“Are you going to take care of him, Graham? Make sure he follows his PT regimen? We don’t have Piper to make sure he stays on track.”
“Mommmm,” I groan. “Can you not? I’m over thirty years old.”
“I don’t want you to be too in love and doing what you do and forget to take care of yourself.”
“Kill. Me. Now,” I mutter, dropping my head onto Graham’s shoulder.
I guess it doesn’t matter how old you are, your parents will always embarrass you.
Graham ignores me though, wrapping an arm around my waist. “I promise. I will make sure to take care of him.”
Mom’s eyes are watering. “I just want to make sure my baby is taken care of.”
“Tenley.” Dad comes up behind her and pulls her into his hold. “Noah is a grown-up and can take care of himself.”
She smacks him. “I’ll always worry about my baby.”
“If Graham doesn’t, I’ll make sure to come out and kick his ass.” Frankie now enters the conversation, much to Graham’s dismay.
“I’m suddenly becoming more and more grateful at how far Nashville is from Denver.” I laugh.
I love our families. I do. But I want to be with Graham. In Nashville without someone watching over me. It’s been a long month.
I’m finally on the road to feeling better. And that’s what I want to focus on.
There’s no longer this sadness clouding my head. I’m no longer worrying about my future with the team.
Everything feels bright.
With Graham by my side, I can’t wait to see what comes next.
Chapter Thirty
NOAH - TWO MONTHS LATER
“This sucks,” I grumble. Looking around the locker room, trash bins sit in front of lockers as guys clean out their stalls.
“Hey. We’ll get there next year,” Graham tells me, grabbing a stick of deodorant and tossing it into his bag. “I know we will.”
We were one game away from making it to the playoffs. It would have been the first time in ten years that the Knights made it. With a few well-timed wins, it was looking good. Until an overtime goal by Vancouver knocked us out of the running.
The loss stings even more when I couldn’t contribute to the team. Not that anyone blames me since I was put on IR, but it still hurts.
It really fucking hurts.
“Hey, don’t jinx us.”
“You’ve already won a few cups,” Graham points out to me, dropping down onto the bench to zip up his bag. With my locker clean, I wandered over here to help him.
Not that he needs it. I just want to be near him.
The press portion of the day is already over. It’s never fun talking to them about how we’re out of it and what we can do toimprove for next year. They fired more questions at me about my game and if I’ll be back than anything else.
I can only tell them what I hope to be true—that I’ll be back in top form and ready to go. I’m feeling good—no, great—and am ready to get back to training.
“Yeah, but I haven’t won one with you.”
Now that we have each other, it’s one of the only things I can think of doing. Winning one with Graham. Hoisting that trophy over our heads as we kiss one another.
