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“Turner!”
I whipped around, wondering if I’d forgotten something.
Wes stood there, one hand on his hip, and the other on the handle of his suitcase. “I sincerely hope, come Christmas time,” his voice cracked slightly, “I’m passin’ the stuffing and potatoes across the table to you.”
That did it.
I’d put on a brave face this morning—but it just literally cracked.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a few seconds to gather my composure.
When I looked up, I wiped away the tears on my cheeks. “Me, too, Wes. Me fuckin’ too.”
“Okay,Mr. Turner, you’re on in thirty seconds,” the assistant informed me.
My nerves were through the roof, and I felt like my heart was about to beat right out of my throat.
I tried all of the relaxation methods I’d learned, but I was still ready to jump out of my skin.
How I’d let my agent talk me into doing a press conference directly out of rehab—I didn’t know.
He thought it would be better to address the public’s questions head on—instead of pussy footing around and pretending nothing had happened.
I knew he was right.
Well, probably right.
I just wanted to get this over with and get my ass back on the ice again.
The camera guy counted us in.
The host did the obligatory introductions and greetings before addressing the first question.
“Trey, what are your hopes now that you’re out of rehab?”
I nodded my head and prayed I wouldn’t make a fool of myself. “Well, I hope when I get on the ice tonight—and every night—that my coaches and team see the improvements I’ve made. And that eventually, I’ll get back to playing on the team I was meant to be on.”
I took a drink from my water bottle. “And most importantly, if I’m lucky enough, I hope my wife might forgive me and take my sorry ass back after how I acted.”
I stared directly into the camera. “Lexi, I love you more than I can ever say—and I’m so sorry. If you can find it in your heart to take me back—I swear to you, I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life making it up to you.
“I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I know that. I can’t make you any promises—except that I’ll do my utmost to be the best husband I possibly can.”
“I know that might not be good enough for you.” My throat felt dry as I swallowed.
“And if it’s not, I get it. Still, I’m asking you for another chance. Losing my career was one thing. But losing you?” I could feel my eyes get wet. “It gutted me, sweetheart. I want you back. I miss you more every second I’m away from you.”
“I miss you wearing your yoga stuff around the house—even when it’s not yoga time. I miss your salads. And your smoothies. And especially your salad smoothies.”
I blinked away my tears. “I miss you chewing your bubble gum twenty-four seven. I miss how much you make me laugh. But most of all, I miss you at night, curled up beside me while we read romance novels together.”
My voice got hoarse and raspy. “That was the best part of my day. I know I don’t deserve you. I’ll never deserve you. But I’m hoping against hope that you’ll find it in that big heart of yours to let me back in.”
After that, I stood up, thanked everyone for their time—and walked away.
They all called me back, wanting to ask more questions.
But I said what I came here to say.
