“When I first came up with this idea, it was… half-baked,” I admit. “I’ve wanted to get more involved with charities in New York City to give back to a community that shows up for us every night for years but have been distracted and unfocused. My priorities have been warped.”
I pause, letting the moment settle.
“I’ll admit, the idea to throw a Valentine’s Day dinner and charity auction started off a little selfish as most of my ideas usually do.” A few knowing chuckles. “The truth is that I just wanted an excuse to spend more time with my wife.”
The old Boone was that selfish guy only thinking about himself and his wants. I wonder if Rosie understands that’s not me anymore. I wonder if she sees that this speech isn’t manipulation, it’s desperation. Desperation to show her how special she really is.
My gaze finds Rosie immediately, seated near the front. She’s wearing a fitted red dress with thin, delicate straps that look like they’d snap if I touched them.
I want to test that theory. Want to pin her to a wall, take liberties I know I shouldn’t, kiss her lips, hold her the way I’ve been denying myself for a week.
But I don’t.
It’s been torture, keeping my hands to myself. The only thing that’s made it bearable is my travel schedule the last few days.
California to play the San Diego Suns, where I snagged one of my little brother Seth’s old, signed jerseys for tonight. Then Boston, facing the Tea, the team my older brother plays for and coming home with a pair of his signed skates and a sweatshirt.
I’ve been collecting pieces of myself too. The game-winning puck from our last Stanley. Signed jerseys. Memories I hope turn into some meaningful cash for the Brookhaven Connecticut Women’s Shelter.
Yes, I hope we raise money for the shelter. I've toured the building; I know that the need is great. But I also hope I make Rosie proud. I hope she sees a man worthy of marrying her.
“I didn’t know what it meant to be a husband when I married Rosie,” I continue. “I thought that I'd known love in the past. But I didn’t knowsacrifice. I didn’t know trust. I didn’t understand the significance of weighing every decision, knowing it wouldn’t just affect me, but her too.”
My eyes never leave her.
“Rosie has made me better. And even if this night started from selfish reasons, it’s because of her generosity, her kindness, and the way she shows up for women in crisis that this will continue.”
I gesture toward her. “Rosie.”
She looks startled, then rises from her chair. The shimmer of lotion catches the light along her legs, her cheeks, the soft skin of her chest. Her dark blonde hair is twisted into a simple updo that shows off the lines on her shoulders. Everything about her draws me in. Her scent. Her presence. Her gravity.
When she reaches me, I hesitate. My fingers flex, wondering if she’ll overthink me touching her as just another PR move. Then I pull her gently to my side. The first time I’ve touched her in a week.
We could pretend this is for show, for appearances, and everyone will believe that. But we both know better. Her body no longer bristles when I touch her. It melts. That tells me everything that I need to know.
My hand settles at her lower back and that’s when I realize the dress is completely backless. My mind blanks and all I feel is heat. Years of dance carved strength into her spine, into a body that I ache for. I’m starving for her touch. Collecting moments like this to keep me going.
If yearning were a sport, I’d dominate it.
I lean in, my mouth near her ear, her sweet, flower scent engulfing me. “You’re beautiful,” I murmur.
She smiles softly. “You’re doing really great. I’m proud of you,” she whispers.
The words catch me off guard, like a clean hit to the chest. My heart stutters, then takes off at a reckless pace.
I look at her, really look at her, searching for the cracks. For the politeness. For the obligation. But there’s none. Her smile is real, and this isn’t scripted.
Does she have any idea how badly I needed to hear that? How long I’ve been chasing the quiet hope of being someone she could look at like this—someone worth being proud of?
Something inside me locks into place. I straighten my spine, turn back toward the crowd, and suddenly the noise fades into the background.
I’m grounded now.
“So, before we get started, let’s raise a glass. To Rosie and the reason that we're having this auction tonight.”
The room erupts in cheers. Her cheeks flush pink as I press a firm kiss to her temple. It takes everything in me not to pull her closer, not to break every promise I’ve made.
Just a little longer.
