My nails dig into the flexing muscles of his shoulders, holding on as he drives into me, each thrust a claim. His body tenses, trembles, and he buries his face in my neck. A low groan escapes from him as he shudders against me, and I feel the pulse of him, the rhythm of his release, filling me up like he promised.
And he stays there, pressed deep, as if he never wants to leave.
THIRTY-TWO
Jenna
Over the next few weeks, my world shifts into high-definition color.
Each morning, Colton’s bare shoulders fold around me. I wake to the slight groove of his palm against my waist—after nights so seamlessly tangled, I’ve totally lost count. He slips out of bed, fills the kitchen with the drumming of eggs cracking and bacon spitting in the pan.
I’m already addicted to watching him lean over the counter while he braids Livy’s locks into a perfect fishtail.
There’s glitter everywhere now. On the coffee table. In the couch cushions. Somehow in Colton’s eyebrows. Livy takes her art projects seriously, which means none of us are safe.
She dots rainbow shimmer across our cheeks with the concentration of a surgeon while Colton chases her around the living room, pretending to be outraged, three plastic hair clips snapped into his short hair from an earlier tea party.
He lets her catch him every time and when I watch them, watch him just being the father he is, I want to hug him and absolutely never leave his side again. It’s like I want to crawl into him and stay there.
On some days I just sit nearby at the desk tucked into the corner of my new office, answering e-mails and pretending I’m focused while sunlight glares on my laptop screen and laughter keeps pulling my attention away. I can easily picture myself with all those babies his mother wants. I don’t think there’s a better man to have kids with than Colton. When this man lets you into his heart, you stay there.
Later, when Livy finally tires herself out, we all end up on the couch. There is a bowl of popcorn between us, some animated movie glowing on the television—princesses, dragons, talking animals, whatever currently has her loyalty.
Sometimes Livy falls asleep halfway through, sprawled dramatically across both of us. Or she makes us rewind scenes she missed while blinking. I find myself envying Livy’s bold little spirit, remembering how much I wished I’d been like that at her age. She has that confidence that I never had, a strength that would have kept bullies at bay. The thought of her standing up for herself, refusing to be pushed around like I was, fills me with hope.
And sometimes, when the room goes soft and quiet, I catch myself leaning into Colton’s side without thinking.
He never makes a thing of it. He just shifts slightly, making room for me like he wanted me there all along.
That’s when it hits me, sudden and disarming every time: with the right person, nothing feels difficult in the way you were warned it would.
Life is still messy. Busy. Loud. There are dishes in the sink and glitter in places glitter should never be and tomorrow’s problems waiting patiently in the morning. But moving through it together doesn’t feel like chaos. It feels like rhythm. Like two people learning the same song without needing to speak.
Maybe love isn’t grand declarations or perfect timing.
Maybe it’s this.
A warm shoulder. Shared popcorn. Someone making space for you before you even realize you need it. Someone who understands you and is there for you no matter what.
Today, Livy and I trail behind Liora up the arena steps to the family box. It’s puck drop number three this season, and our corner of folding chairs starts to feel as snug as Colton’s couch. Both of us wear Colton’s jersey with his name big on our backs like a proud banner. After his first goal, he caught me in the empty rink hallway, fingers tangled in the front of my shirt, telling me never to take it off again. There’s this pulse behind his words, a promise I can feel through every stitch.
Liora slides over and lowers her voice as I settle beside her. “So, there’s nothing fake anymore about your marriage, huh?”
I tug on the cuff of my jersey, feeling the rough cotton slide between my fingers. Priya, perched on Liora’s other side, leans in too, her pretty dark eyes wide with curiosity. I laugh. “Nope. I guess you were right. Living under a shared roof is tricky.”
Priya’s grin flickers under the box lights. “I saw a new reel on Instagram, they filmed you guys shopping—I knew right then.”
Liora whispers, “You two look so good together. Your dresses… just wow.”
I smile. Yeah, there were a lot of reels and fan accounts posting about Colton and me. I’d be lying if I said that I don’t save all the photos—even the bad ones. I like the way we fit. The way we just align. “All credit to my best friend. She styled every detail, from my gown to the last hairpin. She’s a serial shopaholic. I have to tell her to ease up on the packages.”
“I adore her podcast,” Priya says. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
“There’s a season kickoff party after the next game,” Liora reminds me. “You should bring her.”
Knowing Isla, I bet she’s already on it. She’s the nosiest person I know, and if someone knows about a kickoff party, it’s her. I tuck the phone away and watch Livy bounce on her toes,scanning the ice for her dad’s helmet. My heart settles around us like the perfect braid, and I realize this truly is the best version of my life.
Even though the VIP box is crazy.
