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"Not upset at me anymore?"
She shakes her head again. "I see you, Rick." She places her hand over my heart. "I hear you. I sense the man you are. Sensitive inside, but with this hard countenance that you put up to protect yourself. A bit like a jackfruit."
"O-k-a-y?"
"All prickly with a stony skin, but once you saw your way through, you’re met with all that juicy flesh."
"Are you saying my flesh is juicy?" I ask mildly.
"This part of you is all thick and juicy." She begins to massage my thickening arousal and a groan vibrates up my throat.
"Keep that up and I might come in my pants like a teenager."
"I’d have loved to have known you as a teenager."
"No, you wouldn’t've. You think I’m bad-tempered now? You should have seen me then. All irritable and surly, and I spoke even less."
"And you were adorable. I saw the pictures at Grams’, remember?"
The smile fades from my features. "I want us to move into Grams’ place. I want you to help me renovate it, keeping the parts that she loved but also making it our own for our family."
"Our family." She swallows.
"I’d love to have children." I search her features. "Whenever you’re ready."
Her brow furrows.
"And if you don’t want children, I’m fine with that, as long as I have you."
Her features flush, and her eyes shine. "You’re amazing, have I told you that?"
I allow myself to smile. "No, but I’m not complaining."
Her eyes shine. She looks up into my face. "I have something else to tell you."
EPILOGUE
A month later
Gio
"Let me help." I reach for my husband’s cuff and toggle the cufflink until it snaps into place, then I tug on the sleeve. "You look so handsome." I step back and survey his features. "Very handsome."
His lips quirk, then widen into a smile which reaches his eyes. That icy-blue expanse of his eyes melts until they’re a rich cobalt. Flickers of silver amongst them lend a glacial warmth, which should seem contradictory but is reassuring, for he reserves that look only for me. The complex layers of his personality are reflected in his gaze that touches on my features. His possession is mirrored in how he wraps his arm about my waist and draws me close. His love is in the jut of his chin, the leanness of his waist, the gradient of his shoulders that are firm under my fingertips. I dig them into his shirt, knowing under the fabric on his skin, he wears my markings. How much more primal, more satisfying can it be to know he holds me in his cells? My touch forever recorded on the canvas of his sinews, the tapestry of his flesh, the fibers of his very being locking in my imprints.
"You’re the part of me I didn’t know was missing. The breath I need to live. The speed on my skates, the bounce on my puck, the edge to my face-off, the luck in my hat-trick, the power in my play, the—"
"Stop." I clap my hand on his lips. "I don’t know if I should be flattered with all the hockey romanticisms or overwhelmed by your word-play?"
"Neither." His smile fades away, and his sincerity shines in his eyes. "I’m telling the truth." He frames my face with his big palm in that gentle, yet erotic way only Rick can. "Which is that you are—my truth. You are my every hope, my every reason, my every second, you are my time, my energy, my space, the space between the spaces which are filled with so much color because you are in my life."
Tears prick my eyes.
"No, don’t cry." He rubs his thumb under my cheek. "I never want to see you in any discomfort."
I mentioned my ongoing struggle with bulimia to Rick. He wasn’t surprised. He said he’d suspected it when we were staying with the rest of the team in London. I seemed to lose weight despite eating all of my meals. He felt it was healthy that I’d been the one to raise it with him. He persuaded me to see a counselor. I agreed, and I've already begun my sessions.
Truth is, since Rick came back into my life, I’m more settled about food. That phase I went through in L.A. where I kept throwing up after eating has eased. I no longer force myself to puke after eating. It must be because I love sharing a meal with Rick. Also, I’m so secure in his love, I no longer pay attention to my weight. His every glance, every touch, tells me I’m perfect. I see the love in his eyes, feel it in how his gaze follows me around in a room. He settles something inside of me. He makes me content, so I don’t feel like I’m fighting myself. I feel...in sync with myself.
