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“Don’t apologize. If it was even possible for you to think I could stop loving you one day, that’s on me. It’ll be my goal to make sure that thought can never enter your head again, any more than you could doubt that the sun will rise the next morning.”
The smile on her face makes my heart leap.
“So sappy,” she says, but her eyes tell me she loves it.
“Damn right.” I press another kiss to her lips.
She giggles. “Ready to meet my parents?”
I chuckle, wrapping my arm around her and stepping to her door. “Just hope I make a good impression.”
“They’ve heard about you a lot over the years.”
“Only good things, I hope.”
We both crack up. Phoebe opens her door and leads me inside her house.
This time, it doesn’t feel odd stepping inside. It feels right.
37
HUNTER
After a long night going two rounds with Phoebe and making her voice hoarse from screaming my name, I’d planned on sleeping in since we don’t have a game this weekend.
But there’s an excited commotion going on downstairs that makes my eyes flutter open just after eight.
I sit up in my bed, tilting my head to hear better. There’s a mix of voices and lots of movement from our living room. My chest hitches with surprise when I think I catch a familiar tone—but it can’t be the voice I think I recognize.
That’s what I think, until I hear the voice clear and booming, yelling up from the bottom of the steps, “Wake up and get down here, rookie!”
What the hell? Tristan?
Phoebe stirs next to me, propping herself on her elbow, her expression still clouded with sleep. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” I say, getting out of bed and tugging on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. Surely, my ears must have been deceiving me?
I open my door and sure enough, to my amazement, Tristan is standing at the bottom of the stairs.
Our former roommate who graduated last year, now playing in the NHL, is suddenly here in the Ice Box.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, a shocked smile on my face.
My shock only increases when Grant, another of our former teammates and roommates, steps next to him and wraps his massive, bear-like arm around Tristan’s shoulders.
“We’re all here! Get down already, you wanker!” Grant shouts. His British accent sends a wave of nostalgia through me.
I turn back into my room. “Our old roommates are here,” I tell Phoebe.
She must be able to read the surprise and excitement on my face. She sits up in bed, shaking off her grogginess. “You go down. Give me a second to get dressed.” She flashes me a smile. “I’m excited to meet them.”
I bounce down the stairs, and when I look into the living room, I still can’t believe it.
Grant wasn’t kidding. Everyone’s here. Ryder, Cole, Tristan, Grant, even Blaze, who graduated two years ago.
Aaron is looking at Cole like he’s starstruck. Cole’s an NHL goalie now, and one of the best. I’ve heard Aaron gush about his play when we’ve watched games together, and he’s said he wishes he could’ve met him while he was at Ridley before Aaron transferred over.
Ryder’s rustling through the cabinet where we keep the snacks. “Score!” he exclaims. He unfurls a half-full bag of sour cream and onion potato chips and starts munching away. When he flops down on the couch, still shoveling chips into his mouth, Blaze laughs.
