“No, it’s not. I don’t have any parents, family, anything.” I’ve never said these words to him before, although from his lack of reaction, I think he may have already known more than I was aware of.
Killer tsks and shakes his head.
“I fucking love you, man. So does every single person on this plane. And that woman waiting at home for you, she loves thefucking shit out of you.” My heart pounds steadily as I glance around.
Family.
“Go and tell her, man. Hell, get down on one fucking knee and make her yours forever. We all know you want to.”
“I-I…shit.”
“Holy fuck, your face,” he laughs.
But while Killer mocks me, his suggestion takes hold.
What would it be like to make Freya my wife?
Mrs. Freya Hansley.
My hands tremble, and I curl them into fists to try and abate it. But to my surprise, it’s not fear. It’s excitement.
Freya has already promised me that she’ll be at my games supporting me, no matter what. She’s told me that she’ll be my person, that she’ll cheer louder than anyone else, always.
What if she were wearing my ring, not just my name and number?
Holy shit.
I want it.
Images of her in a white lace gown fill my head. Our boys with little bow ties on. Brian and Amanda, my teammates, everyone we love in one place as we show the world just how serious we are.
I’m aware I’m running before I can walk. We haven’t even announced our relationship to the world, and here I am, practically writing my vows.
Not so long ago, I didn’t even think a serious relationship was in my future, let alone sitting here fantasizing about making the woman of my dreams my wife.
The second the plane doors are unlocked, I’m racing down the stairs and toward my car.
I can hear Killer and the others ribbing me, but my only reaction is to flip them the bird as I run. A few of the guys get it. They’ve got families waiting on them, too.
And now, for the first time in my life, so do I.
My heart races and my hands tremble all the way home. I’m pumped just like I am before stepping out on the ice for an important game. But all I’m doing is going home.
It’s crazy.
It’s…incredible.
I abandon my car as soon as I come to a stop. I don’t even know if I’m in my allotted space or not, and I don’t care. I just need to get upstairs.
“Come on,” I beg as the elevator moves slower than I’ve ever known.
My foot bounces and my fingers drum against my thighs.
The instant the familiar ding hits my ears and the doors open, I burst forward and practically fly through the front door.
The familiar scent of home hits me, and I instantly relax, although not fully, because I can’t see her yet.
I drop my duffel and carry-on in the entryway and continue forward. She’s been cooking. I’m not sure what it is, but the smell of it makes my mouth water.
