I groan. “They hate me already?”
“My mom’s excited. I told her all about you.”
“But your dad’s no longer a fan. I get it.” I stand, then collapse on the bean bag about ten feet away. “Besides, I know you need to stick to your routine. Lack of sleep can bring on an episode.”
Her hands flash at me like two red blinking stop signs. “Wait—have you been talking tomy brotherabout me?”
I choke out a laugh. “Itriedexplaining—”
“No, I mean, about my bipolar disorder. How do you know about routine and triggers?”
“I’ve been listening to a book about it. Some podcasts too. There’s a lot of great information out there, especially for loved ones of people with bipolar disorder.”
Finley shifts, dangling her legs over the side of her bed. “You read about bipolar disorder?”
“Ilistened,” I reply, pointing to one of my ears.
“Listening to audiobooksisreading. I don’t care what anyone says.”
I laugh. “Okay, then yes. I read about bipolar disorder. I want to know everything I can, learn how I can be the best partner to you. That’s the bare minimum of what you deserve, Finley.”
She’s at a loss for words again.
I snatch a book off her bed, turning it over to stare at the cover. The backdrop is a mixture of purple and blue with a blond hockey player holding a brunette skater. “A hockey romance? Whatpossiblycould have sparked this interest?”
She giggles, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound as I tickle her. Finley thrashes, but my weight holds her steady. I finally relent when her breath grows shallow, and her hands drop from her mouth to clutch her stomach, in stitches after minutes of laughing.
I flop back on the bed, holding the book out to her. “So are you up to reading?”
Finley props her chin on my chest. “How will you get back?”
“The driver outside. I hired him for the whole night.”
“Zach.”
“What? I’m paying his daily fee for the next few days.”
She tosses an arm around my abdomen. “Can we talk instead? I like the sound of your voice.”
I love that she knows me well enough not to ask me to read to her. I would, of course, but it’d be slow and frustrating, especially with how tired I am.
I chuckle. “You might be the only one.”
Her head settles in the crook of my arm, twisting a few times before she's comfortable. “I’m okay with that. I don’t want anyone else falling in love with you.”
“What about me? You’re not worried about me falling in love with someone else?”
“Zach Briggs, you’re the most loyal person I know. I don’t need to worry.”
Her faith in me gives me a deep satisfaction like few other things do—scoring a goal, blocking a shot, delivering a sick assist. The belief from my teammates and the roar of the fans build me up. I soak in the validation like a comedian who just made an auditorium erupt into laughter or a stage actor bowing and receiving applause from the crowd. I never expected the feeling could exist thanks to only one person, but it does with her.
She presses a kiss on my cheek. “Tell me a story from when we were apart.”
My mind flips through the last couple of weeks, most of which I spent missing her. Then I land on one. “Jennings found this goose in his backyard the other day, and I got a little too close…”
Half an hour later, Finley has drifted to sleep to the sound of my voice.
34
