“Ican’t believe you would do this to your brother!”
I don’t even feel the slightest twinge of guilt as Heather looks at me with big, sad eyes filled with crocodile tears. I smile back at her and lean in so that I’m not making a scene. It’s a wedding after all. “Heather, enjoy your day. The fact that I’m leaving a tad early shouldn’t phase you.”
“We haven’t even had the midnight ice cream bar!” Heather whines.
"Babe, Mal not eating ice cream is not going to make or break this wedding," Beckett interjects, his tone not that of an elated groom. More like a disgruntled man who has been in a love-less marriage for years. They've been married less than six hours. "And it will save us some cash, with one less mouth feeding at the trough. No offense."
“Oh yeah, that’s not offensive at all.” I bite my cheek at Tate’s flat, sarcastic tone. “Anyway she needs to keep some room for the ice cream she’ll be eating tomorrow. Out of the Cup.”
Beckett rolls his eyes. I want to slap him so badly that my fingers tingle. The only reason I attended this stupid wedding is for the sake of my parents. And I even convinced Emmett to attend, who is still furious with Beckett. So am I, but my parents have had a lot to adapt to and it meant a lot to them to have the whole family at this wedding. So Emmett and I came. And now, at almost midnight, I'm trying to make a gracious exit to get home to Dylan. Tate has been nothing short of a perfect date, ignoring Beckett's disdain and my father's out-and-out disgust. But I've reached my limits for him.
“Congratulations to you both,” I say with finality as I reach to find Tate’s hand.
Our fingers slip together with ease and familiarity. Tate smiles at the newlyweds. “May you be as happy for the rest of your life as you are today.”
I turn and lead him across the Silver Bay Golf Club ballroom to the door as fast as possible so no one sees or hears me laughing. As soon as we’re in the lobby I let the giggles burst free. Tate yanks me to his side, slinging his big arm over my shoulders and pulling me into him. “I’m going to hell for laughing at that. I truly think that if Beckett wasn’t miserable he wouldn’t be such a dick.”
Tate kisses my bare shoulder. The one good thing that came from the massive family blow-up that happened from Beckett selling me down the river is I could avoid beinginthe actual wedding. Heather picked chartreuse chiffon for bridesmaid dresses. I got to wear a very pretty, simple strapless sundress in a rose color which suits my complexion much better than chartreuse.
"Think they'll figure out we lied?" Tate wants to know as we wander past the front doors and to the doors at the end of the hall that lead to the bungalows that lace the side of the course and are rented out as hotel rooms. "And that my parents have Dylan on a sleepover."
“Ask me if I care?” I counter as he reaches for the door and winces.
“You okay?”
"Worth it," he grunts as I take the heavy oak door from his hand and pull it the rest of the way. Tate broke two ribs in the Stanley Cup final. The whole team, like most teams who achieve the accomplishment, were pretty banged up by the time they hoisted the Cup after sweeping the Barons in four games. That was another reason my dad hated Tate. Oh well. Worth it, as he said. "But damn I'm an asshole for not understanding the pain you must have been living with when you first moved in with me. Holy shit this hurts, like all the time."
“I know. And nothing can fix it but time,” I tell him what he already knows.
We’re wandering in the sticky night air, down the flagstone path that leads to bungalow four. I lift my hair off my neck and sigh. Silver Bay is in a heat wave and the humidity is cloying. “I hope they fixed the AC in our room.”
“Me too,” Tate replies. “If you’re going to be sweating all night I want it to be from sex, not weather.”
I smile. But it quickly falls off my lips when we open the door to the bungalow and the temperature inside is just as gross as outside. I’m about to groan when Tate marches past me and grabs our overnight bags. “Okay then. Plan B.”
“I didn’t know we had a plan B?”
He grins. “I’ve always got you covered, baby girl.”
He does. I know this now, after living with him through the last couple of months of playoffs. He is everything I dared to dream for Dylan and everything I never dared to dream for myself. I wake up every morning feeling so grateful, but also a little guilty every time I wake up Dylan who is growing like a weed. Diana would be so thrilled to see him thrive. I wish she was here, but my perfect life exists because she isn’t. It’s tough to think about.
I don't ask questions as Tate leads us back to the lobby and then out the front doors to his car. I have the utmost confidence we're going somewhere lovely until he pulls over next to a field halfway up the hill that overlooks the lake. He turns off the engine and looks over at me excitedly. "I was going to wait until dawn to show you this, but might as well do it now."
“What are you showing me?” I question.
He gets out of the car and I sit there, too confused to move, staring out at the dark blob that is the lake below us. The lights from the park and the nearby houses and streets make the surface shimmer in spots. It’s pretty and soothing. So different from Los Angeles and yet I love them both now.
I hear him open the trunk and close it and then there’s light. He’s holding a camping lantern and rapping on my passenger window. I open the door tentatively. “I don’t… I mean I hate to sound diva, but I don’t camp Tate.”
He chuckles. “Neither do I. We’ll head home after this. I just wanted some time and I can’t wait to show you.”
“What?” I ask as I climb out of the car. He’s got a picnic basket with him too. Okay…
He takes my hand, piling everything into his other one, and leads me through the freshly cut grass of this massive abandoned field. "Who cuts grass in an empty field?"
"The real estate agency selling it. If you ask nicely enough and promise to hoist the Stanley Cup here and give them a shout-out in the paper," Tate says with a smile dancing on his lips.
I trip, even though the ground seems flat and even. Tate catches me, but winces because of his ribs. “Sorry!”
