We fall silent again, watching Lulu successfully steal the stick from Purdy and immediately offer it back like a gift.
“April,” Clark says, and something in his voice makes me turn to face him. “You said you love me.”
My heart stops.April Sarah Hansen: Time of death: now.“I?—”
“You told your mom you love me,” he repeats. “Present tense.”
There’s no point denying it. No point pretending anymore.
“I did. I do.” I force myself to meet his eyes. “I love you, Clark. I’ve probably loved you since the day I found Gordie. I still love you even if you just want to be friends.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and I brace myself for the letdown. For the “I care about you, but ...” speech.
When his gaze searches mine and he still doesn’t say anything, I opt to tear off the bandage. “I heard you on the phone with Whitaker. You said you can’t wait for this to be over.”
His jaw drops. “You think I meant us?”
“Didn’t you?”
“No!” The word bursts out. “I meant the pressure. The campaign. The scrutiny. Watching you pull away because?—”
“Because I’m not cut out for your world.” My voice cracks. “Because I’m not NHL girlfriend material. That you want out.”
Clark stares at me like I have popcorn for brains. “Are you serious?”
“What?”
“April, I love you. I’m completely, hopelessly, stupidly in love with you. How could you think—?” He adjusts his ball cap, frustrated. “I was pulling back because I thought I wasn’t enough for you. That your parents were right about me. That the spotlight and the travel and all the complications of dating a hockey player were going to make you miserable. The stress has gone to my head and?—”
“You love me?”
“Yes! Of course, I love you! I’ve loved you for ten years! I want to love you for a hundred more.” He sets down hiscoffee and takes my face in his hands. “April, you’re not ‘not NHL girlfriend material.’ You’re the only person I want. The only person I’ve ever wanted. I was just trying to protect you from all the hard parts of my life as I thought you were pulling back.”
“I thought you were pushing me away.”
“Apparently, we didn’t learn from our first instance of not communicating.”
“We’re both idiots.” I laugh despite the tears streaming down my face.
With the pads of his thumbs, he wipes them away. “Completely.”
“We wasted a whole week being miserable.”
“Never again. April, I’m terrified. Of the spotlight hurting you. Of your family being right about me. Of screwing this up somehow.”
“I’m terrified too,” I admit. “Of failing. Of not being enough. Of losing you.”
“So we’re both scared.”
“Completely afraid.”
“Want to be afraid together?”
“More than anything.”
“Then that means we can also be brave together.”
We both laugh and then he kisses me right there in the dog park with Kansas City’s skyline in the distance and five dogs barking their approval. It’s not our first kiss, not even our tenth, but it feels like the most important one. Because this time, we’re choosing each other. Not because of a campaign or fake dating or any other excuse. But because we love each other.
