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"But you are perfect, Em. You're perfectfor me." I carefully walk towards her as if approaching a rare butterfly. Go too quickly and it will fly away. I take her smaller hands in mine, kissing both palms. "I don't want just anyone. I want you. Just the way you are. No one makes me feel like you do. I would rather have nothing with you than everything with an imitation of you."
She whimpers, curling into my chest, crying until I feel her tears soak through my shirt.
"See," she sniffles. "You're too perfect."
I chuckle.
"So are you, Em. I love you. I don't know what the future holds, but we'll face it together. We don't have to start a family tomorrow. If and when we want kids, we'll figure it out together. As long as I have you, I have everything I need."
For a long time, I just hold her in my arms. I carry her to bed and sit with my back to her headboard, placing her snuggly between my legs. Her back fits against my chest, and I wrap my arms around her waist before pulling a blanket over us. She leans into me without saying anything, resting her body against mine, and I do my best to just be strong for her.
I don't know how long we stay that way, looking out through her bedroom windows at the city outside. None of it matters. All that does is that Em is in my arms, and she's mine.
At some point, Em's breathing evens out. All the tension drains out of her and her body goes lax in my arms. I run my hands through the strands of her hair, removing the elastic and letting the locks flow freely. Finger-brushing Em's hair used to be one of my favourite things. It's soft, smooth and golden, with the faint smell of lemons from her shampoo.
I silently watch her sleeping form; all fine lines, womanly curves, and symmetrical features—so soft and beautiful on the outside but tough as nails on the inside. I don't know how she copes with all the bullshit piling up right now. I'm barely keeping it together.
Gently, without waking her, I reach for the chain around her neck, pulling out the rings she wears under her shirt. Knowing she's kept them close to her heart all these years makes my chest ache. The rings aren't overly fancy. They were what I could afford at the time. The engagement ring is a little more intricate than the simple band with its woven gold and tiny diamonds. This time, I'll pick something stunning to match the woman who will wear it.
As quickly and quietly as I can, I slip out from behind Em and tuck her in. When I walk into the kitchen, Colton is sitting at the table working on his computer. The floor makes a slight creak beneath my feet. He looks up and nods as I walk to the fridge, grab two beers, and pull out the chair next to him.
"Anything interesting?" I motion to his laptop.
"No. Just reviewing the police reports from the attempted break-ins. Everything this guy does is erratic, yet strategic."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, he hacked into your dashcam but didn't put any cameras inside the condo when he had the chance. He makes threats but no demands. Tyra fired him, but he targets Avery. It doesn't make any sense. Usually in these scenarios, the culprit has an endgame, but with Johnson, I have no idea what it is."
"You don't think he just wants money?" I ask, a sinking feeling in my gut.
"Money is a part of it," Colton shrugs. "But money isn't going to solve all his problems. He's a wanted man on both sides of the law. If the police don't get him first, Sanchez's men will. The only thing he has left to lose is his life."
In hockey, teams play like beasts when they have nothing left to lose.Nothing to lose and everything to gain, we say. We play hard, heavy, high-risk hockey where you win big or go home. If this is the style of game Randy is playing, there's no telling what he'll do next.
Randy Johnson is a marked man, and he knows it.
The only thing I can fathom him wanting is revenge. An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. He wants to take down the person he perceives is the cause of all his problems.
And to Randy, that person is Em.
21?
Playing Telephone
Avery
One of the many perks of working with the Northmen is the travel.
I mean, sometimes when you're tired, overworked, and overloaded, travelling across the country for a hockey game is the last thing you want to do. But when you're being stalked by a psycho who hacks into dashcams, has a penchant for breaking and entering, and likes to send threats, travelling as far from home as possible sounds pretty fucking awesome.
Coming home is the hard part.
Toronto won game two and tied the series, then we packed up for games three and four in Columbus. We won one and lost one. Now, the series is tied at two a piece, and it's looking more and more like we're heading towards another game seven.
I can't take this shit.
Every time we're on the ice, my heart feels like it's beating out of my chest. Every shot makes me wince, and with every one of LaRoux's saves, I breathe a sigh of relief. Add the stress of the Randy situation and I'm pretty sure I'm headed for a full-blown meltdown. I feel like I am having mini heart attacks every fifteen seconds. It's not healthy. My body and brain are on high alert every second of the day. The only thing keeping me sane is Ryan.
