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“Good you mean?”
“I said what I said,” I tell him, laughing. But, yeah, good. Amazing. “I’d forgotten what it felt like.”
“I didn’t. The feeling of being inside you is branded on my soul, I think.”
“Well, can I drop all the way on to your soul right now? Because this is fucking torture, Cillian,” I whine because he’s still holding me too far up. I need more.
He lowers me down as he thrusts up, both of us gasping at once.
“Ride me, Isla. Find a rhythm and I’ll match it, but don’t look away.” His eyes bore into mine as he assaults my face with sweet kisses.
I remember all the times we had like this before. Before we fell apart, before we let egos and pettiness get in the way. Back when it was just him and me and the delusion that our life would always be so easy.
They say there isn’t light without dark, or relief without pain. I don’t know how much I believe in that. But I do know that what we’ve been through has made us both stronger. And because of that we’re able to love deeper, more fully. Or maybe that’s all bullshit and I really am just a hopeless romantic at heart. Only time will tell, and I want to spend as much of it with this man as I can.
“I love you.”
“Say it again, Isla,” he demands, pushing harder into me. His fingers play at the other hole he seems to have a newfound fascination with.
“I love you.”
Again, he kisses me. Hard, needy, he finishes it with a gentle bite and tug on my bottom lip.
“Come, and I’ll follow.” I do, more explosive than I could have imagined or anticipated. Like promised, he shatters with me, and all our separate little pieces coming into a new, unbreakable us.
EPILOGUE
Four years. Less if she can manage some good behavior. It’s been nearly a year since Trina stole into Cillian’s hotel room with a gun, drugs, and who knows what going through her mind. Four years is the sentence the judge just dropped on her. We’ll have however much time she’s in prison to further build our lives without any interference from her. After that, who knows? One thing is certain though, we’ll be handling it together, as a family.
She wrote us both apologies. Neither of us read them, knowing they were written to gain favor with the courts. Maybe she said something genuine in them. Or, maybe they were filled with more bullshit and manipulative tactics. Either way, we’ll never know. We lit a fire, burned them, and toasted marshmallows for s’mores.
There were many more details revealed during the process of prosecuting Trina. As I suspected, she’d given Cillian sedatives before. The revelation wasn’t easy on either of us. No matter what we do to try and relieve the guilt we both feel, it’s not easy to let it go. I hadn’t been speaking to my therapist with much regularity before Cillian came back to Seattle. But it was apparent that I needed to. Cillian wasn’t only supportive, but active. We’ve had many sessions with her and the both of us.
It's helped tremendously. Neither of us wears our past like a cape of doom around our necks anymore.
“Ooh, pinch it,” Sadie yells from her perch on my lap, causing my mom to laugh.
“She’s starting to sound like you,” she says. We’ve been watching even more hockey since Cillian’s return and my job requirements. With all the adults in her life connected to the sport in one way or another, she’s started to pick up on the rules, the plays, and all the silly things we say when we’re watching games. She doesn’t let her age get in the way of her obsession.
“They’re gonna score, Mommy! Watch, watch!” Sure enough, Cill fakes a slapshot, instead passing it perfectly to Wallin at the other side of the net who angles it to fly perfectly behind the Vegas goalie. After a few games losing streak, this overtime win is exactly what our team needed.
“Just like you,” my mother reiterates as the crowd goes wild. It never gets old. Or, it hasn’t yet and I hope it never does. Every win is as exciting as the last. We may never again live up to the spectacular inaugural season that ended with a Stanley Cup, but nothing says that trophy won’t be in our future again. And this team plays for it with everything they have.
“Make sure Daddy gets my letter,” Sadie says to me after the fans are all gone and she’s about to head home with Erin for the night.
“I will, baby. But you know he always looks for it,” I tell her. Cillian hasn’t stopped writing me little notes here and there. Now, it’s something he and Sadie do for each other, too. He likes that it’s more personal than a text message from her saying goodnight while he’s still sequestered away in the locker room doing whatever the hell those guys do in there for so long. Sadie loves it when he leaves her a note and she goes to great lengths trying to write him ones in return. It usually means I have to write down what she wants to say so she can attempt to trace it, but I don’t mind. Most days I find the relationship between my daughter and her father is too fucking adorable to put into words.
It's another hour before Cillian finally manages to pop his head into the family room. His smile widens when he sees me sitting with Caroline off in a quiet corner. I say my goodbyes to her and a few others around and meet him in the middle of the room, straining my neck up to look him in the face.
“Nice game, Superstar.”
“Thanks,” he says, his dimple showing. “Want to grab a bag of Dick’s to celebrate the win?”
“I could eat some Dick’s,” I answer, making him and a few of the wives around us laugh.
“You’re trouble,” he says, wrapping his arm around me and guiding me out to his SUV. Like so many game nights, we end up in the same spot. Outside on the deck off the primary bedroom, cuddled under a blanket with the outdoor fireplace on. Cillian never lets me get cold and I like to watch the lights play over the lake when the water is just a soft ripple. He says it’s my new storm watching. Maybe there’s some truth to that.
Maybe I’m done with stormy weather, or maybe I’ve just found my calm to balance it all out.
