Same Time Next Year

A smile spreads across his face, and he jerks his chin toward the crowd.

I’m guessing one of my sisters has made an embarrassing sign about me or put one of the kids in a Mayfield jersey. Through gritty eyes, I search the family section of the stands behind the bench and . . . right away something looks off. Everyone is wearing maroon and white, except for one person. She’s in white and teal, sitting smack in the middle of everyone.

My stick clatters to the ground. “Britta.”

I’m too stunned to move. She’s here. She’s at a game.

She came—and God, she’s so beautiful that for a moment, I wonder if I dreamed being inside her, sleeping with her in my arms last night. That woman wears my ring. Holy shit.

But what does it mean that she’s wearing an Anaheim jersey?

And a lumberjack hat. With flaps. Like my grandmother used to wear to games.

The kind I told her I would love to see again one day in the stands.

She remembered.

I’m distracted from a barrage of happy realizations . . . when I see where she’s sitting. Oh God, she’s three seats away from her father. Bryce’s father. I barely stop myself from launching through the partition to get between them. To wrap myself around her like human Bubble Wrap so no bad memories can get within an inch of her perfect heart. But although she looks nervous, a little shell-shocked, she firms her chin and stays seated.

She stays . . .

She looks at me with luminous eyes. Blows out a long breath.

And she nods.

A hoarse sound rips out of me, just as the anthem ends. I want to believe that nod means she’s coming to California, but if I let myself believe that and it proves to be untrue, I don’t think I would survive the disappointment. And Christ, I can’t be greedy. The fact that she’s here at the game is huge in itself.

My girl is so fucking brave. She faced her father for me. The person in her life who didn’t choose her and made her feel less than, when in reality, she’s the ultimate human being.

Well, I choose her. I’ll choose her every day for eternity.

The need to show her that immediately is overwhelming. Too big to deny.

I pull off my helmet and let it fall, shouldering my grumbling teammates out of the way until I’m at the entrance to the team bench, but I can’t pull it open. “Somebody come unlock this door,” I roar, only breathing again when one of the trainers hustles over, fumbling a pair of keys. While he’s getting it open, I crane my neck to look through the glass and find my sisters pulling a hesitant Britta out of her seat, dragging her toward me—

And I burst through the exit just in time for her to reach the bench, catching her up in my arms and then wrapping them around her as tightly as they’ll go. I’m even taller in my skates, meaning she’s over a foot off the ground, but she doesn’t seem to mind or notice, because her arms are around my neck and she’s holding me just as tightly.

“Britta.”

“Sumner. I love you.” A sob shakes her. “I really, really love you.”

Gratitude unravels inside me like an endless ribbon, along with relief, disbelief, hope, and awe. All of it at once. I stand there, reeling, trapped in a tornado of emotion that only this person is capable of making me feel. “You do?” I manage.

“Yeah. I could make a wall of pictures out of you.” She laughs tearfully and kisses my neck, my jaw, my cheek. “And add one every year.”

My neck muscles are straining so painfully, I sound like I’m choking.

“Does this mean you’re coming to California tomorrow?”

She cradles my face in her hands and nods. “Yes. I’m coming. I’m scared, but I’m a lot more scared of staying behind and not feeling this way ever again.”

“I wouldn’t have let that happen, sweetheart. I would have kept right on loving you until you came home to me.”

“I know,” she whispers.

And those might be the best two words anyone has ever said to me.

Because in other words, she trusts me. She believes in me. Forget going pro; this is the greatest accomplishment of my life. One that will be a lifetime reward. A daily one. The reward is keeping my wife forever. I’m almost too overcome with happiness to speak, but she needs to hear the words I’m dying to say. “Look what you faced for me, Britta. I’m so proud of you. Humbled.” I lay a kiss on her mouth, and the crowd goes wild, cheering and stomping their feet. “If you can do this, you can do anything, okay?”

The hope in her eyes is so powerful, it knocks the breath out of me. “I want to prove that to myself. I need you with me while I do.”

“That’s a given.” I work her mouth in a deeper kiss that makes her purr in the back of her throat. “When it comes to you, I’m always a given. I am your given, wife.”

I love the fact that her eyes are glassy after one stroke of my tongue.

“I’m yours, too, husband,” she whispers, giving me one more teasing kiss on the chin. “Now go out there and win.”

My voice is thick with emotion when I tell her, “I already have.”





Epilogue





SUMNER


New Year’s Eve 2024

My wife walks into the party, and my brain cells go tumbling out of my ears.

Forget my train of thought. It’s gone extinct.

Who gave her permission to look this fine?

God, I guess. He’s the one who handcrafted her, right down to the hips that are currently wrapped in champagne-colored silk. She turns in slow motion, clearly looking for me among the sea of guests, the waves of her blonde hair floating around her in a shiny cloud. When she finally spots me where I stand in a group of coaches and players, the dreamy smile actually causes me to suck in a breath, fumbling for a place to set down my bottle of beer.

“Whoa. You all right, Mayfield?”

“Yeah, I just can’t believe that’s my wife.”

“Neither can we,” jokes the team’s goalie, shoving me in the shoulder to let me know he’s kidding. “You going to introduce us?”

I attempt to roll the tension out of my shoulders. “Give me half an hour.”

“Why half an hour?”

Backing away from the group, I tap the breast pocket of my suit jacket. “Finally got her that ring. I want it on her finger when I bring her around you dogs.”

When I turn around, several balled-up napkins are thrown at my retreating back, accompanied by laughs, wishes of good luck, and of course, some good-natured bullying, but I only have the attention span for my wife

right now, and the closer I get to my girl, the more convinced I’m becoming that she’s going to burn them out of my head.

I reach Britta and wrap her up in my arms like a present, drawing her up onto her toes and then squeezing her out of sheer happiness that she’s there. Which might seem like overkill since we live together and I see her every day, but that’s life when you’re obsessed with your wife. “You could have warned me you were going to show up looking like this,” I growl into her neck.

“Like what?” she asks innocently.