“With the same number and tenacious playing as always, on left wing, number sixteen, Griffin Graves. That’s right, folks, don’t be confused when you see two jerseys with Graves stitched on their backs tonight. I’m told it’s not a mistake.” The announcer chuckles, but I don’t even hear it. I don’t hear anything else the man says, nor do I notice the roars and confused shouts of the crowd.
All these months, Griffin has been saying he’d change his name if I didn’t want to. I thought he was kidding, that it was a silly flirtation.
“He changed the name on his jersey,” I say to no one in particular. “He’s wearing my last name.”
Lexi clasps her hands over her heart and squeals. “Oh my god, I can’t believe he did that. Iconic.”
That’s one word for it. Insane is another. So is romantic and touching and utterly, undeniably Griffin.
“He loves you so much,” Isla says, leaning close. We both watch as Griffin takes a lap before stopping directly in the family box’s line of sight with his back to us. He looks at me over hisshoulder with sparkling eyes and a grin that transforms his face into something so beautiful it hurts to look at. He does a little shimmy with his ass, turns to stare right at me, and makes a heart with his hands.
“Oh my god.” I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open, which is just great, because I swear every person in the arena cranes their neck to look at me. I’m about to combust into flames right here in the box. But it’s not only the embarrassment of being the center of attention; it’s the way this public declaration of his love has melted away any last vestiges of the worry that Griffin could one day leave me the way my dad did.
Intellectually, I’ve always known Griffin is nothing like my dad. But fear and decades-old trauma aren’t things that exist in an intellectual space. They’re roots of decay and deeply ingrained protective instincts that can be self-destructive, but they spread so deep, become so pervasive, that it takes an act of god to root them out and burn them away.
Or an act of love so loud and powerful, so selfless and pointed, that it pulses light and life through every deep vein of rot until there’s nothing left of the beliefs that had been so omnipresent and damaging for so long.
This isn’t the first time Griffin has shown his love in a public way, and I doubt it will be the last. But the fact that he did this when things are up in the air between us and I could still reject him? This is Griffin making himself vulnerable in front of thousands, if not millions of people. This is his way of telling me I’m more important than his reputation or pride, that he’ll fight for me even when the outcome isn’t assured.
Griffin’s gesture has decimated one of my fears and shed a glaring light on the other. Because now, more than ever, I worry that I’m not good enough for Griffin Wright. I’m no longer worried that he’ll hurt me, but I’m doubly worried I’ll end up hurting him.
I’ve been retreating ever since our trip, letting my fears and insecurities dictate my future, when Griffin has been out here fighting for me with no promise of success. He’s fought against my doubts, my brother’s doubts, and his own deep-seated fear that no one will ever love him and choose him the way he longs to be chosen and loved.
It’s time I stopped retreating. I’m not sure I will ever completely banish the whispering worry that I’ll be left alone one day. But I’d guess Griffin feels the same, and he still shows up, day after day, to fight for me.
Griffin Wright deserves someone to go to battle for him. He deserves someone to put him first, push past their insecurities, and be a warm, safe place for him to rest. I’m determined to be that person. No matter what it takes, I’m going to fight like hell to be good enough for Griffin. Maybe I’m not there yet, but I will never stop striving to become the woman he deserves. I’m going to fight for him every bit as hard as he’s been fighting for me.
I wish I could run to him right now. I wish I could tell him how much I love him. That I may need a bit more time to work through some of my issues, but I’m all in. I just hope that, on some level, he can feel my love from here.
I can’t take my eyes off him as the rest of the team skates onto the ice and they begin their warm-ups. My eyes ping between his face and the name stitched in gray on the back of his jersey. My name. I’m up here wearing his, he’s down there wearing mine, and my heart is forever brandedGriffin’s.
forty-eight
GRIFFIN
My blood is poundinglike a drum in my veins.
Not only is it game one of the playoffs, but I just made an undeniable declaration of love in front of the whole fucking country. More importantly, I made it in front of my wife.
“She can’t take her eyes off you,” Ryder says, chuckling as he looks up at the box to blow a kiss to his girlfriend, Lexi.
“Do you think she liked it?” I kept telling Mira I’d change my name to hers if she wanted. I’m not stupid, I know she never took me seriously. I hope she can finally see that I am. Because when it comes to making promises to my wife, I mean every word I say. The guys will still call me Wright on the ice—because let’s face it, it would be confusing as hell if they called Maddox and I both Graves—but the whole arena, and every hockey fan in the US and Canada just saw how far I’m willing to go for the woman I love.
“Of course she liked it,” Bash says as he stops the puck I send sailing toward the net as we warm up. “I know things are still a little up in the air with you two, but she loves you, man. You’d have to be blind not to see it.”
Logan chuckles and elbows Maddox, who scowls. “Yeah. Blind like her brother.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Madds growls. There’s no real heat behind the words. We’ve spent hours talking and working our shit out, so we’re good. He knows now, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that I will do whatever it takes to love and take care of his sister. I’ve made it clear that she’s it for me, and he’s finally accepted it.
“Don’t hassle my brother-in-law.” I grin, hip checking Byrne.
“Still weird,” Maddox grumbles. But even he’s smiling. He can claim it’s weird all he wants, and I guess on some level it is, but he likes it. So do I. It doesn’t get much better than having your best friend for a brother-in-law.
I allow myself to feel all the nerves and excitement about everything with Mira during warm-ups, but the moment we head back into the locker room so the crew can prepare the ice, I push all that back. She’s who I’m playing for—the reason I want to have the best game of my life—but I’m also playing for the men around me who have become my family.
Through all of this, they’ve stood by me, listened to me, encouraged me, and yeah, punched me in the face. But family isn’t always sunshine and roses. It’s hard and gritty and sometimes it hurts more than you think it should. Then you band together, work your shit out, and have each other’s backs.
“You guys ready to kick the Steam’s ass?” Maddox shouts in the locker room, his brown eyes blazing with the fire of upcoming battle. He surveys each of us, locking eyes with the men who call him captain, as our anticipation and determination to win grows and thickens like smoke until we’re all breathing it in with deep gulps.
