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“I took a commercial flight back,” she says breathlessly. “I had to be here for this game. I had to see you in person, to let you know how much I love you and believe in you. Miles might make the jokes, and Rookie brings the moves, and Jay has the eyes, but you’re the heart of it. This team isn’t the same without you. I had to say that because watching until four in the morning in France wasn’t ideal.”
“You watched the last game live?”
“I watched every game live.”
I didn’t know how much I’d needed her until this moment. The woman who completes me. She chose us over everything.
“You make me work, Nova. I didn’t make sense. I still don’t, but it’s better with you here.” I reach a hand around her neck to pull her up to me, but she makes a noise of protest.
Nova pulls something out of her bag. “I told you I’d bring you something from Paris.”
It’s a banner painted with bears, all of my teammates’ names under it.
“No Kyle?” I notice.
“He’s the little one in the distance.”
I kiss her hard, savoring the taste of her, the feel of her in my arms as her soft body presses against mine. She kisses me back, pressing up to wrap her arms around my back, the banner tickling my shoulders.
The guys jog out of the locker room toward the court, Miles whistling our way.
“Get off our boy, Nova! We need him for the next four quarters. After that, he’s all yours.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt your big speech in there,” she murmurs to me. I link our hands and start after the guys toward the floor, not ready to let her go. “It sounded really good.”
“Oh yeah?”
She grins, both of us stopping as we reach the end of the hallway that spills out into the vast arena packed with shouting fans.
“The guys are lucky to have you. If you get tired of basketball, you could have a career in motivational speaking.”
“You too. For now, I’ll stick with basketball.”
SECOND ROUND
HOUSTON
29
NOVA
“You got his feet? I have his head,” I whisper.
“Sometimes I swear this would be easier with a live version.”
Brooke and I creep down the hallway of the Four Seasons Houston with the cardboard cutout of Michael Bublé.
“When will the guys be back?” I swipe the key.
“They’re still at media. We’ve got time.”
Inside the room, we go to the bathroom. Clay’s bag is on the vanity next to mine.
The mood has been decidedly giddy since Denver’s first post-season series victory in years. Now, the team is on the road in Houston, and Brooke and I organized a mobile fan unit to rep the Kodiaks.
“So, you guys are rooming together again.” Brooke winks at me. “Does that mean all the money you saved for an apartment is getting spent on clothes instead?”
“No! We haven’t talked about moving back in together. We need to survive the season first.”
