His voice is low. Gentle. “I don’t know how or what that will look like. But we overcame eleven years of not being together, Charlotte. This is strong and real and it’s going to be okay. I think we can figure this out.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because I can’t picture going to D.C. or anywhere without you in my life.” His lips move silently as he lines up his thoughts. “This isn’t me giving up on us. This is me giving us the best chance possible because I want to show up as my best self in this, and I can’t do that trying to fix my mom or trying to hold on to things that aren’t really there with my dad. I need to do this for myself and for us.”
Why are my eyes stinging? I stare at my plated entrée, a chicken and smashed potatoes dish that’s the best meal I’ve had in a year, and smile. “Yes, it’s what you need to do and it’s going to be great. Don’t worry about us. We’ll figure it out.”
I want to believe my own words, and part of me does. Still, not knowinghowis killing me.
His gaze is steady and strong as he stands from the table and reaches for my hand.
I stand to join him, and he gently squeezes my fingers.
“Charlotte, I love you.” His gaze tenderly rakes over me, his breaths ragged.
He loves me. My heart seals to him at that moment. No matter what, I’ll never be the same again.
I tug him close, lifting my head to kiss him deeply. When we pull apart, I smile. “I’ve always loved you, Taysom.”
Six Weeks Later
Things are happening so fast, I wonder if motion sickness meds might help me feel a little more steady.
I know they won’t, but I’m desperate for some relief.
It seems like every day of the past six weeks, something new has happened. An offer from the Washington Commanders. The back and forth with management and Taysom’s agent about Taysom’s contract. Evolving news about the Early Childhood Center. The arduous steps toward realizing the creation of a new, smaller center.
Taysom’s in D.C. now and has been for a couple of weeks. It’s time for my nightly video call with him and I practically sag into the sofa with relief when I hear his voice. Miley comes trotting over like she’s been waiting all day for this, too.
“Mr. Taysom Reed,” I drawl, scooping Miley up. She purrs and headbutts my chin, her whiskers tickling my face.
“Hey,” Taysom says, and even through the screen, his smile tickles my insides.
“Hey yourself.” I prop the phone against a stack of books on my coffee table and settle back onto the couch.
“How was work?” he asks.
“Good. Really good, actually.” I run my fingers through Miley’s fur. “MJ crushed it today. She’s doing so well post-surgery, and her mom is just...very relieved.”
“That’s amazing, Charlotte.”
And it is. When Lynette brought MJ back to the center two weeks ago, I nearly cried. Getting to work with her again, seeing her progress—it’s exactly what I wanted.
Except.
“How’s training camp?” I ask, because thinking too hard about the ‘except’ makes my chest hurt.
“Brutal.” He laughs, running a hand through his hair. It’s a little longer than he usually keeps it, and it curls at the edges. “Billy Cairns is...intense. But in a good way, I think. The team’s coming together.”
“You look tired.”
“You look beautiful.”
“Taysom.” I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling.
“What? You do. Even with your—is that yogurt in your hair again?”
My hand flies to my head. “Oh my gosh, yes. MJ thought it would be hilarious to fling her snack at me during our session today.”
