Vesper sniffles and swipes at her cheek with the back of her hand, then glares at me like she’s offended by her own tears.“This is not cute,” she mutters.
I can’t help it.I smile, because she’s ridiculous and brave and so easy to love it hurts.
“You’re fucking adorable,” I tell her anyway, because I’m apparently suicidal.
She rolls her eyes, watery and furious.“I’m pregnant and my mascara is committing a crime.”
Monty’s mouth twitches again.“You’re still cute.”
Vesper’s gaze snaps to him, startled, like she didn’t expect him to offer anything gentle without being forced.For a second, her face softens into something that looks like awe.
Then she huffs.“You two are going to ruin me.”
“Already did,” I say, and the words come out too honest, too exposed, like I’m bleeding right onto the sheets.“But we plan to be here for always and forever.”
“Forever and always.”
ChapterForty-Nine
Vesper
Juniper Ridge is stunning, which feels rude considering I’m about to tell my dad I’m pregnant and in love with two men.
Still, the pines crowd the road as if they’re eavesdropping, branches leaning in as if they’ve heard my name before and they’re dying to see what I’ve done with it.The mountains sit back in the distance—calm, judgmental, gorgeous—like they’re waiting for me to prove I deserve oxygen.
The air smells like wet earth and cedar and that specific brand of silence that makes city people start talking too loud just to prove they exist.
It’s late afternoon.The light is soft in that rude way, as if the sun is trying to make my crisis look romantic.
I waited for them to finish their “recovery day.”It’s a day where they don’t do as much because they’re in between games and the coaches need them to relax and look at videos—or get special care for any injuries they might have.
Monty said it was a good thing that they had to go to the training facilities.They had the chance to talk to their coach, the GM, and the team owner about our situation.The good thing is that we found out all of them are very supportive of ...well, us.
Their “full support” came with a nice little ribbon: they still have their positions, they’re looking forward to naming Cally captain once Caspian Spearman retires at the end of the season, and there’s a hopeful little prayer tucked behind every word about winning the Cup—without saying it out loud because that would jinx it.
At least that’s one thing taken care of, so the next will be ...my family.Hurray for things that might shatter my entire life.
Maybe I could tell them to wait until this becomes a press release and then my father can process everything without me needing to be present.But it’s too late—as we crest the last curve, the house appears, and my stomach drops like it recognizes the driveway the way people recognize the place their heart got broken for the first time.
The campsite looks different than it did last month when we first visited.The rink has scaffolding around it.The cabins look ...not like haunted props anymore, thankfully.And less like you could accidentally lean on a wall and end up outside.
“It looks almost the same as it did when we came in the first time—at sixteen,” Monty says from the driver’s seat.
Callaway whistles, leaning forward between the seats as if he can’t help himself—bright-eyed, keyed up, already invested.“They’re doing a great job making this ...livable.”
“So the county wanted a makeover?”I blink a couple of times, trying to find the difference.
“Nope.”Callaway shakes his head.He knows more than any of us, since Harvey has been feeding him updates almost daily.“It wasn’tjustcosmetic renovations.They replaced bathrooms in the cabins—including plumbing, rebuilt some walls.The place was literally crumbling.”
Monty points at the rink with two fingers like he’s aiming.“What’s happening there?”
“They’re reinforcing the walls.”Callaway shrugs.“They had to go inside and redo the ice because it had a few problems.”
Monty’s jaw ticks.That tiny, violent movement that means someone’s about to regret existing.“That should’ve been fixed, but how did they find so many problems at once?”
“It seems like one of the parents from last summer complained about the conditions and were trying to get the place closed,” Callaway adds, like he’s telling me someone cut him off in traffic, not tried to torch a legacy.
“Just closed?”I squeak.
