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And yeah…chapter twelve.
It’s some good stuff.
SECOND EPILOGUE
RYDER
Two years later…
I drop my athletic bag in the entryway of our apartment and kick off my shoes. After being on the road for a ten-day stretch, it’s good to be home again. I missed my girl.
Fuck, did I miss my girl.
The only thing I can think about right now is getting my hands on her.
Even though we FaceTimed as much as we could, it wasn’t nearly enough. And it sure as hell isn’t the same. There’s nothing better than the feel of Juliette wrapped up tight in my arms.
Unless it’s sliding deep inside her sweet heat.
Then, yeah, that’s better.
Being inside her body is like coming home. And after a stint on the road, it’s the first thing I want to do.
My guess is that it’s the same for her.
“Jules,” I call out, raising my voice to be heard throughout the three thousand square foot apartment that has amazing views of Lake Michigan. After graduation, Chicago signed me to a three-year contract.
It’s one of the teams that Coach Philips played for. Our relationship might have started off rocky, but over the course of the season it improved drastically.
Was I as close to him as Coach K?
Nah.
But he’s still someone I call for solid advice when I need it. Maybe he broke me down after my last coach left, but he also helped build me back up. If there’s one thing I’ve learned through all of this, it’s that adversity makes you stronger. Senior year ended up being one for the record books.
Hello, Frozen Four Championship.
Best damn way to end my college career.
My brows draw together when the apartment remains silent.
Is it possible she’s out?
Maybe studying at the library?
Med school takes up a lot of Juliette’s time, but she’s thriving on the challenge. So far, my girl has straight As.
Disappointment floods through me at the realization that she’s not home to greet me.
That’s a first.
I pull out my cell and hit her number. It takes a couple of seconds for the call to connect. It rings in my ear before the distant sound comes from somewhere in the apartment.
I click it off and call out again, “Juliette, baby? Where are you?”
My steps quicken as I glance in the white marble kitchen with its gleaming stainless-steel appliances. It’s a chef’s wet dream. In Juliette’s off time, she enjoys dabbling with recipes. She likes to tell me that cooking is kind of like science. It’s all about following a formula. She’s turned out to be pretty damn good—which is no surprise, since science is totally her thing.
But the kitchen is empty.
