She bites the inside of her cheek, debating whether she wants to disclose that information or not. “I may or may not have caught a game or two over the years.”
“Caught as in youcameto a game or two?” I question, eyes wide at the thought that she could’ve actually been in one of the crowds I’d continually searched without really thinking I’d find her.
“A few times when you played in Nashville, and then if my tour schedule happened to align with your away game schedule, I’d make an appearance.”
“A few means more than one or two. How many are we talking exactly?”
Tae shrugs as if this is no big deal. “I don’t know, maybe a dozen.”
“There’s no way. I’ve searched the crowds for you over the years and if you’d been to a dozen games, there’s no way I wouldn’t have seen you—no way that you wouldn’t have been on the jumbotrons or had a news story leak that you were there.”
“Yeah, about that . . . I always purchased nosebleed tickets and made my former body guard, Josh, dress normal and wear a jersey. And then there’s the disguise I have with a blonde wig and jersey to hide my tattoos.”
“Whose jersey do you wear?”
“What?” she questions, stammering over the word.
“Which team?”
“The Wolverines,” Tae murmurs reluctantly.
“And whose name is on the back of your jersey?”
Folding her arms over her chest, she sighs. “Wilson.”
Yeah, I don’t even try to hide my smile. “What I wouldn’t give to see that.”
I don’t even know how many times I’ve imagined her wearing my Wolverines jersey with my name splayed across her shoulders. So everyone in the arena would know Taevin Gray is mine.
“How come you didn’t ask me which number was on my jersey?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest.
“Because I know my own number,” I state blankly.
“That’s great, but the number on the back of my jersey is seven.”
Did she just sayseven? As in my big brother’s number? Nah, she’s fucking with me.
“Sorry, I think I misheard you—you saidtwelve, right?”
“No, I never did care much for double digit numbers.”
“Lies. Your birthday is on the twelfth.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to prefer the number. By the way, what a weird coincidence that your hockey number is my birthday. I could’ve sworn you were always seventy-seven.”
“That was taken when I got signed by the Wolverines, so I went with my favorite number instead.”
“Since when did twelve become your favorite number?” she questions with a teasing lilt to her tone. That is, until she must realize the answer to her own question.
Instead of waiting for her to say the conclusion I’m sure she’s come to, I let one of my secrets spill. “Since the day I found out your birthday is on the twelfth, and then we went ahead and got married on the twelfth of August. It appears I’ve been pining for you all these years, Thorn.”
Leaving her to process that little tidbit, I press the playlist on my phone and turn up the volume as “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac plays through the speakers. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel to the bass as I contemplate how I want things to play out today.
Since I brought her home from her surgery, I haven’t tried to hide behind my feelings for her; I’ve decided to go for it. Besides, it’s not like she can hurt me more than she already has. And if all I get is this one shot while she’s forced to be in my orbit again, I’m taking it.
I just wonder if she’s also remembering today is technically our tenth wedding anniversary.
“T, you just had major surgery and this is the first day you’ve been feeling okay, I feel like this is too much too soon,” I tell her as we pull into the Target parking lot. “Besides, do you reallythink your baseball hat and sweatsuit are going to disguise you from your borderline-psychotic fans? I swear with the way the teenage girls at the coffee shop were gawking at you, they had to have taken pics and shared them all over the internet already.” I’ve been trying to plead with her the entire drive from the coffee shop to Target, but she’s a stubborn little thing.
