“Declan, are you sure?”
“Yes. I don’t have any doubts in my mind. I’m going to do this whether you agree or not.”
That makes me laugh. “Oh yeah?”
He rolls over and pins me beneath him. “Yes. Don’t run from me again, Sutton. I’m serious. I will chase you, but I can’t promise I’ll do it forever. I love you. Understood?”
"Okay," I say. My voice is smaller than I'd like.
"Okay," he says back. “We’ve been doing this funny dance, but I’m done dancing. We’re together. Period.”
“I’m not sure I like this alpha thing.”
“Yes, you do. And you need it.”
He kisses me. I let myself fall into the certainty he's offering that I've been too afraid to accept.
When he pulls back, his eyes are serious. "I mean it, Sutton. No more running."
"No more running," I agree.
He settles beside me, pulling me against his chest. I can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong. The house is quiet now except for the occasional shuffle of someone finding a bathroom or stumbling around.
"When do you think you'll hear?" I ask.
"Could be a few days. It could be a week, but I'll hear something."
I trace patterns on his chest with my finger. "And if it doesn't work out? If they don't call?"
"Then I'll figure something else out. Maybe I'll coach. Maybe I'll do something completely different." He catches my hand and brings it to his lips. "But I'm not leaving. That's the one thing I know for sure."
I want to argue. I want to tell him he can't make life decisions based on me. But I'm tired of fighting. Tired of pretending I don't want exactly what he's offering.
"Okay," I whisper.
"Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay." I lift my head to look at him. "We'll figure it out together."
The smile that spreads across his face is worth every moment of uncertainty, every sleepless night, and every tear I've cried over this man.
"Together," he repeats, and kisses me again.
I fall asleep wrapped around him, and for the first time in months, I don't dream about losing him. I dream about our future, with both of us getting our dreams.
Chapter Eight
DECLAN
Igo out to the back porch with a cup of coffee and a donut. It’s time to make the call. It’s not a call I’m looking forward to, but this is my fault.
When I turned eighteen, I signed a contract with my father’s agency. I can’t go get a deal with a team without him. I have no idea how he is going to take the news. I don’t actually care if he likes it or not, but I do need him to work for me. And any contract I get, he benefits from.
I know he was at every one of my playoff games and at the Garden, but he stayed out of my way. It’s his version of punishing me. Too bad I don’t give a shit if he was there or not. I had the one person I wanted cheering me on.
He hated it. He knows she’s living in the house. And knows I’m with her. He thinks he’s going to freeze me out until I go crawling back.
Never going to happen.
