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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

TUCKER

“You were right.”

I spun my sled so fast I knocked sideways and hit the ice with my shoulder. Heaving a sigh, Boden grabbed me by the front of my jersey and hauled me upright, pressing my sticks back into my hands.

“Can you repeat that, please? I need to get my phone out to record this moment.”

“No. And if you ask me to again, I will put your dick in a pencil sharpener,” Boden said.

I rolled my eyes and used my body to twist my sled sideways, knocking into him. “Fine. Doesn’t matter. I heard it, and I’m going to remember this day forever. I was right!” Then I paused and glanced around the ice. Was this a prank? Was Jonah standing around somewhere trying to point his phone camera in the right direction? I spied Ford and Shea taking shots on the goal, and neither one of them seemed to give a shit that Boden was with me. “Uh. Right about what though?”

“Hugo.”

For a moment, I felt like I was going to pass out with relief. Boden had been walking around with both of his sticks shoved up his ass since the night Ford and I had confronted him. He was giving me one- and two-word answers at home, and the only person he was holding any kind of conversation with was Amedeo.

And I was pretty sure that was only out of a sense of his good Canadian manners.

But it had been nearly a week of him and his tantrum, and I was starting to worry he was never going to come out of it.

“Did he ask someone to take the C? Is that what changed your mind?”

He glanced over his shoulder to where Hugo was leaning on the wall, talking to Connor and pointing at something, and then he shook his head. “No. He ripped me a new asshole after Wednesday’s game.”

That had been a tough fucking loss, and it was mostly down to Boden refusing to follow Hugo’s plays. But no one was on his side, and he was iced out afterward. It hurt me to watch it and not defend him, but he had brought it upon himself.

He’d stayed after and slammed his bedroom door when he came home, but the next morning, he was…nicer. A little. And today, he’d run practice the way he was supposed to—using Hugo’s plays.

“I fucking hate admitting this, but he was right. I’m better than this,” Boden said. “I don’t have to like the fucker, but I’m not going to turn my back on what’s important to me just because I’m pissed off at my father.”

Ah, and there it was. It always came back to his fucking dad. I was just glad the guy never came to visit. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to restrain myself from knocking out one of his veneers.

“Sorry for being a shit.”

“Ah, ya fucker.” I slid up against his side and wrapped my arm around his neck, knocking his bucket off so I could rub my knuckles over his hair. “You know you’re the platonic love of my life, and I’ll always forgive you.”

“Fuck off!”

I gave his cheek a smacking kiss. “Nope. And we should celebrate! Tonight, I—oh. Uh. Wait.”

He lifted a brow at me as he righted his hair and shoved his helmet back on his head. “Would that get in the way of your plans?”

“He’s got a heart boner tonight,” Ford said, skidding to a halt and snowing Boden’s sled. “He and Deo are celebrating something.”

We weren’t celebrating. Not…exactly. Amedeo’s flight left that morning at nine, but he wasn’t on the plane. Instead, he was in an apartment complex office, signing a lease. His sister agreed to cover his rent back in California while he figured out what it was going to take to break his lease there, and he decided to spend his working hours going between his job and looking for open positions in town.

The last text I’d gotten from him was that he had three interviews lined up this week.

I wanted to cry. I was a little afraid to believe this was going to be real, but hope was no longer such a terrifying concept.

There was also something else, something I wasn’t ready to talk about. I’d sent a text to Killian the night before, officially withdrawing from the wedding party, and he’d sent one back. A single word. Two letters.

Killian: OK.

And that was it. He’d made it obvious he didn’t want me there. I mean, why would he? What good would a reminder of what I’d become do for him on his wedding day? He felt guilt when he looked at me and probably shame. And self-righteousness because he’d tried to warn me the night of the accident that I was going to fuck up my life.

But what hurt was that he didn’t know how much better I had it now. How loved I was now. I was happy. I had family who gave a shit about me as a person and not for what I could be. I had people who believed in me. Who didn’t see me as a walking fuckup.

I had a partner who was in love with me. He’d said it with words and actions. And Amedeo loved me as I was. I wasn’t a meal ticket. I wasn’t a bridge to fame or notoriety.

I was just…Tucker. The guy with no legs and one eye, who coached blind hockey and sometimes got goals on his sled team.

And Deo wanted that. Deo was into it.

The weird little fucker.

God, I loved him so much.

So tonight was important. We were taking a step, and as much as I was proud of Boden, celebrating him would have to wait.

“We’re not going to toast to me getting my head on straight,” Boden said after a long beat. “I just want to know you’ll keep calling me out when I get…you know. The way I get.”

Ford pressed his hand to his chest. “I will always be here to kick your ass back to reality.”

Boden elbowed him, so Ford lunged, and I slid backward as quickly as I could to let them have at it. I caught Hugo’s eye, and he smiled at me, letting them go on a bit longer.

He blew his whistle when there was officially blood on the ice, and practice came to an end.

I didn’t talk much in the locker room after. I showered, scrubbing my pits, behind my ears, and the spot behind my balls that got a little funky with jock sweat. I used a spritz of cologne and flipped off everyone who made noises at me.

“Look at this motherfucking princess,” Cooper said, slapping me on the ass with his half-curled paralyzed hand. “You gonna put a ring on it tonight?”

My face flushed. It was kind of the opposite, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. I just pressed my palm over his face and shoved, rolling him backward so I could get to my cane and head out. Amedeo had gotten everything set up while we were at practice, but I knew he was waiting for me now.

Under the dim lights of the parking lot, I caught a glimpse of his car and made my way over. When I was close enough, I could see his silhouette waiting for me at the curb.

“Hi,” he said, breathless, as I wrapped around him and pulled him close.

I didn’t bother with a greeting. I kissed him instead.

“You ready?” he asked when he pulled back.

I was. I was more than ready. I kissed him to answer that one too.

The drive to the field wasn’t too long. It was a little camping spot that Amedeo had reserved that allowed big fires. With summer approaching and a lick of humidity in the air, it was nice out, even with the breeze.

I held his arm as he guided me toward the little site he’d reserved, and I sat on a log as he got to work lighting the fire that was preset in the pit.

“Were you a Boy Scout?” I asked as the flames began to lick the pieces of wood. I couldn’t see anything around us except the glow of the fire and the way it shone on his face.

He laughed. “No. But when I was little, my grandparents had a little wood-burning stove to heat their house, so I learned how to start it.”

“We don’t need it to last too long,” I said, pulling him into my lap once he was close enough. His weight settled on me, and I tucked my face into his neck.

“No. I suppose we don’t.”

“Though, maybe if I could bend you over this log and fuck you?—”

“Oh my God, Tucker!”

I laughed and kissed his shoulder. “I’m joking. Or…am I?”

“Oh, I know you’re not. And that is something we can revisit later. With a camper so I don’t get sand in my crack. And a more secluded spot.”

I didn’t hate that idea. I grinned as I watched the flames get bigger, and once all the logs had caught, Amedeo shifted away from my hold.

“It’s time.” He dropped to his knees beside me and pulled his bag closer, undoing the zipper, which was barely audible over the crackling flames.

I couldn’t see what he had in his hand, but I didn’t need to. I knew what it was. He told me the meaning of the word “effigy” back when we were gathering everything we needed for this. It was a moment—a cleansing.

A way to let the past become ash to make way for a future. He’d called it a fertile future, which made me laugh like a teenage boy, but I understood what he was saying. I wanted the room to grow too. With him and with myself.

So the marriage license was in there, and a few receipts from Vegas, and the Post-it he’d written. I struggled to give up that one, but he promised to write me more, and after I made him seal it with a kiss, I agreed and added it.

On top of that was a photo of his ex he’d printed out from his phone, and there was one of mine. And then my brother’s wedding invitation. It had made bile rise in my gullet, but I knew this was something I had to do.

My parents would inevitably throw a guilt-trip fit once Killian told them I wasn’t going to be there, and we still had to plan a trip to California to help Amedeo with his apartment—and maybe punch Bryce in the dick if I got a chance.

But for now, we could start fresh. Just Amedeo and me.

We didn’t need tangible reminders of what was. As ironic as it was, I would never forget how I met Amedeo, and that was all that mattered.

“Ready?” he asked.

I slid off the log and folded my legs so I could scoot closer to the flames. The heat was a lot, but this wouldn’t take long.

He took my hand and pressed a small square of paper into it. The Post-it was first.

I flicked the corner until it bent. “Should I say something?”

“Hmm. If you want.”

“Rest in peace, little note,” I said, then touched it to the nearest flame. He kept his hand on my wrist in case I couldn’t see well enough not to get too close, and he stopped me before I got burned.

“Now this,” he said. The folded-up paper was the license. We’d have another one someday. I was going to propose. I wanted a real ring on his finger. I wanted to call him husband and not only mean it but make sure it stuck.

“Kiss me,” I said as my hand closed over his wrist. He turned his head and caught my mouth, then guided our hands toward the flames. I felt a small pang as the heat licked at my skin, and then we let go.

“Fresh start,” he murmured.

“Fresh start.”

I let myself feel a sort of angry stabbing in my chest when I held the wedding invitation up to my eye to read Killian’s and Delia’s names on there. That one took longer to catch. My brother had not skimped on quality for their invitations, I’d give him that. Not that Dalia would have let him.

I dropped the photos of them into the fire right after.

“Tell me when they’re gone,” I murmured, resting my head against Amedeo’s shoulder.

He held my hand and squeezed it. After what felt like a short eternity, he said, “It’s all ash now.”

Last was the photo of Bryce—the piece of shit who had tried to ruin my beloved. The sorry, sad sack of shit, pathetic excuse for a human who used Amedeo as an emotional punching bag to try and make himself feel better for all of his failings.

It hadn’t worked.

He’d left scars, but he hadn’t been able to change the gorgeous shape that Deo was.

“Hold me while I do this,” he asked.

I shifted behind him, using my hands to lift my legs so I could bracket him with my thighs. He leaned forward, and I heard a soft whooshing sound, then saw the flames brighten for a second when the photo caught.

“Does it feel different?” I asked.

He sighed as he settled back against me. “No. I didn’t think it would though. I’m already so happy.”

I understood exactly what he meant. I would forever have a gaping void inside me that Killian had left by being a shitty brother, but it didn’t hurt the way it used to. And I knew that whatever I’d felt for Delia back then, if I hadn’t gotten in the accident, we would have ended in a messy divorce and me paying millions in alimony.

I wasn’t the one losing in this whole thing.

I’d won so much I almost felt sorry for my brother.

“I love you,” I said into the quiet.

Amedeo pressed back harder against me, dropping his head on my shoulder and turning his face to kiss my jaw. “I love you too. Do you think it’ll feel like this forever?”

I was only twenty-eight. He was just a little older. We hadn’t lived long enough to be able to tell, but I thought I knew the answer.

“No.” He stiffened against me, and I held him tighter. “I think it’ll get better. Every year, I’ll be more grateful that in one of the weakest and worst moments of my life, I found my other half. Someone who would have been my best friend if he couldn’t be my husband.”

He laughed.

“Though we’re going to do it right this time, aren’t we?”

Deo twisted in my arms and rested his hands on my shoulders. “Boyfriends first.”

I grinned at him. “Boyfriends first. Seal it with a kiss.”

He leaned forward, and after drinking in the sight of him, I closed my eyes and let my lips fall against his. Exactly where they belonged.