“Look, when your mom and I talked about raising kids, we agreed that we wanted to show our kids the things we love. Hockey. Music. And if our kids loved those things too, that would be a bonus.” He offers a shrug. “I got my hockey player. Hell, your sister is better than I ever was.”
“Says the multiple Stanley Cup winner.”
“Stan’s more disciplined.” He smiles. “And you, well, you ended up loving your mom’s passion. But see, here’s the thing—even if you’d decided that you loved, I don’t know, engineering or origami, we would’ve been rooting for you. I don’t care what you do as long as you love it. I’m proud of you, always. No matter what.”
“Thanks, Dad.” My eyes feel hot, so I chase away the tears witha huge slurp of beer.
“As for Blake, if you love her, then you shouldn’t give up on her. Go see her before you leave for New York,” he suggests. “Bring her flowers, write a letter, anything to show her that you meant every word.”
He’s right. I should see her at least one more time before I leave town for who knows how long. I’m not sure about flowers, but…
I do knowonething guaranteed to get my foot in the door.
I don’t drive directly to Hastings. First, I make a stop in the city, double-parking on the street and praying I won’t be here long enough to get towed. In the lobby, I give the desk clerk my name. He picks up the phone, makes a quick call, and I’m surprised when he’s given permission to let me up.
I ride the elevator to the twenty-third floor and march with purpose to Apartment 2301. I give the door two sharp knocks. I don’t have to wait long.
The door swings open to reveal a smug wide receiver in a sleeveless hoodie.
Christ. This guy is the fucking worst. Who wears a sleeveless hoodie?
Isaac rolls his eyes at the sight of me. “What are you doing here, Graham?”
He remembers me at least. We’ve only met once, when Blake brought him to Tahoe the first year they started dating. I didn’t like him then, and I don’t like him now.
“She send you here to beg me to take her back?” he taunts.
I clench my jaw. Along with my fists. But I force myself to keepthem pressed to my sides. “I’m here for Hot Boi,” I tell him.
His jaw drops. “You serious?”
“Deadly.”
Isaac stares me down. I don’t even blink. I come from a hockey family. I can handle a guy whose only job is running in straight lines and not getting grass stains on his tight pants.
“Bro,” he says. “It’s atoaster.”
I bare my teeth in not quite a smile. “And yet… Here we are.”
Chapter 52
BLAKE
THE KNOCK ON THE DOOR startles me. My grandfather is still at his curling game, so I hop off the couch and go to answer the door. I’m frowning as I open it, already expecting to be annoyed with whoever decided to show up announced after eight, so I freeze when I find Wyatt standing on the porch.
Holding Hot Boi.
My mouth falls open in shock. I look from the toaster to his bruised knuckles, then lift my gaze to his. “What did you do?”
Wyatt shrugs. “He made it harder than it needed to be.”
Despite myself, laughter sputters out. “Oh my God. Come in.”
He enters the house but doesn’t move farther than the front entrance. He holds out Hot Boi, and I accept the toaster gratefully while sweeping my gaze over Wyatt. He looks good. So good. God, I missed every inch of that gorgeous face.
I’m relieved to see he’s free of bruises. As far as I can tell, all the damage is confined to his knuckles, which bodes well. I hope he punched Isaac in his stupid, toaster-stealing face.
“I can’t believe you fought him over a toaster.”
