“Tomorrow,” she promises. “And Dex? Next time you want to listen to my audiobooks, just ask. I can give you previews.”
“Deal. Though I have to say, your improv work is way better than the scripted stuff.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Malone.”
“I’m counting on it.”
The flight home feels endless,but finally I’m walking through our front door, dropping my bag just inside and looking around for my family. I can hear voices from the kitchen—normal, everyday sounds that feel like the best music in the world.
“DEXISBACKDEXISBACKDEXISBACK!” Blythe’s greeting is at her usual volume as she launches herself into my arms.
“Hey, squirt. Miss me?”
“SO MUCH! I have eleven different things to tell you and a performance that requires your immediate attention!”
“Eleven things? That’s a lot.”
“It was supposed to be twenty-three, but Tyson said some of them weren’t interesting enough for reports.”
“I said some of them weren’t actually events,” Tyson corrects, appearing more sedately. “Like how many times you brushed your teeth isn’t really news.”
“Dental hygiene is VERY important!”
“Hey, buddy,” I say, pulling Tyson into a one-armed hug while still holding Blythe. “How was school?”
“Good. I got an A on my history project.”
“That’s awesome. Proud of you.”
Finally, I look up to see Goldie leaning against the kitchen doorway, watching us with that soft smile that never fails to make my chest tight. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater, hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Hey,” she says simply.
“Hey yourself.”
I set the kids down, cross the kitchen, and pull her into my arms, kissing her like I’ve been wanting to for four days. She melts against me, and everything that was off-kilter while I was gone settles back into place.
“Welcome home,” she whispers against my lips.
“Good to be home.”
And it is. This house, these people, this life we’ve built together—it’s everything I never knew I needed. The road trips and playoff pressure and social media drama are just background noise compared to this. Compared to coming home to Goldie’s smile and the kids’ chaos and the certain knowledge that I belong here.
That this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
21
GOLDA
“Stop fidgeting with it.”
Dex’s hands freeze on his bow tie, caught in the act. “It’s crooked.”
“It was fine until you started messing with it.” I step in front of him, batting his hands away. “Hold still.”
He obeys, watching me with that amused expression he gets when I go into fix-it mode. We’re in his condo getting ready for the team’s playoff celebration—fancy dress, fancy venue, fancy people I still feel weird around sometimes.
“There.” I step back to check my work. “Perfect.”
