“Last night, you said I’m yours,” I reminded him, my voice soft.
His lips curled into a half-smile, eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “You heard that, huh?” He paused, his expression turning serious. “It’s true. You’re one hundred percent, without a doubt, mine. Is that okay with you?”
Was it? My mind replayed all my past relationships, how I’d never felt truly secure in any of them. But as I looked into his eyes, something shifted. I knew, without a doubt, that this—what we were—was different.
“Yes,” I whispered.
His grin widened into a full smile. “Is it a bad time to make another confession?”
I turned to face him, my chest pressing against his. “What?”
“I may have, sort of, accidentally finished your puzzle last night.”
I rolled my eyes, unable to suppress a smile. “Bastard.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
TEDDY
It wasn’t supposed to get worse, my knee. But the pain was becoming harder and harder to ignore. The days blurred together in a haze of painkillers, hockey games, and nights with Frankie. I knew she could tell I was hiding something.
I couldn’t hide it from her, though I tried. Every step felt like agony, but I pretended it didn’t. The ice baths and heat compresses did little but numb my skin, barely touching the pain that throbbed deep within. Physical therapy had become an exercise in gritting my teeth, putting on a face that didn’t show the wear and tear.
If the team knew, they’d bench me. And at my age, there were always hungry young players waiting to take my spot. Once I was benched for more than a few weeks, it would be over.
Maybe it was already over.
I sat in Mr. Macintosh’s oversized leather chair, the kind that creaked when you shifted. Ryder was seated beside me, relaxed but tense in his own way. He’d dragged me up here, though I wasn’t sure why. Mr. Mac was like a second father to Ryder, but to me, he was just the team’s owner.
I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair, the rhythmic tapping filling the silence, waiting for someone to speak.
Mr. Mac’s phone buzzed, but he ignored it. I couldn’t help but notice the way time had been aging him. He was nearing seventy now, and the stress was obvious in the dark bags under his eyes, in the stoop of his shoulders.
Ryder glanced between him and me. “Something’s wrong with Teddy,” he blurted out.
I groaned, the weight of the situation wearing on me. “What is this, a therapy session?”
Ryder flipped me off without even looking at me. “I’m worried it’s still the concussion.”
Mr. Mac turned his full attention to me, the weight of his gaze heavy. “Is that true, son?”
“I don’t even know why we’re here. I’m fine.” My grip tightened on the arm of the chair, mostly to keep me from hitting Ryder.
“Mr. Mac is who I turn to when I need an unbiased ear,” Ryder said with a shrug. “He’s good at this stuff.”
I shook my head, exasperated. “Like I said, I’m?—”
“Fine,” Ryder interrupted, his voice sharp now. “Heard that one before. But Ted, if you still have concussion symptoms, that’s serious.”
“It’s not the damn concussion!” I snapped, my voice rising. “My kneewon’twork.” That wasn’t entirely true. It worked, but it felt like someone was stabbing hot knives into it every time I moved.
Before I could continue, there was a soft knock at the office door. We all turned toward it as the door creaked open. A young woman stepped in, no older than nineteen. She had coal-black hair twisted into a messy bun that almost made her blend in. But the sharp lines of her pantsuit and her stiff posture made it clear she didn’t belong here in quite the same way we did.
Mr. Mac’s face softened, and he stood to greet her. “Boys, meet my granddaughter, Lucy. She’s here for the weekend on break from UCLA.”
Ryder gave a polite nod. “Nice to see you again.” His tone was so formal it almost made me laugh.
Wanting to break the tension, to put everyone at ease, I jumped up with a warm grin. “Hey there.” I opened my arms for a hug, and she stiffened in my embrace. It didn’t bother me. I pulled back, keeping my smile steady.
