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Jeremy appears behind Preston with a stern grimace and his arms crossed.
“I know, you’re pissed. We can talk about it later.” I nod at him with my hands up.
“You feeling okay?” he asks, pulling on his gym shoes.
“I’m tired and sore but okay.”
Jeremy pats me on the shoulder. “Good.”
The guys get ready for the game, stretching and warming up on the ice while Brendon and I head to the stands with the puppy. Someone found him a blanket so he can lay on the floor or be wrapped up in Brendon’s lap without getting fur all over his clothes.
Brendon takes the pup outside to run around and get some energy out while I find our seats. It’s weird to sit here and watch my team on the ice. I’ve of course been to hockey games before, gone to friends’ games so I knew players on the ice, but this ismyteam, and I’m not out there with them.
There are some die-hard fans that say hi to me as I pass, ask me questions about the game and the other team or why I’m not playing. I drop down into the seat and look around, the frigid air of the rink, the excitement of the crowd, and try to find it in myself. But I’m struggling.
Not only do I hate not being on the ice with the boys, I’m tired of not being myself outside of my dorm room. I’m tired of hiding. Brendon deserves to be shown every day that I love him proudly. In public. Out loud.
My knee bounces as I watch. The announcers introduce the players as a smiling Brendon sits down next to me with the puppy under his arm.
“I had to tell security he was the team pet.” He chuckles and spreads the blanket out next to our feet. He sets the puppy down and wraps a corner over him. It doesn’t last long. About half a second later, he’s up and begging to be picked up, which Brendon does.
I lay the blanket on Brendon’s lap so he can put the puppy down. It’s only a few minutes because he calms and lays down. Just in time for us to get the biscuit in the basket and the crowd goes wild. The poor dog jumps and lets out a scared bark as people cheer and whoop and clap.
I chuckle and pet his head.
“It’s okay, little buddy.”
“How come you never talk tomylittle buddylike that?” Brendon smirks at me, and I lift an eyebrow as I lean in close so no one overhears me.
“Yourlittle buddydoesn’t like to be talked to nicely.” I drag my lower lip between my teeth and watch his mouth. “Yourfuck sticklikes it when I’m a little rough on him.”
Brendon’s cheeks pinken at my words, and I sit back in my seat to watch the game.
The next time we light up the lamp light, I jump out of my seat and immediately regret the abrupt movement. My surgery site screaming at me to calm the fuck down, so I do.
“You okay? Did you rip your glue or whatever? Do you need a doctor?” Brendon’s panicked tone cuts through the pain a bit, and I’m able to focus.
“No, I just moved too fast. I’m okay.” I reach for his hand and thread our fingers together, holding his hand against my thigh while I turn back to the game. It takes me a few minutes to realize he’s quiet. Too. Damn. Quiet.
When I look at him, he’s smiling at me, but I have no idea why.
“What?”
“You’re holding my hand.”
I look down at our hands and smile at it. It was so natural that I didn’t pause to think about it. He’s it for me, and I’m done keeping him a secret.
With our eyes locked together, I speak my truth.
“I love you, Brendon, and I’m done hiding it.” I don’t know how, but his smile gets bigger, brighter. “You’re my husband, and I don’t care who knows it.”
Even with a swollen nose and the bruising under his eyes, he’s still beautiful. Brendon’s eyes turn glassy with happy tears, and he ducks his head, shaking it and wiping at his eyes.
“I don’t deserve you,” he says with a gravelly voice. “But I’m selfish enough to not let you get away either.”
It’s a stab in the heart to hear him think he’s unworthy, but I’ll spend the rest of my life proving him wrong. He is themostworthy.
“Look at me.” I wait until his eyes meet mine again. “Your past doesn’t determine your worth. No one is a better fit for me than you, and I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”
