“I don't blame her,” I say. I don’t want to remember the details of what my mother told Jasmine. I’m sure it wasnot pretty. And the worst thing is that I didn’t defend my relationship. I don’t know how Jasmine has given me another chance after all that.
“Neither do I.”
We're quiet for a moment. Her hand stills on my chest. “How are we going to do this, Logan?”
“What do you mean?”
“Us. Your parents. My mom. You know how they're going to react.”
“This is about you and me, Jasmine. Not our families.”
“I know that. But they're going to have opinions, and those opinions are going to be loud.” She tilts her head up to look at me. “Can we keep this between us for a little while? Just until we figure out what we are without everyone else weighing in.”
“Why? The sooner they get used to us being together again, the better.” I want the whole world to know that Jasmine is mine now.
“Because right now it's just us in this bed and nobody is telling me I'm making a mistake, and nobody is telling you to focus on hockey. It's nice. I want to hold onto that for a little longer before the noise starts.”
She has a point. The second my mother finds out, the phone calls will start. The Sunday dinner interrogations. Dad's silence, which is worse than his words. And Lorraine will definitely say something about the Shaws, and Jasmine will carry that around like a weight on her shoulders.
“I'm not going to hide you.”
“I'm asking for just a little time.”
“How much time?”
“Enough to be solid before the storm hits.”
I press my lips to the top of her head. “Okay. But when it's time, we tell them together.”
“Deal.”
“And I'm not lying if someone asks me directly.”
“Fair.”
“And Blake already knows.”
She laughs against my chest. “Not surprised.”
Her body relaxes against mine. The light outside the window is fading from gold to blue. The apartment is quiet and warm. I hold her and listen to her breathe, and I don't close my eyes because I don't want to miss a second of this.
13
Jasmine
Olivia's apartment is warm and smells like cinnamon. She made cookies and set them out on the coffee table next to a bottle of red wine and five glasses.
The living room is full of afternoon light. Baby toys have been pushed to one side to make room for five women.
Maya is napping in the back room, which means we have approximately two hours of uninterrupted adult conversation before she wakes up and the volume triples.
Harper is on the floor with her back against the couch, her legs stretched out, scrolling through her phone with one hand and holding her wine with the other.
Natalie is curled up in the armchair with a blanket over her lap. Avery is beside me on the couch, barefoot, her legs tucked underneath her. Olivia is moving between the kitchen and the living room, refilling glasses and pushing cookies on everyone.
“Three wins in a row,” Harper says, looking up from her phone. “Cole says the locker room energy is different since Pittsburgh. Like the guys have a new gear.”
“Theo said the same thing,” Olivia says, settling into the loveseat with her own glass. “He's been coming home from practice buzzing. More than usual.”
