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“We’re friends.”
She blinks at me, that wave of maternal delight ebbing. “What?”
Yes, what the heck am I doing?
Shaking my head, I give her a smile. “I mean that I think Liam and I are better friends than Ray and I ever were. We fit, you know?”
“Youlovehim,” she prompts, her mom-radar no doubt starting to ping.
She wants me to tell her I have what she and Dad do. What Misty and Noel have. But…I don’t want to.
That realization sits heavy in my chest.
I don’t want to tell her this is it. That I’ve found my forever. That I’ve given my heart to another man who’s going to give it back well before some death do us part. Because he will. It’s the plan.
But how many plans have we stuck to so far?
Doing my best to ignore that sing-songy whisper in the back of my mind, I clear my throat and smile.
“We’re good together, Mom.” And because I want her to have a truth that I feel down to my soul, I lean across the table and take her hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “Liam is a good husband. And he makes mehappy.”
She stares a moment longer, but then she nods, her smile returning to the one I grew up with. “That’s all I want for you, honey.”
* * *
Liam
It usedto be that I didn’t particularly care whether we were on the road or home. I didn’t mind the time away because there wasn’t anything to miss. But now?
Now I come home to Stormy flinging her arms around my neck, her wild kisses peppering my neck and jaw as I carry her through the apartment. I have her asking about my flight, my games, and the bruise under my eye. I have her kissing the one on my ribs.
Now I have something to miss.
This thing with her is so good, it’s spilling over into other parts of my life too.
Like with the team. On the ice, we’re syncing up better than we ever have before. Off the ice, the guys with wives or serious relationships think it’s cute how Stormy and her sister take turns on whose seats they sit in for our home games, and the girls have started getting invited to join in with the WAG activities.
Everyone except me loves that Noel’s started calling me B2B— for brother-to-be –around the locker room. I want to hate it, but the guy’s a giant puppy, and, hell, I could do worse than having a brother like him.
Brother-in-law.
Temporarily.
That last bit is something I’m finding I have to remind myself of more and more. But even if I didn’t, Stormy would do it for me.
“Same page.”
She says it every time. And every time it jars me a little more than it did the last. Which isn’t how this is supposed to work, but hell if I can do anything to step off this slippery slope when it feels so fucking good to be here.
The next couple days the Slayers are home. We’ve got the night off tonight, and Stormy and I are over at Vassar’s place with O’Brien, their wives, Nat and George, and Nichols and Misty. It’s a sweet building with a backyard that’s become the unofficial hangout for team barbecues in the warmer weather. Hard to believe, considering Vassar was possibly an even bigger dick than I am when he joined the team.
We’re parked around the living room in oversized sectionals, talking off-season plans. Unlike a lot of players, no one in this group goes “home” when the season ends. Chicago is it for us. At least for now.
But even with all the traveling for games, everyone wants a real vacation. One where we’ve got time to see the places we visit. Stay as long as we like. Sleep in. Bring the girls. That’ll be new for me, but I can’t wait to take Stormy around the world.
“Niagara Falls!” Nichols declares, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. “Mistletoe, we could get married there.”
Stormy turns into my shoulder, muffling her laugh.
