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, she pulled that off.”

I lean back and let out a long breath. Mia brings my hand into her lap and traces slow circles over my knuckles.

“She’s reached out to my agent over the years, but never directly to me. I used to think it was her way of respecting my boundaries. That was naive, wasn’t it?” Now that I’ve started, it’s all spilling out.

“No. That’s just trying to see the best in people.” She smiles, but it’s small, barely a twitch of her lips. “You’re good at that.”

“Do you think people can change?” I ask. “She hasn’t. I smelled booze on her breath.”

“I think people do change.” She shrugs. “Sometimes it takes conscious effort. Other times, I think it just happens. Whether you want it to or not.”

“Speaking from experience?”

She lets out a raspy laugh and gives my hand a quick pinch before smoothing it over with her thumb. “It’s okay to hope.”

She pauses, then adds, softer, “Maybe even good.”

She looks out of the windshield at the white wall. I wonder what shades she sees.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She turns back to me. “Hope gives us a reason to try again tomorrow. Disappointment gives us character.”

“Are we still talking about my mom?” I ask, hoping we’re not.

I get another laugh out of her.

“It’s a universal philosophy.”

“Your latest?”

“Yep,” she declares, settling on it.

Moments pass, and my thoughts drift again. But this time, they don’t land on anger or pain. Just the opposite. Mia.

Where we started.

Where we are now.

How she’s so close… but still just out of reach.

We almost feel too big—our history, my feelings, all of it—too big to fit inside the narrow interior of my Lamborghini.

Is there hope for us, too?

Fuck. There has to be. I don’t think I can accept any other possibility.

She squeezes my hand before releasing it. “Wanna have dessert? I kicked everyone else out.”

A smile tugs at my mouth. “Yeah. And… thank you.”

“Of course. Ready?”

I nod, and she moves to open the door. But as she starts to climb out, I reach for her wrist.

She pauses, eyes flicking back to mine.

“What about for us?”

Her brows pull together.

“Hope,” I clarify.

A beat. Then she smiles. I think I might love that smile

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think there’s hope for us yet.”