“Yeah.” I chose not to tell him how many times I thought about quitting because of it. I persisted, knowing it wouldn’t be part of my day-to-day work with patients. “I like putting things back together. And I always wanted a career in sports.”
He turned his focus back to the lights, passing them to me again. “I don’t know if I like the idea of you puttingotherathletes back together.”
I half grinned. “Want to keep me all to yourself, huh?”
“That’s never been a secret, Quinn.”
I handed the lights back to him and headed to the box of decorations, my cheeks heating, unsure how to respond.
Well, Iwantedto throw myself at him, but he’d made it clear decorating came first. I was grabbing an ornament when the box of memories snagged my attention again.
“What do you think is on these tapes?” Each video was labeled with a month and year, but nothing else.
Nathan ducked down beside me, flicking some of my hair over my shoulder. “I’ll give you one guess.” He snatched a box of ornaments and headed to the tree. “Put one on, if you want.”
“Your dad kept a VCR?” I hadn’t seen the ancient technology in at least ten years.
“Of course he did. Bottom of the box, Bren.”
Nathan paused the tree decorating to help me hook up the video player. I popped a tape in and stared, transfixed, at the screen, where twelve-year-old Nathan stood beside home plate, looking down the third base line to his dad, waiting for the batting sign. He stepped into the box, his cleats scuffing the dirt before he settled in. The pitcher was starting his windup when Nathan pointed his bat toward the left-field wall, signaling where he planned to send the ball.
And then the fucker bunted, catching everyone off guard as he sprinted to first base.
I burst out laughing. “Talk about phases. Remember when you wouldn’t stop calling your shot?”
On-screen, Gordon threw his hat to the ground, shaking his head and glaring at his son.
“Oh yeah,” Nathan said through a laugh. “My dad lectured me about playing with more humility, so I started to do it at least once a game. Then hegroundedme!”
Nathan and I full-on wheezed from how hard we laughed.
On-screen Nathan ignored his father, instead focusing on me as I walked to the plate. He clapped his hands and cheered me on, capturing my attention. And there was that smile on my face again, full of undiluted joy. His dad whistled to pull my attention from his son.
“Yeah,” I replied, “but you kept doing it anyway.”
His hand snagged mine, bringing me to my feet. “It made you laugh.”
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. “That’s not why you did it.”
“It is. You’ve always underestimated how much you mean to me, Bren.” He squeezed my hand. “Maybe stop doing that?”
I surged to my tiptoes, silencing his teasing with a kiss. I didn’t need to see my face to know Nathan brought out the smile full of joy.
The smile reserved for him.
35
BRENNA
Now
“Your eyes better beclosed,” Nathan said as I waited in the kitchen for the big reveal.
After I begged for food, Nathan paused our first Christmas movie of the season and untangled our limbs—his leg unhooking from my ankle, his hand pulling back from mine, fingertips skimming my palm, leaving a tingle in their wake. He eased me off his chest, and I groaned at the lost contact, then he took my hand, guiding me into the kitchen.
“They are, but you only have a minute before I open them.” I jolted when his hand connected with my hip.
“Open your mouth.” Nathan’s words settled deep in my gut. Oh, how I adored the ache now that he could relieve it.
