Page 129 of Slapshot Bride

“I believe you,” she says.

Three words.

I don’t know how much I needed them until she said them. My father doesn’t say them. But he doesn’t say anything either, and from him, that’s a door left open.

We sit in silence for a while. My mother’s hand stays on my shoulder, like she’s afraid I’ll run again. And then, because she can’t help herself, her face perks up as she asks about Easton.

“And this young man… The one helping you. Is he... good to you?”

I don’t think about it before I respond.

After an hour of choosing every word like my life depended on it, I finally stop guarding my mouth, and the truth just walks out of it.

“He’s sweet,” I say, smiling before I can stop it. “He’s… amazing. He got me a camera. Encouraged me to chase my dreams, and… He looks at me like I’m not a mess to be handled. He never makes me small. He’s the kindest man I’ve—”

I stop.

Because I hear it. The warmth in it. The way I’m singing his praises. It’s not real.

It’s fake—an arrangement with terms we set on his couch.

She’s watching me with an expression that’s gone soft and knowing all at once, and I feel my face go hot, but I don’t correct it. That’s the worst part.

I could say it as it is. He’s just a friend, it’s not like that. He’s only helping me.

But I can’t make myself say it, because it would be a lie, and I’m so tired of lies I’ve been telling myself that I can’t add a fresh one on top of the day I finally told the truth.

“He sounds lovely,” my mother says gently.

“He is,” I admit, quieter, and leave it there.

I hug them both before I go. My father holds on a second longer than he means to.

My mom walks me to the door. By now, Easton is out, resting on the hood.

“Is he the one?” my mom whispers, and I nod, fighting to hide my smile.

She crosses to him without waiting for a response, and I see the way Easton’s smile grows, and I can’t help smiling. My mom hugs him and whispers something to him that I don’t hear before I get there.

“I love you, sweetie, and I’ll be here whenever you’re ready to return home.”

“I love you, Mom.” I hug her one last time.

When we get in the car, my mom waves, and Easton turns on the ignition, and the engine roars to life. He pulls out of the property.

“You okay?”

“They didn’t fully believe me,” I say, sinking into the seat. “My dad still doubts me, and I didn’t bother to play the recording. He’s…” I swallow the lump that’s beginning to form in my throat from the reality. “There’s no point.”

He reaches across and places his free palm on my thigh, squeezing softly. His eyes meet mine for a second before returning to the road.

“My mom…” My voice catches. “My mom heard me. That’s enough for me. For now.”

He links his fingers to mine and raises them to his lips for a kiss.

“Proud of you, sweetheart.”

I nod, unable to say any more words, and he doesn’t press. Silence settles in the car, and I let him drive us home, as I watch the house I grew up in get smaller in the side mirror, and for the first time in six years, I don’t feel like I’m leaving anything behind.