He doesn’t let me finish my doubtful thoughts. He pulls back, frames my face with his hands. His thumbs dry the tears from my cheeks and he leans in to whisper a gentle kiss across my lips. My eyes close in a silent sigh, and when I open them back up, he’s staring at me intently.
“Vale,” he says with quiet resolve. “I’ve always loved you. Even when I thought I hated you, I always loved you. It’s why I was never in another relationship. It’s why I couldn’t leave you alone when you came back into my life. I may have been too stubborn to give a name to it, foolishly hiding behind a mask of anger, but you have to know, thinking back over the last few months…everything we’ve shared, and talked about, every time we’ve made love, or just held each other. Every joke and smile and every fucking moment of amazing silence between us. You have to know…you have to admit, that was my love for you. Think about it. Search deep. Tell me you know it.”
Tell me you know it, he pleads desperately.
And I realize…I do know it.
I knew it with utter clarity that night by the airport where he brought me out to toast my dad’s amazing miracle, and when he made love to me wrapped in cool November air…
I felt it. It wasn’t in anything he said. He didn’t give me promises or sweet words of encouragement. I just…felt it. It’s why I was so compelled to tell him that I loved him. I was sure of our feelings for each other, so much so that I took the risk of getting hurt. I put myself out there, and yes, he did hurt me because he couldn’t say it back right then, still too burdened down with the ambiguity of our stupid past, but definitely…I knew it just as sure as I know the air I breathe is a necessity.
“You loved me,” I say in revelation. “You just wouldn’t believe it yourself.”
“Yes,” he groans in relief. “I was scared.”
“Hurt,” I add.
“Stupid,” he says with a smile and I smile back.
“A little slow on the uptake,” I offer kindly instead.
He laughs, bends to kiss me again before agreeing. “A little slow, but I’m caught up now.”
My hands come up, clasp onto his wrists. I stare into the blue depths of his eyes, filled with love, happiness, and the relief that comes with knowing all is right in my world.
“So where do we go from here?” I ask him.
“Anywhere we want to,” he tells me, and this I believe as well.
Epilogue
Hawke
Brian Brannon’s house is a monstrosity. Which is good, because you need a place built like a palace to hold all the members of the Cold Fury organization for a Christmas party. It’s his traditional party held every year on Christmas Eve, as long as the Cold Fury isn’t out of town on a road trip. This year, we’re here and ready to celebrate the holiday as teammates and friends.
There’s a commotion over near the bar that’s tended by two people, dressed in crisp white shirts and red and green plaid bow ties. They’ll mix any cocktail you can imagine and the liquor is flowing freely. As is the army of taxis waiting outside to act as designated drivers, all paid for, of course, by Mr. Brannon himself.
I see a large crowd of teammates and their respective partners engulfing Garrett and Olivia. It takes me all of two seconds to see by the wide smile on her face, the even wider smile on Garrett’s and the way she holds her left hand out for inspection to all who will look, that an engagement has happened.
Nice.
Very nice.
I’d like to see the same happen in my life, but I have to wonder if it will occur. So far, Vale has been cagey and secretive as to her immediate future plans, but I’m committed to working on her. It is, after all, true love.
I walk over to the crowd, push my way in, and clap Garrett on the back. “Looks like congratulations are in order, man.”
“She said yes,” he says, completely drunk on love and excitement.
Olivia presents her left hand. “Behold the power of love.”
I take her hand, pull the ring up for inspection, and say dryly, “I would have thought he’d get you a bigger rock.”
Olivia snorts and pulls her hand away, putting it up in front of her face to examine it closely. “It’s the most beautiful ring ever.”
“It’s three fucking carats,” Garrett grumbles, and I laugh, clapping him on the shoulder again.
“You did good,” I praise him. “She’s a lucky girl.”
“I’m the lucky one,” he says as his arm goes around her, pulling her in. She rests that left hand on his stomach, the ring glinting and sparkling prettily.
“Is Vale coming?” Olivia asks.
I shake my head and try not to sound like a baby. “She’s flying in tomorrow. Wanted to spend Christmas eve with her dad.”
“How long will she stay?” Garrett asks.
“A week, and then she has to start her new job,” I say, even as I fight against the downward pull of my lips in dismay. It’s still a sore spot that she insisted on heading to Columbus. She said she had to go where the opportunity was, and right now, she needed a job. Didn’t matter that I offered to support her. Told her she could move in with me and that I’d take care of her.