Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
I grinned—one of those big, sappy, goofy grins—and crashed my mouth over his…in the middle of a crowded quad, in front of dozens of witnesses. I blocked out the cheers and gasps and ignored the cell phones capturing the moment to share with the world. Okay by me.
No more hiding behind half-truths, no more living with one foot in the closet. I was free. Really, truly free. I wanted that for Walker, too. I wanted him to know that the past didn’t define him. He was a survivor, a trailblazer, and more of a hero to me than any sports figure I’d posted on my childhood bedroom walls.
And I hoped he’d give me a lifetime to show him how much I admired and adored him. Challenges might come our way, but we had each other now. We could do anything together, and we were ready to prove it.
EPILOGUE
“Try something different. Surrender.” — Rumi
Walker
Four years later
The steady sound of thumping and panting echoed off the walls.
Get your mind out of the gutter. That was Ty on the treadmill, wiping sweat from his brow with the towel draped over the machine. He positively glistened under the dim lights in our home gym, and I assure you, it was a swoonworthy sight. I took a moment to appreciate his yummy six-pack and muscular thighs before continuing my report on Norwegian fjords. As one does.
“Did you know they have more than a thousand fjords? Did you know that glaciers and gravel carved out inlets to the sea? That’s how they were formed. They’re…geez, twelve thousand years old! Amazing.” I hummed in exaggerated wonder, adding, “Did you know that the word fjord means to pass or go to the other side?”
Ty grunted, adjusting his speed and slowing to a walk as he glanced my way. “I had no idea. Also…I’m not sure what we’re talking about, and shouldn’t you be on the elliptical?”
I twitched my nose in the universal gesture of distaste. “I can’t do it, Ty. Sweat looks good on you, but it’s icky on me.”
“Icky?” he repeated with a laugh.
“Mmhmm. And while I like to think I’m a multitasking expert, it doesn’t work with exercise. I can listen to a podcast with television and music blaring in the background while I make dinner, but I can hardly breathe much less speak and do steps on that”—I waved a hand at the dreaded elliptical machine—“thing.”
Ty snorted. “You can do anything you set your mind to, baby.”
“Thank you.” I beamed at my amazing, talented, hunky boyfriend and tapped my tablet meaningfully. “But this is more important. I think Norway is next on our list. It’s historically significant—Vikings and marauders and Norse gods—and it’s beautiful. If we time it right, we might be able to see the northern lights. What do you say?”
“Fuck, yeah. I’m in.”
“Yay! I’ll make it happen.” I set the tablet aside to hand Ty a water bottle as he jumped off the treadmill, falling heavily onto the opposite end of the workout bench.
He chugged the contents, heat emanating from him in waves. Then he dropped his head and peeked at me through a fringe of damp hair. “You’re staring at me.”
“I can’t help it. You’re so sexy, I’m weak in the knees.” I batted my lashes and fanned myself, chuckling at Ty’s eye roll.
“What happened to Australia?”
“We’re going to do that too, but I’m going to need a minute to get over the article I read about their native venomous spiders and snakes. Australia and New Zealand are on next year’s list. But fair warning, our summer is their winter. It might be cold and rainy.”
Ty crushed the plastic bottle in one hand and tossed it into the wastebasket near the door. “That’s okay. I think we should put Bali and Thailand on the list too.”
“Done.” I scooted closer to him and laced our fingers. “Are you ready for tomorrow night?”
“Yeah. I am.” He quirked a lopsided smile as he squeezed my hand. “I know it’s not my first time, but…I think I have a real shot at playing. Buffalo’s beat up.”
I didn’t finish the rest of the sentiment. Hockey players were a superstitious bunch, and I didn’t dare accidentally jinx Ty’s chances. He was right, though. With four seasons in the AHL under his belt, Ty had a reputation as a fierce competitor. He was quick, agile, and known for being a little “sneaky.” Actually, the term an opponent recently used to describe him was, “a demonic fucker,” which Ty took as a compliment.
And rightfully so. He’d worked hard to become one of the most valuable and highest paid players in the league. It had been a long road, but he’d had a huge support system of friends, family, and even his agent.
Toby had become one of Ty’s biggest advocates and had stuck with him through his short stint with the Jackals, which had been marred by their insistence on tying Ty’s name with my dad’s. Ty wasn’t Ketchum Clomsky in any way, shape, or form. And dating his son wasn’t going to change that.