CHAPTER TWO
SULLY
Ifiddle nervously with my shirt as I stand in front of the mirror in my room. Jesus. I haven’t been this anxious since my first date in high school. This isn’t even a real date. Tate had just looked so fucking lonely and so beautiful that I couldn’t help but ask him to hang out with me. Just the two of us. Running my hands down my shirt, I focus on my soft belly for a second, then push my thoughts away.
It’s just a little before noon when I finally knock on the door to Tate’s room. When it swings open, my breath painfully catches in my suddenly too small rib cage. He’s stunning. His beard looks more trimmed and groomed than the night before, his dark hair combed over in a messy, swooping wave. A pair of sunglasses sit precariously atop his head, and they move back a bit when he lifts his gaze to me with a gentle grin on his plush lips.
“Hi,” Tate says, sounding oddly out of breath.
“Hi,” I repeat dumbly. So suave, Sully.
Tate stares at me, then snaps his fingers and spins around. I catch the door with my hand, holding it open to watch him flit around the room. He returns with a small jar in his hand andholds it out to me, a blush stealing its way across his slightly freckled cheeks.
“I have a knee injury from my rock climbing days, and Tiger Balm helps so much. Have you ever tried it on your shoulder? It’s worth a shot.”
I grip the Tiger Balm tight in my palm, then glance up at Tate with a rock stuck in my throat. “No, I’ve never tried it. I will tonight. Thank you.”
Tate looks at me oddly but seemingly shakes himself before closing his bedroom door. The villa is strangely quiet as we descend the stairs together. We grab some pastries from the kitchen, wrapping them in parchment paper, and then head out to face the day. The sun in Tuscany feels different than anywhere else I’ve ever been. My skin tingles from the warmth, the humid air, and Tate’s dizzying proximity. I tug the keys from one of the vehicles provided to us out of my packet, dangling them in my palm to show Tate with a rueful smile.
“Got us a car.”
Tate smirks softly. “I was wondering how you planned to get us there. I thought perhaps we’d walk.”
I chuckle as I unlock the car. “I’m not inthatgood of shape. It’s a decent drive, an even longer walk.”
“You can drive stick?” Tate tosses himself into the passenger seat.
“Of course, I can drive stick. Can’t you?”
Tate deflates a little. “No, my father never taught me. I’ve always wanted to learn, though.”
I hum softly as I start the car, slowly backing out of the spot, then point the car in the direction to leave the safety of the villa. Tate rolls the window down to let the warm air rush through the small car. The Tuscany countryside is beautiful, unwinding all those knots that form in my muscles through the season. My body gets beat up more and more each year. I wasn’t lyingwhen I told Tate last night that I wanted to retire. I so deeply want to be done. I want to start a family, create a home, and hold someone in my arms as I fall asleep each night. No more grueling practice schedule and games all over the country.
I’m not exactly closeted, but it’s easier to be a gay defenseman because fewer eyes are on me. But the league has a long way to go. Playing for Seattle hasn’t ever been hard in that area, so I can’t complain. It’s a thirty-minute drive to the Val del Damo, the home to the winery I picked for our adventure this afternoon.
“How old were you when Olivia came along?”
Tate hums softly as he rests his chin in the palm of his hand, eyes still focused on the countryside passing by outside the window. “Just a pre-teen. I remember holding her in the hospital, this weird, big feeling I couldn’t name overtaking me.”
“I don’t know any of my siblings,” I murmur softly.
Tate turns to look at me, but I can’t see his eyes through his sunglasses. “You’ve got siblings?”
I tighten my hands on the wheel and clear my throat. “A few. But that’s all the information the government is willing to give me. I’ve marked down that I’m willing to be contacted, but I haven’t been so far.”
“That must be so hard.”
I smile despite the nagging pain in my chest. “It’s alright. I’ve got Bailey and some other friends. Family is what you make it.”
“Now that, we agree on.”
The winery is small but still sprawling. A few cars fill the gravel parking lot, otherwise it’s just us. When we walk into the stone building, an older woman sits at a wooden desk. She smiles brightly at us as we approach.
“Buongiorno,” she greets us. “I’m Cecilia. Would you like a tour today? Or just a wine tasting? You can do a tasting and then explore the grounds.”
She has a thick Italian accent, but she’s easy to understand. I raise one eyebrow at Tate, who shrugs as if unable to decide for himself. That’s fine; I’m happy to take the lead.
“I think a wine tasting and then exploring the grounds ourselves, if that’s alright.”
