Goal: 2–1 Glaciers.
I jumped off the couch as the team mobbed Jensen.
He’d done it. Étienne had gotten an assist for the game-winning goal.
Forty seconds later, the final horn sounded.
I texted after a while.
Marco
Good win. You played solidly.
Étienne
I guess. 5 games, 3 assists. That’s it.
I stared at the message. Three assists in five games. Betterthan the zero points he’d been getting before, but still well below his usual production.
I went to bed that night not knowing what his future in Denver would be but knowing he’d at least be home the next day.
Wednesday afternoon, my phone buzzed.
Étienne
Landed. OMW
My heart raced with anticipation.
Forty minutes later, I heard his SUV pull up to the curb.
I stood in the doorway and watched him grab his bag from the back seat. His expression was haggard and his shoulders were slumped—ten days of travel and five games would do that—but when he turned and saw me, his whole face lit up.
“Hey.” He walked up the path.
“Hey.”
We just looked at each other for a moment. Ten days had felt like ten years.
He set his bag down on the porch. “You’re not wearing the boot.”
“It’s just wrapped now for support.”
“That’s—” His voice caught. “That’s fantastic, babe.”
Babe.My gut clenched at the affectionate term, but I simply said, “Yeah. It is.”
“I missed you,” he said quietly and closed the distance between us. I reached for him.
The kiss was soft at first. Gentle. Relief and reunion and coming home.
Then it deepened. Ten days of wanting, of missing, of needing.
“Inside,” I managed, pulling back slightly. “Neighbors.”
“Right.” But his hands were already on my waist, pulling me closer. “Neighbors.”
“Étienne—”
